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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3515a1a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52970 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52970) diff --git a/old/52970-8.txt b/old/52970-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c31b370..0000000 --- a/old/52970-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9745 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Servants of Sin, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Servants of Sin - A Romance - -Author: John Bloundelle-Burton - -Release Date: September 2, 2016 [EBook #52970] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SERVANTS OF SIN *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Illinois) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books - https://books.google.com/books?id=8YtBAQAAMAAJ - (Library of the University of Illinois) - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - -SERVANTS OF SIN - - - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -ROMANCES - -IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY -ACROSS THE SALT SEAS -THE CLASH OF ARMS -DENOUNCED -THE SCOURGE OF GOD -THE HISPANIOLA PLATE -FORTUNE'S MY FOE -A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER -THE DESERT SHIP - - -NOVELS OF TO-DAY - -A BITTER HERITAGE -HIS OWN ENEMY -THE SILENT SHORE -THE SEAFARERS - - - - - - -SERVANTS OF SIN -A ROMANCE - - - -BY -JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON - - - - -"HOW DOTH THE CITY SIT SOLITARY THAT WAS -FULL OF PEOPLE! NOW IS SHE BECOME AS A -WIDOW! SHE THAT WAS GREAT AMONG THE -NATIONS AND PRINCESS AMONG THE PROVINCES." - - - -METHUEN & CO. -36 ESSEX STREET W.C. -LONDON -1900 - - - - - - -_Dramatised and produced for copyright purposes in London, May 1st_, -1900. _Licensed for production by the Lord Chamberlain, and entered at -Stationers' Hall as a Drama in IV. Acts_. - - - - - - -TO -MY FRIEND -ERNEST FOSTER - - - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAP. - I. Monsieur le Duc. - II. Les Demoiselles Montjoie at Home. - III. The Romance of Monsieur Vandecque. - IV. A Sister of Mercy. - V. The Duke's Desire - VI. The Duke's Bride. - VII. Man And Wife. - VIII. The Street Of The Holy Apostles. - IX. Alone. - X. The Prison of St. Martin des Champs. - XI. The Condemned. - XII. Marseilles. - XIII. "My Wife! What Wife? I have no Wife." - XIV. Where is the Man? - XV. The Pest. - XVI. "I had not Lived till now, could sorrow kill." - XVII. An Aristocratic Resort. - XVIII. "The Abandoned Orphan"--Prologue - XIX. "The Abandoned Orphan"--Drama - XX. "The Way to Dusty Death" - XXI. A Night Ride. - XXII. The Stricken City. - XXIII. Within the Walls. - XXIV. A Discovery. - XXV. Face to Face. - XXVI. "Revenge--Bitter! Ere Long Back on Itself Recoils!" - XXVII. "I Love Her!--She is my Wife." - XXVIII. The Walled-up Doors. - XXIX. Asleep or Awake. - XXX. "If after Every Tempest come such Calms!" - - - - - - -SERVANTS OF SIN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MONSIEUR LE DUC - - -Lifting aside the heavy tapestry that hung down in front of the window -of the tourelle which formed an angle of the room--a window from which -the Bastille might be seen frowning over the Quartier St. Antoine, a -third of a mile away--the man shrugged his shoulders, uttered a -peevish exclamation, and muttered, next: - -"Snow! Snow! Snow! Always snow! Curse the snow!" Then he turned back -into the room, letting the curtain fall behind him, and seated himself -once more in a heavy fauteuil opposite the great fireplace, up the -chimney of which the logs roared in a cheerful blaze. - -"Hard winters, now," he muttered once more, still thinking of the -weather outside; "always hard winters in Paris now. 'Twas so when I -rode back here after the campaign in Spain was over. When I rode -back," he repeated, "a year ago." He paused, reflecting; then -continued: - -"Ay, a year ago. Why! so it was. A year ago to-day. A year this very -day. The last day of December. Ay, the bells were ringing from Notre -Dame, St. Roch--the Tour St. Jacques. To welcome in the New Year. -Almost, it seemed, judging by the events of the next few weeks, to -welcome me to my inheritance. To my inheritance! Yet, how far off that -inheritance seemed once! As far off as the love of those curs, my -relatives, was then." - -He let himself sink farther and farther into the deep recesses of the -huge fauteuil as thus he mused, stretched out his long legs towards -the fire, stretched out, too, a long arm and a long, slim brown hand -towards where a flask of tokay stood, with a goblet by its side; -poured out a draught and drank it down. - -"A far-off love, then," he said again, "now near, and warm, and -generous. Bah!" - -Looking at the man as he lay stretched in the chair and revelling in -the luxury and comfort by which he was surrounded, one might have -thought there was some incongruity between him and those surroundings. -The room--the furniture and hangings--the latter a pale blue, bordered -with fawn-coloured lace--the dainty ornaments, the picture let in the -wall above the chimney-piece, with others above the doorway and -windows--did not match with the occupant. No more than it and they -matched with a bundle of swords in one corner of it; swords of all -kinds. One, a heavy, straight, cut-and-thrust weapon; another an -English rapier with flamboyant blade and straight quillon; a third of -the Colichemarde pattern; a fourth a viperish-looking spadroon; a -fifth a German Flamberg with deadly grooved blade and long-curled -quillons. - -Surely a finished swordsman this, or a man who had been one! - -Looking at him one might judge that he was so still--or could be so -upon occasion. - -His wig was off--it hung upon the edge of an old praying-chair that -was pushed into a corner as though of no further use; certainly of -none to the present occupant of this room--and his black-cropped hair, -his small black moustache, which looked like a dab stuck on his upper -lip--since it extended no further on either side of his face than -beneath each nostril--added to his black eyes, gave him a saturnine -expression, not to say a menacing one. For the rest, he was a -thick-set, brawny man of perhaps five-and-forty, with a deeply-tanned -complexion that looked as though it had been exposed to many a -pitiless storm and many a fierce-beating sun; a complexion that, were -it not for a whiteness beneath the eyes, which seemed to tell of late -hours and too much wine, and other things that often enough go with -wine and wassail, would have been a healthy one. - -Also, it was to be noted that, in some way, his apparel scarcely -seemed suited to him. The satin coat of russet brown; the deep -waistcoat of white satin, flowered with red roses and pink daisies and -little sprays of green leaves; the white knee-breeches also of satin, -the gold-buckled shoes, matched not with the sturdy form and fierce -face. Instead of this costume _à la Régence_ one would have more -expected to see the buff jerkin of a soldier, the brass spurs at the -heels of long brown riding-boots, and, likewise, one of the great -swords now reclining in the corner buckled close to his thigh. Or else -to have seen the man sitting in some barrack guardroom with, beneath -his feet, an uncarpeted floor, and, to his hand, a pint stoop, instead -of finding him here in this highly-ornamented saloon. - -"The plague seize me!" he exclaimed, using one of his favourite oaths, -"but there is no going out to-night. Nor any likelihood of anyone -coming in. I cannot go forth to gaze upon my adorable Laure; neither -Morlaix nor Sainte Foix are likely to get here." - -And, after glancing out at the fast falling snow, he abandoned himself -once more to his reflections. Though, now, those reflections were -aided by the perusal of a packet of letters which he drew forth from -an escritoire standing by the side of the fireplace. A bundle of -letters all written in a woman's hand. - -He knew them well enough--by heart almost; he had read them over and -over again in the past year; it was perhaps, therefore, because of -this that he now glanced at them as they came to his hand; it -happening, consequently, that the one he had commenced to peruse was -the last he had received. - -It was dated not more than a week back--the night before Christmas, of -the year 1719. - -"Mon ami," it commenced, "I am desolated with grief that you cannot be -with me this Christmastide. I had hoped so much that we should have -spent the last New Year's Day together before our marriage." - -"Bah!" exclaimed the man, impatiently. "Before our marriage. Bah!" and -he rattled the sheet in his hand as he went on with its perusal. "I -imagine that," the letter continued, "after all which has gone before -and has been between us it will ere long take place----." - -"Ah!" he broke off once more, exclaiming, "Ah! you imagine that, dear -Marquise. You imagine that. Ha! you imagine that. So be it. Yet, on my -part, I imagine something quite the contrary. I dare to imagine it -will never take place. I think not. There are others--there is one -other. Laure--Laure--Laure Vauxcelles. My beautiful Laure! -Yet--yet--I know not. Am I wise? Does she love me? Love me! No matter -about that! She will be my wife; the mother of future Desparres. -However, let us see. To the Marquise." And again he regarded his -letters--flinging this one aside as though not worth the trouble of -further re-reading--and took up another. Yet it, also, seemed scarcely -to demand more consideration than that which he had accorded its -forerunner in his hands, and was also discarded; then another and -another, until he had come to the last of the little packet--that -which bore the earliest date. This commenced, however, with a vastly -different form of address than did the one of which we have seen a -portion. It opened with the pretty greeting, "My hero." And it opened, -too, with a very feminine form of rejoicing--a pæan of delight. - -"At last, at last, at last, my soldier," the writer said, "at last, -thou hast come to thine own. The unhappy boy is dead; my hero, my -Alcides, is no longer the poor captain following the wars for hard -knocks; his position is assured; he is rich, the inheritor, nay, the -possessor of his great family title. I salute you, monsieur le----." - -As his eyes reached those words, there came to his ears the noise of -the great bell pealing in the courtyard as though rung by one seeking -immediate entrance. Then, a moment later, the noise of lackeys -addressing one another; in another instant, the sound of a footfall in -the corridor outside--drawing nearer to the room where the man was. -Wherefore he came out of the tower with the window in it, to which he -had vainly gone, as though to observe what might be happening in the -street--knowing even as he did so that he could see nothing, since, -whoever his visitor might be, that visitor and his carriage, or -sedan-chair, had already entered the courtyard with his menials. - -Then, in answer to the soft knock at the door, he bade the person come -in. - -"Who is below?" he asked of the footman, thinking some friend had -kindly ventured forth on this inclement night to visit him--perhaps to -take a hand at pharaon or piquet. - -"Monsieur, it is Madame la Marquise----" - -"La Marquise?" - -"Grignan de Poissy." - -For a moment the man addressed stood still, facing his servant; his -eyes a little closed, his upper eyelids lowered somewhat; then he said -quietly: - -"Show Madame la Marquise to this apartment. Or, rather, I will come -with you to welcome Madame la Marquise." While, suiting his action to -his words, he preceded the footman to the head of the great staircase -and warmly welcomed the lady who, by this time, was almost at the head -of it. Doubtless, she knew she would not be denied. - -That this man had been (as the letter, which he had a few moments ago -but glanced at, said) "a poor captain following the wars" was no doubt -the fact; now, however, he was becoming a perfect courtier, and -testified that such was the case by his demeanour. With easy grace he -removed from her shoulders the great furred houppelande, or cloak, -which the ladies of the period of the Regency wore on such a night as -this, and carried it over his own arm; with equal grace he led her -into the room he had but now quitted, placed her in the great fauteuil -before the fire, and put before her feet a footstool, while he, -with great courtesy, even removed her shoes, and thus left her -silk-stockinged feet to benefit by the genial warmth thrown out by the -logs. - -"I protest it is too good of you, Diane," he whispered, as he paid her -all these attentions, "too good of you to visit thus so idle an -admirer as I am. See, I, a soldier, a man used to all weathers, have -not dared to quit my own hearth on such a night as this. Yet Diane, -adorable Diane, why--why--expose yourself to the inclemency of the -night--even, almost, I might say, to the gossip of your--and of -my--menials." - -"The gossip of your menials!" the lady exclaimed. "The gossip of your -menials? Will this fresh incident expose us to any further gossip, do -you suppose? It is a long while since our names have been coupled -together, Monsieur le Duc." - -"Monsieur le Duc!" he repeated. "What a form of address! Monsieur le -Duc! My name to you is--has ever been--Armand." - -"Ay, 'tis so," she answered, while, even as she continued speaking a -little bitterly to him, she shifted her feet upon the footstool, so -that they should get their full share of the luxurious warmth of the -fire. "'Tis so. Has been so for more years now than a woman cares to -count. Desparre," she said, addressing him shortly, "how long have we -known each other--how old am I?" - -For answer he gave her a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders, as though -it were impossible such a question should be asked, or, being asked, -could possibly be answered by him; while she, her blue eyes fixed upon -his face, herself replied to the question. "It is twenty years," she -said, "since we first met." - -"Alas!" with another shrug, meant this time to express a wince of -emotion. - -"Yes, twenty years," she continued. "A long while, is it not? I, a -young widow then; you, Armand Desparre, a penniless porte-drapeau in -the Regiment de Bellebrune. Yet not so penniless either, if I remember -aright"--and the blue eyes looked steely now, as they gazed from -beneath their thick auburn fringe at him--"not penniless. You lived -well for an ensign absolutely without private means--rode a good -horse, could throw a main with the richest man in the regiment." - -"Diane," he interrupted, "these suggestions, these reminiscences are -unseemly." - -"Unseemly! Heavens! Yes, they are unseemly. However, no matter for -that. You are no longer a poor man. Armand Desparre is rich, he is no -more the poor marching soldier, he is Monsieur le Duc Desparre." - -"More recollections," he said, with still another shrug. "Diane, we -know all this. The world, our world, knows who and what I am." - -"Also our world knows, expects, that there is to be a Duchess -Desparre." - -"Yes," he answered, "it knows, it expects, that." - -"Expects! My God!" she exclaimed vehemently, "if it knew all it would -not only expect but insist that that duchesse should be the woman who -now bears the title of the Marquise Grignan de Poissy." - -"It does not know all. Meanwhile," and his eye glanced towards the -heap of swords in the corner of the room, "who is there to insist on -what my conduct shall be--to order it to be otherwise than I choose it -shall be? Frankly, Diane, who is there to insist and make the -insistence good?" - -"There are men of the De Poissy family," she replied, and her glance, -too, rested on those swords. "Desparre is not the only master of fence -in Paris." - -"Chut! They are your kinsmen. I do not desire to slay them, nor, I -presume, will they desire to slay me. And, desiring, what could they -do? De Poissy himself is only a boy." - -"He is the head of the house. He will not see the wife of the late -head slighted." Then, before he could make any answer to this remark, -she turned round suddenly on him and exclaimed, while again the blue -eyes looked steely through their heavy lashes: - -"Who is Laure Vauxcelles?" - -This question, asked with such unexpectedness, startled even the man's -cynical superciliousness, as he showed by the way in which he -stammered forth an answer that was no answer at all. - -"Laure--Vauxcelles! What--what--do you know of her? She is not of -your--our--class." - -"Pardon. Every woman who is well favoured is--of your class." - -"What do you know of her?" he repeated, unheeding the taunt, though -with a look that might have been regarded as a menacing one. - -"Only," she answered, "that which most of those who are of -your--our--class know. The gossip of the salon, the court, the Palais -Royal. Armand Desparre, I have been in Paris two days and was bidden -to the Regent's supper last night--otherwise I should have been still -at the Abbaye de Grignan dispensing New Year hospitality with the boy, -De Poissy. Instead, therefore, I was at supper in the oval room. And -de Parabére, de Sabran, de Noailles, le Duc de Richelieu--a dozen, -were there. One hears gossip in the oval room, 'specially when the -Regent has drunk sufficient of that stuff," and she nodded towards -Monsieur's still unfinished flask of tokay. "When he is asleep at the -head of his table endeavouring to--well--sleep off--shake off its -fumes ere going to his box close by to hear La Gautier sing." - -"What did you hear?" Desparre asked now. - -"Gossip," the Marquise answered. "Gossip. Perhaps true--perhaps idle. -God knows. The story of a man," she continued, with a shrug of her -shoulders, "no longer young, once very poor, yet always with pistoles -in his pocket, since he did not disdain to take gifts from a foolish -woman whom he had wronged and who loved him." - -"Was that mentioned?" - -"It was hinted at. It was known, too, by one listener, at -least--myself--to be true. A man," she continued, "now well to do, -able to gratify almost every desire he possesses. Of high position. -The story of a man," she went on with machine-like insistence, "who, -finding at last, however, one desire he is not able to gratify--the -desire of adding one more woman to his victims, and that a woman young -enough to be his daughter--is about to change his character. To -abandon that of knave, to adopt that of fool." - -"Also," interrupted Monsieur le Duc, "a man who will demand from -Madame la Marquise Grignan de Poissy the name of her gossip. It is to -be desired that that gossip should be a man. Otherwise, her nephew the -Marquis Grignan de Poissy will perhaps consent to be Madame's -representative." - -"To adopt the rôle of a fool," she continued, unheeding his words. "To -marry the woman--the niece of a broken-down gamester--who refuses to -become his victim. A creature bred up in the gutter!" - -"Madame will allow that this--fool--is subject to no control or -criticism?" - -"Madame will allow anything that Monsieur le Duc desires. Even, if he -pleases, that he is a coward and contemptible." - - - - -CHAPTER II - -LES DEMOISELLES MONTJOIE AT HOME - - -Outside the snow had ceased to fall; in its place had come the clear, -crisp, and biting stillness of an intense frost, accompanied by that -penetrating cold which gives those who are subjected to it the feeling -that they are themselves gradually freezing, that the blood within -them is turning to ice itself. A cold, hard night; with the half-foot -long icicles cracking from the increasing density of the frost, and -falling, with a little clatter and a shivering, into atoms on the -heads or at the feet of the passers-by; a night on which beggars -huddled together for warmth in stoops and porches, or, being solitary, -laid down moaning in their agony on doorsteps until, at the end, there -came that warm, blissful glow which precedes death by frost. A night -when the well-to-do who were abroad drew cloaks, roquelaures, and -houppelandes tighter round them as they shivered and shook in chariots -and sedan chairs; when dogs were brought in from kennels and placed -before the blazing fires so that their unhappy carcases might be -thawed back to life and comfort, and when horses in their stalls had -rugs and cloths strapped over their backs so that, in the morning, -they should not be found stretched dead upon their straw. - -Inside, except in the garrets and other dwellings of the outcasts, who -had neither fuel to their fires nor rags to their backs, every effort -was made to expel the winter cold; wood fires blazed on hearths and in -Alsatian stoves; each nook and cranny of every window was plugged -carefully; while men, and in many cases, women as well, drank spiced -Lunel and Florence, Richebourg and St. Georges, to keep their -temperatures up. And drank copiously, too. - -It was the coldest night of the winter 1719-20; the coldest night of -that long spell of frost which had gripped Paris in its icy grasp. - -Yet, in the salons of the Demoiselles Montjoie that frost was -confronted--defeated; it seemed unable to penetrate into the warmed -and scented rooms, over every door and window of which was hung arras -and tapestry; unable to touch, and cause to shiver in touching, either -the bare-shouldered women who lounged in the velvet fauteuils or the -group of men who, in their turn, wandered aimlessly about. - -"Confusion!" exclaimed one of the latter, a well-dressed, middle-aged -man, "when is Susanne about to begin? What are we here for? To gaze -into each other's fascinating faces or to recount our week-old -scandals? The fiend take it! one might as well be at home and have -been spared the encounter with the night air!" - -"Have patience, Morlaix!" exclaimed a second; "the game never begins -until the pigeons are here. Sportsmen fire not into the air, nor -against one another. Do you want to win my louis-d'ors, or I yours? -No, no! On the contrary, let us combine. So, so," he broke off, "there -come two. The Prince Mirabel and Sainte Foix." - -"Mirabel and Sainte Foix!" exclaimed the other. "Mirabel and Sainte -Foix! My faith, all we shall get out of them will not make us fat. -Sainte Foix cannot have got a thousand louis-d'ors left in the world, -and those which he has Mirabel will attach for himself. Mon Dieu! that -one of the Rohans should be one of us!" - -The other shrugged his shoulders; then he said: - -"Speak for yourself, mon ami. Meanwhile, I do not consider myself the -same as Mirabel. I have not been kicked out of the army. I am no -protector of all the sharpers in Paris. Speak for yourself, my friend. -For yourself." - -"Now, there," said the other, taking not the slightest notice of his -acquaintance's protestations, which he probably reckoned at their -proper value. "There is one who might be worth----" - -"Nothing! He would have been once, but his money is all gone. La Mothe -over there has had some of it, Mirabel also; even I have touched a -little. Now, there is none to touch. They even say he owes the -respected Duc Desparre twenty thousand livres, and cannot pay them." - -"Desparre will expect them." - -"That is possible. But I have great doubts--as to his ever getting -them, I mean. Yet he is a gentleman, this Englishman; it may be he -will find means to pay. It is a pity he does not ask his countryman, -John Law, for assistance. He might put him in the way of making -something." - -"He might; though that I also doubt. Law has bigger friends to help -than dissolute young Englishmen; and they are not countrymen, the -financier being Scotch. Meanwhile, as I say, Desparre will expect his -money. He will want it, rich as he is, for his honeymoon." - -"His honeymoon! Faugh! the wretch. He is fifty if an hour. And, -frankly, is it true? Has he bought Laure Vauxcelles?" - -"Ay, body and soul; from her uncle Vandecque. She is his, and cannot -escape; she is in his grip. There is no hope for her. Vandecque is her -guardian; our law gives him full power over her. It is obedience to -the guardian's orders--or--you know!" - -"Yes, I know. A convent; the veil. I know. Ha! speak of the angels! -Behold!" and his eyes turned towards the heavily-curtained doorway, at -which a woman, accompanied by a man much her senior in years, appeared -at the moment. - -A woman! Nay! little more than a girl--yet a girl who ere long would -be a beauteous woman. Tall and supple, with a figure giving promise of -ripe fulness ere many months should have passed, with a face of sweet -loveliness--possessing dark hazel eyes, an exquisite mouth, a head -crowned with light chestnut hair, one curl of which (called by the -roués of the Regent's Court a "follow me, young man") fell over the -shoulder to the fair bosom beneath. The face of a girl to dream of by -night, to stand before by day and worship. - -No wonder that Desparre, forty-five years of age as he really was, and -a dissolute, depraved roué to whom swift advancing age had brought no -cessation of his evil yearnings, was supposed to have shown good taste -in purchasing this modern Iphigenia, in buying her from her uncle, the -gambler, Vandecque--the man who entered now by her side. - -In this salon there was a score of women, all of whom were well -favoured enough; yet the glances they cast at Laure Vauxcelles showed -that they owned their superior here. Moreover, they envied her. -Desparre was thought to be enormously rich--had, indeed, always been -considered so since he inherited his dukedom; but now that he had -thrust his hand into the golden rain that fell in the Rue Quincampoix -and, with it, had drawn forth more than a million livres--as many -said!--there was not one of them who, being unmarried, would not have -sold herself to him. But he had elected to buy Laure Vauxcelles, they -understood; and yet Laure hated him. "She was a beautiful fool!" they -whispered to each other. - -The tables were ready by the time she and her uncle had made their -greetings. The "guests" sat down to biribi, pharaon (faro), and -lansquenet. It was what they had come for, since the Demoiselles -Montjoie kept the most fashionable gambling-house in Paris--a house in -which the Regent had condescended to play ere now. A house in which, -many years later, a milliner's girl, who was brought there to exhibit -her beauty, managed to become transformed into a king's favourite, -known afterwards as Madame du Barry. - -Soon the gamblers were at it fast and furious. The stockbrokers of the -Rues Quincampoix[1] and Vivienne--not having had enough excitement -during the day in buying and selling Mississippi shares--were now -engaged in retrieving their losses, if possible, or losing their -gains. Even the greater part of the women had left the velvet lounges -and fauteuils and were tempting fate according to their means, with -crowns, louis-d'ors shares of the Royal Bank, or "The Louisiana -Company"; gambling in sums from twenty pounds to a thousand. - -And Vandecque, Laure's uncle, having now his purse well lined, though -once nothing rubbed themselves together within it but a few beggarly -coppers, was presiding at the lansquenet table, had flung down an -important sum to make a bank, and was--as loudly as the manners of -good society under the Regency would permit--inviting all round him to -try their chance. While they, on their part, were eager enough to -possess themselves of that purse's contents, though he himself had -very little fear that such was likely to be the case. - -Two there were, however, who sat apart and did not join in the -play--one, the ruined young Englishman of whom Morlaix and his -companion had spoken, the other, Laure Vauxcelles, the woman who -was to be sold in marriage to Desparre. Neither had spoken, however, -on Laure's entrance with Vandecque. The man had remained seated -on one of the velvet lounges at the far end of the room, his eyes -fixed on the richly-painted ceiling, with its cupids and nymphs and -goddesses--fitting allegories to the greatest and most aristocratic -gambling hell in Paris! The girl, on entering, had cast one swift -glance at him from those, hazel eyes, and had then turned them away. -Yet he had seen that glance, although he had taken no notice of it. - -Presently, the game waxing more and more furious while Vandecque's -back was turned to them (he being much occupied with his earnest -endeavours to capture all the bank notes and the obligations of the -Royal Bank and the Louisiana Company, and the little piles of gold -pieces scattered about), the young man rose from his seat, and, -walking to where Laure Vauxcelles sat some twenty paces from him, -staring straight before her, said: - -"This should be almost Mademoiselle's last appearance here. Doubtless -Monsieur le Duc is anxious for--for his union with Mademoiselle. When, -if one may make so bold to ask, is it likely to take place?" - -For answer, the girl seated before him raised her eyes to those of the -young Englishman, then--with a glance towards Vandecque's back, -rounded as it bent over the table, while he scooped up the stakes -which a successful deal of the cards had made his--said slowly: - -"Never. Never--if I can prevent it." - -She spoke in a low whisper, for fear the gambler should hear her, yet -it was clear and distinct enough to reach the ears of the man before -her; and, as he heard the words, he started. Yet, because--although he -was still very young--the life he had led, the people he had mixed -among in Paris, had taught him to steel himself against the exhibition -of all emotion, he said very quietly: - -"Mademoiselle is, if I may say it, a little difficult. She appears to -reject all honest admiration offered to her. To--to desire to remain -untouched by the love of any man?" - -"The love of any man! Does Monsieur Clarges regard the love of the Duc -Desparre as worth having? Does he regard the Duc Desparre as a man? As -one whose wife any woman should desire to become?" - -Monsieur Clarges shrugged his shoulders, then he said: - -"There have been others." - -"Yes," she answered. "There have been others." - -"And they were equally unfortunate. There was one----" - -"There was one," she replied, interrupting, and with her glance firmly -fixed him, "who desired my love; who desired me for his wife. A year -ago. Is it not so? And, Monsieur Clarges, what was my answer to him? -You should know. Recall it." - -"Your answer was that you did not love him; that, therefore, you could -be no wife of his. Now, Mademoiselle, recall yourself--it is your -turn--what he then said. It was this, I think. That he so loved you -that, without receiving back any love from you in return, he begged -you to grant his prayer; to believe that he would win that love at -last if you would but give yourself to him; while, if you desired it, -he would so show the reverence he held you in--that, once you were his -wife, he would demand nothing more from you. Nothing but that he might -be by your side; be but as a brother, a champion, a sentinel to watch -and guard over you, although a husband in truth. That was what he -said. That was all he desired. Mademoiselle, will the Duc Desparre be -as loyal a husband as this, do you think?" - -"The Duc Desparre will never be husband of mine." - -The Englishman again shrugged his shoulders. He had learnt the trick -well during a long exile in Paris--an exile dating from the time when -the Pretender's cause was lost by the Earl of Mar, and he, a Jacobite, -had followed him to France after the "'15." - -"But how to avoid it now?" he asked. "The time draws near--is at hand. -How escape?" - -"Is there not one way?" she asked, with again an upward glance of -those eyes. - -"No no no!" he replied, his calmness deserting him now. "No! no! Not -that! Not that!" - -"How else? There is no other." - -As they spoke the play still went on at the tables; women shrieked -still, half in earnest half in jest, as a card turned up that told -against them. Still Vandecque crouched over the board where he held -the bank and where his greedy hands drew in the stakes, for he was -winning heavily. Already he had twenty thousand livres before him -drawn from the pockets of Mirabel, Sainte Foix, the stockbrokers of -the Rues Quincampoix and Vivienne, and from the female gamblers. And, -gambler himself, he had forgotten all else; he had forgotten almost -that the niece whom he guarded so carefully until the time should come -when he would hand her over to her purchaser, was in the room. - -"It is an accursed law," the Englishman murmured; "a vile, accursed -law which gives a father or a guardian such power. In no other country -would it be possible. Yet Lau--Mademoiselle--that which you meditate -must never be. Oh! to think of it! To think of it!" - -He buried his head in his hands now as he spoke--he had taken a -seat beside her--and reflected on the terror of the thing, the horror -that she, whom he had loved so madly--whom, alas! he loved still, -though she cared nothing for him--should be doomed to one of two -extremes--marriage with Desparre, or a convent. Or, worse--a third, a -more fearful horror! That which she meditated--death! - -For that, if she had taken this resolve, she would carry it out he did -not doubt. She would never have proclaimed her intention had she not -been determined. She had said it was the only way! - -But, suddenly, he looked up at her, bent his head nearer to hers, -whispered a word. Then said aloud: - -"There is your safety. There your only chance. Take it." - -As he spoke, she started, and a rich glow came into her face while her -eyes sparkled; but a moment later her countenance fell again, and she -drew away from him. - -"No! no!" she said. "No! no! Not that way. Not that. Not such a -sacrifice as that. Never! never never!" - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE ROMANCE OF MONSIEUR VANDECQUE - - -An evening or so after the meeting between Laure Vauxcelles and Walter -Clarges at the gambling hell kept by the Demoiselles Montjoie, -Vandecque sat in the saloon of his apartments in the Passage du -Commerce. Very comfortable apartments they were, too, if bizarre -ornaments and rococo furniture, combined with the most gorgeous -colours possible to be obtained, could be considered as providing -comfort. Yet, since it was a period of bizarrerie and whimsical -caprice in furniture, clothing, and life generally (including morals), -it may be that, to most people--certainly to most people with whom the -once broken-down but now successful gambler was permitted to -associate--the rococo nature of his surroundings would not have -appeared particularly out of place. And, undoubtedly, such a warm nest -must have brought comfort to the heart of the man who paid at the -present moment 250f. a week for the right of occupying that nest, -since there had been a time once when he scarce knew how to find one -franc a day whereby to pay in advance for a night's lodgings in a back -alley. Also, he had passed, previously to that period of discomfort, a -portion of his life away from Paris in a condition which the French -termed politely (whenever they mentioned such an unpleasant subject) -"in retreat," and had been subjected to a process that they designated -as "_marqué_," which, in plain English, means that he had been at the -galleys as a slave and had been branded. "For the cause of religion," -he said, if he ever said anything at all on the subject; "for a -question of theft and larceny with violence" being, however, written -in the factum of the eminent French counsel who appeared against him -before the judges in Paris. - -His life had been a romance, he was in the habit of observing in his -moments of ease, which were when the gambling hells were closed during -the day-time, or the stockbrokers' offices in the Rues Quincampoix and -Vivienne during the night-time. And so, indeed, it had been if romance -is constituted and made up of robbery, cheating, chicanery, the -wearing of blazing scarlet coats one month and the standing -bare-backed in prison yards during the next, there to have the -shoulders and loins scourged with a whip previously steeped in brine. -A romance, if drinking flasks of champagne and iced tokay at one -period, and water out of street fountains at another, or riding in -gilt sedan-chairs one week and being flogged along at a cart tail -another, formed one. For all these things had happened to Jean -Vandecque, as well as the galleys in the past, with the carcan, or -collar around his neck, and the possession of the gorgeous apartments -in the Passage du Commerce at the present moment--all these, and many -more. - -With also another romance--or the commencement and foundation of one. -That which has now to be told. - -Struggling on foot along the great road that leads from the South to -Paris, ten years before this story begins, Jean Vandecque (with the -discharge of a liberated convict from the galley _Le Requin_ huddled -away in the bosom of his filthy shirt) viewed the capital at last--his -face burnt black by the Mediterranean suns under which he had slaved -for five years, and by the hot winds which had swept over his -nakedness during that time. God knows how he would have got so far, -how have traversed those weary miles without falling dead by the -wayside, had it not been for that internal power which he possessed -(in common with the lowest, as well as the highest of beasts) of -finding subsistence somehow; of supporting life. An egg stolen here -and there along the country roads; a fowl seized, throttled, and eaten -raw, if no sticks could be found wherewith to make a fire; a child -robbed of a loaf--and lucky that it was not throttled too; a lonely -grange despoiled; a shopkeeper's till in some hamlet emptied of a few -sous; a woman cajoled out of a drink of common wine; and Paris at -last. Paris, the home of the rich and well-to-do; the refuge of every -knave and sharper who wished to prey upon others. Paris, into which he -limped footsore and weary, and clad in dusty rags; Paris, full of -wealth and full of fools to be exploited. - -He found his home, or, at least, he found the home in which his unhappy -wife sheltered; a garret under the roof of a crazy, tumble-down -house behind Notre Dame--found both home and wife after a day's -search and many inquiries made in cellars and reeking courts and -hideous alleys, into which none were allowed to penetrate except those -who bore the brand of vagabond and scoundrel stamped clear and -indelible upon them. - -Also, he found something else: A child--a girl eight years -old--playing in a heap of charred faggots in the chimney; a child who -told him that she was hungry, and that there was no food at all in the -place. - -"Whose is the brat?" he asked of his wife, knowing very well that, at -least, it was not hers, since it must of a certainty have been born -three years before he went "into retreat" on the Mediterranean. -"Whose? Have you grown so rich that you adopt children now; or is it -paid for, eh?" - -"It is paid for," the patient creature said, shuddering at the man's -return, since she had hoped that he had died in the galley and would -never, consequently, wander back to Paris to molest her. "Paid for, -and will be----" - -"Badly paid for, at least, since its adoption leads you to no better -circumstances than these in which I find you. Give me some food. I -have eaten nothing for hours." - -"Nor I; nor the child there. Not for twenty-four hours. I have not a -sol; nor anything to sell." - -The man looked at his wife from under bushy black eyebrows--though -eyebrows not much blacker than his baked face; then he thrust his hand -into his pocket and drew forth five sols and weighed them in his hands -as though they were gold pieces. He had stolen them that morning from -the basket of a blind man sleeping in the sun outside St. Roch, when -no one was looking. - -"Go, buy bread," he said. "Get something. I am starving. Go." - -"Bread--with these! They will not buy enough for one. And we are so -hungry, she and I. See, the child weeps for hunger. Have you no more?" - -"Not a coin. Have you?" - -"Alas! God, He knows! Nothing. And we are dying of hunger." - -"How is it you are not at work, earning something?" - -"They will trust me no more. They fear I shall sell the goods confided -to me. Who entrusts velvets, or silk, or laces to such as I, or lets -such as I enter their shops to work there?" - -"What is to be done, then?" - -"Die," the woman said. "There is nought else to do." - -"Bah! In Paris! Imbecile! In Paris, full of wealth and food! Stay here -till I return." - -And he went swiftly out. Some hours later, when the sun had sunk -behind the great roof of the Cathedral, when the children were playing -about beneath the spot where the statues were, and when the pigeons -were seeking their niches, those three were eating a hearty meal, all -seated on the floor, since there was neither chair nor table nor bed -within the room; a meal consisting of a loaf, a piece of bacon, and -some hard-boiled eggs. The woman and the child got but a poor share, -'tis true, their portions being the morsels which Vandecque tossed to -them every now and again; while of a wine bottle, which he constantly -applied to his mouth, they got nothing at all. Yet their hunger was -appeased; they were glad enough to do without drink. - -* * * * * * - -The passing years brought changes to two of these outcasts, as it did -to the wealthy in Paris. Vandecque's wife had died of the small-pox -twelve months after his return; the adopted child, Vandecque's -_niece_, Mdlle. Vauxcelles, was developing fast into a lovely girl; -while as for Vandecque--well! the gallows bird, the man who had worn -the iron collar round his neck and who bore upon his shoulders the -brand, had disappeared, and in his place had come a grave, sedate -person clad always in sombre clothes, yet a man conspicuous for the -purity of his linen and lace and the neatness of his attire. While, -although he had not as yet attained to the splendour of the Passage du -Commerce, his rooms in the Rue du Paon were comfortable and there was -no lack of either food, or drink, or fuel--the three things that the -outcast who has escaped and triumphed over the miseries and memories -of the past most seeks to make sure of in the future. - -He was known also to great and rich personages now, he had patrons -amongst the nobility and was acquainted with the roués who circled -round the Regent. He was prominent, and, as he frequently told -himself, was "respected." - -He was a successful man. - -How he had become so, however, he did not dilate on--or certainly not -on the earlier of his successes after his reappearance!--even when -making those statements about his romantic life with which he -occasionally favoured his friends. Had he done so, he would not, -perhaps, have shocked very much the ears, or morals, of his listeners, -but he must, at least, have betrayed the names of several eminent -patrons for whom he had done dirty work in a manner which might have -placed his own ears, if not his life, in danger, and would, thereby, -probably have led to his once more traversing the road to Marseilles -or to Cette--which is almost the same thing--to again partake of the -shelter of the galleys. - -Yet he would never have found or come into contact with these -illustrious patrons, these men who required secret agents to minister -to their private pleasures, had it not been for a stupendous piece of -good fortune which befell him shortly after his return to Paris from -the Mediterranean. It was, indeed, so strange a piece of good fortune -that it may well be set down here as a striking instance of how the -Devil takes care of his own. - -From his late wife he had never been able to obtain any information as -to who "the brat" was whom he had found playing about in the ashes on -the hearth in the garret, when he returned from his period of southern -seclusion; he had not found out even so much as what name she was -supposed to bear, except that of "Laure," which seemed to have been -bestowed on the child by Madame Vandecque on the principle that one -name was as good as another by which to call a child. She had said -herself that she did not know anything further--that, being horribly -poor after Vandecque had departed for the south, she had yielded to -the offer of an abbé--now dead--to adopt the girl, twenty-five -louis-d'ors being paid to her for doing so. That was all, she said, -that she knew. But, she added (with a firmness which considerably -astonished her lord and master) that, especially as she had come to -love the creature which was so dependent on her, she meant to carry -out her contract and to do her best by her. To Vandecque's suspicious -nature--a nature sharpened by countless acts of roguery of all -kinds--this statement presented itself as a lie, and he believed that -either his wife had received a very much larger sum of money in -payment for the child's adoption than she had stated, or that she was -surreptitiously receiving regular sums of money at intervals on its -behalf. Of the two ideas, he inclined more to the latter than the -former, and it was owing to this belief that he did not at once take -steps to disembarrass himself of the burden with which he found -himself saddled, and send the child of at once to the Home of the -Foundlings whence she would eventually have been sold to a beggar for -a few livres and trained to demand alms in the street, as usually -happened to deserted children in the reign of Louis the Great. Later -on he was thankful--he told himself that he was "devoutly -thankful"--that he had never done anything of the sort. - -He was one day, about a year after his wife's death, mounting the -ricketty stairs which led to the garret in which he had found the -woman on his return, when, to his astonishment, he saw a Sister of -Charity standing outside the door of his room, looking hesitatingly -about her, and glancing down towards him as he ascended to where she -was. And it was very evident to him that the woman had been knocking -at his door without receiving any answer to her summons. This was a -thing certain to happen in any case, since it was Vandecque's habit on -quitting his shelter during the day-time to send Laure to play with -all the other vagrant children of the alley, and to put the key in his -pocket. At night, the plan was varied somewhat when he went forth, the -girl being sent to her bed and locked into the room for safety. - -"Madame desires--?" he said now, as he reached the landing on which -the sister stood, while taking off his frayed hat to her with an -inimitable gesture of politeness which his varied and "romantic" -career had taught him well enough how to assume when necessary. -"Madame desires----" - -"To see the woman, Madame Jasmin," the sister answered, her grave -solemn eyes roving over the man's poor clothes as she answered. Or, -perhaps, since his clothes in such a spot as this would scarcely be -out of place, examining his face with curiosity. - -"Madame Jasmin!" he repeated to himself, but to himself only--"Madame -Jasmin!" How long it was since he had heard that name! Ages ago, it -seemed; ages. "Madame Jasmin!" The name his wife had borne as a young -widow of twenty, the name she had parted with for ever, on the morning -when she gave herself to him at the altar of St. Vincent de Paul. Yet, -now, of late years, she seemed to have used it again for some reason, -some purpose, and had probably done so during his retreat. Only--what -was that purpose? He must know that. - -"Madame Jasmin," he said in a subdued voice--a voice that was meant -to, and perhaps did, express some sorrow for the worn, broken helpmate -and drudge who had gone away and left him, "Madame Jasmin is dead. A -year ago. My poor wife was delicate; our circumstances did not conduce -to----" - -"Ah! your wife. You are, then, Monsieur Jasmin? She doubtless, -therefore--you--you understand why I am here? That I have brought what -was promised." - -Understanding nothing, utterly astonished, yet with those consoling -words, "I have brought what was promised," sinking deep into his mind, -Vandecque bowed his head acquiescingly. - -"I understand," he said. "Understand perfectly. Will not Madame give -herself the trouble to enter my poor abode? We can talk there at our -leisure." And he opened the door and ushered her within. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A SISTER OF MERCY - - -Some betterment of his circumstances must have come to Vandecque -between the time when he had returned from the South and now (how it -had come, whether by villainy or honest labour, if he ever turned his -hand to such a thing, it would be impossible to say), since the -garret, though still poor and miserable, presented a better appearance -than it had previously done. There were, to wit, some chairs in it at -this time; cheap common things, yet fit to sit upon; a table with the -pretence of a cloth upon it; also a carpet, with a pattern that must -once have been so splendid that the beholder could but conclude that -it had passed from hand to hand in its descent, until it had at last' -reached this place. A miserable screen also shut off a bed in which, -doubtless, Vandecque reposed, while a large cupboard was fitted up as -a small bedroom, or closet, in which possibly the child slept. - -In one of these chairs the owner of the room invited his visitor to be -seated, in the other he placed himself, the table between them. Then, -after a pause, while Vandecque's eyes sought again and again those of -the sister's, as though their owner was wondering what the next -revelation would be, the latter recommenced the conversation. She -repeated, too, the purport of her former words, if not the words -themselves. - -"Doubtless Madame Jasmin told you that you might expect my coming. It -has been delayed longer than it should have been. Yet--yet--even in -the circumstances of my--of the person for whom I act--money is not -always quite easy to be obtained," and she looked at Vandecque as -though expecting an answer in assent. - -"Naturally. Naturally," he made haste to reply, his quick wits -prompting him to understand what that reply should be, while also they -told him that this explanation, coupled with the presence here of the -visitor, gave an almost certain testimony to the fact that the money -mentioned had been now obtained. "Naturally. And--and--it was of no -import. Since my poor wife passed away we have managed to struggle -through our existence somehow." - -Yet he would have given those ears which had so often been in peril of -the executioner's knife to know from what possible source any money -could have become due to his late wife. Her first husband had died in -almost poverty, he recalled; they had soon spent what little he had -had to leave his widow. Then, even as he thus pondered, the sister's -voice broke in on him again. - -"It is understood that this is the last sum. And that it is applied, -as agreed upon with your late wife, to the proper bringing up and -educating of the child, and to her support by you. You understand -that; you give your promise as a man of honour? Your wife said that -you were a 'sailor'--sailors are, I have heard, always honourable -men." - -"I--I was a sailor at the time she took charge of little Laure. As -one--as a man of honour--I promise. She shall have nought to complain -of. And I have come to love her. I--believe me--I have been good to -her, as good as, in my circumstances, I could be." - -And, knave as Vandecque was, he was speaking the truth now. He had -been good to the child. These two, so strangely brought together, had -grown fond of each other, and the vagabond not only found a place in -his heart for the little thing, but, which was equally as much to the -purpose, found for himself a place in hers. If he had ever seriously -thought, in the first days of finding her in his garret, of sending -her to the home for abandoned children, he had long since forgotten -those ideas. He would not have parted with her now for that possible -sum of money which it seemed extremely likely he was going to become -the possessor of for having retained her. - -"I do not doubt it. Yet, ere I can give you the money, there are -conditions to be complied with. First, I must see the child; next, you -must give me your solemn promise--a promise in writing--that you will -conform to my demands as to the bringing of her up. You will not -refuse?" - -"Refuse!" said Vandecque. "Refuse! Madame, what is there to refuse? -That which you demand is that which I have ever intended, not -knowing that you were--not knowing when to expect your coming. Now -you have brought the money--you have brought it, have you not?" -speaking a little eagerly (for the life of him he could not help that -eagerness)--"my dearest desire can be accomplished." - -"Yes, I have brought it," the woman answered. "It is here," and she -took from out her pocket a little canvas sack or bag, that to -Vandecque's eyes looked plump and fat. "It contains the promised sum," -she said, "and it is--should be--enough. With that the child can be -fed, clothed, educated, if you husband it well. Fitted for a decent, -if simple, life. You agree that it is so, Monsieur Jasmin?" - -Vandecque bowed his head courteously, acquiescingly, while muttering, -"Without doubt it is enough with careful husbanding." Yet, once more -he would have given everything, all he had in the world--though 'twas -little enough--to know what that small canvas bag contained. While, as -for acquiescing in its sufficiency, he would have done that even -though it contained but a handful of silver, as he thought might after -all be the case. - -"Take it then," she said, passing it across the table to him, while -the principal thought in Vandecque's mind as she did so was that, -whosoever had chosen this simpleton for his, or her agent, must be a -fool, or one who had but little choice in the selection of a -go-between, "and, if you choose, count the gold; you will find it as -promised." - -Count the gold! So it was gold! A bag full! Some two or three hundred -pieces at least, or he, whose whole life had been spent in getting -such things by hook or by crook, in gambling hells, or by, as that -accursed advocate had said who prosecuted for the King, theft and -larceny, or as a coiner, was unable to form any judgment. And they -were his, must be his, now. Were they not in his own room, to his -hand? Even though this idiotic Sister of Charity should decide to -repossess herself of them, what chance would she have of doing so. -Against him, the ex-galley slave. Him! the knave. - -Yet he had to play a part, to reserve his efforts for something more -than this present bag of louis'. If one such was forthcoming, another -might be, in spite of what the foolish woman had said about it being -the last; for were there not such things as spyings and trackings, and -the unearthing of secrets; would there not be, afterwards, such things -as the discovery of some wealthy man or woman's false step? Oh that it -might be a woman's, since they were so much easier to deal with. And -then, extortion; blackmail. Ha! there was a bird somewhere in France -that laid golden eggs--that would lay golden eggs so long as it lived; -one that must be nourished and fed with confidence--at least, at -first--not frightened away. - -He pushed the bag back towards the Sister, remembering he could wrench -it from her again at any moment. With a calm dignity, which might well -have become the most highbred gentleman of the Quartier St. Germain -hard by, he muttered that, as for counting, such an outrage was not to -be thought upon. Also he said: - -"Madame has not seen the child. She stipulated that she should do so. -Had she not thus stipulated, I must myself have requested her to see -her." - -Then he quitted the room, leaving the bag of money lying on the table, -and, descending one or two of the flights of stairs, sent a child whom -he knew, and whom he happened to observe leaving another room, to seek -for little Laure and bid her return at once. At one moment ere he -descended he had thought of turning the key (which he had left outside -when he and his visitor entered the apartment) softly in the lock and -thereby preventing her from escaping; but he remembered that he would -be on the stairs between her and the street, and that he did not mean -to go farther than the doorstep. She was safe. - -He returned, therefore, saying that the child would be with them -shortly. Then to expedite matters (as he said), he asked if it would -not be well for him to sign the receipt as desired? The receipt or -promise, as to what he undertook to perform. - -"That, too, is here," she replied, while Vandecque's shrewd eye -noticed, even as she spoke, that the bag of louis' lay untouched as he -had left it. "Read it, then sign." - -He did read it, laughing inwardly to himself meanwhile, though showing -a grave, thoughtful face outwardly, since his sharp intelligence told -him that it was a document of no value whatever. It was made out in -the form of a receipt from Madame Jasmin--who had had no legal -existence for twelve years, and was now dead--to a person whose name -was carefully and studiously omitted from the paper (though that, he -knew, would afterwards be filled up) on behalf of a female child, -"styled Laure by the woman Jasmin." A piece of paper, he told himself, -not worth the drop of ink spilt upon it. Or, even though it were so, -not ever likely to be used or produced by the individual who took such -pains to shroud himself, or herself, in mystery. A worthless document, -which he would have signed for a franc, let alone a bag of golden -louis.' - -Aloud, however, he said: - -"To make it legal in the eyes of his Majesty's judges, the name of my -dear wife must be altered to that of mine. Shall I do it or will you?" - -"You, if it pleases you." - -Whereon Vandecque altered the name of "la femme Jasmin" to that of "le -Sieur Jasmin," householder, since, as he justly remarked aloud, he was -no longer a sailor, and then, with many flourishes--he being a master -hand at penmanship of all kinds--signed beneath the document the -words, "Christophe Jasmin." Christophe was not his name, but, as he -said to himself saturninely, no more was Jasmin, wherefore he might as -well assume the one as the other. Moreover, he reflected that should -the paper ever see the light again, it might be just as well for him -to be able to deny the whole name as a part of it. - -As he finished this portion of the transaction, the door opened and -little Laure came in, hot and flushed with the games she had been -playing with the other _gamines_ of the court, yet with already upon -her face the promise of that beauty which was a few years later to -captivate the hearts of all who saw her, including the Duc Desparre -and the English exile, Walter Clarges. Only, there was as yet no sign -upon that face of the melancholy and sorrow which those later years -brought to it as she came to understand the life her guardian led; to -understand, too, the rottenness of the existence by which she was -surrounded. Instead, she was bright and merry as a child of her years -should be, gay and insouciant, not understanding nor foreseeing how -dark an opening to Life's future was hers. As for externals, she was -well enough dressed; better dressed, indeed, than those among whom she -mixed. Her little frock of dark Nimes serge--the almost invariable -costume of the lowly in France--was not a mass of rags and filth, her -boots and thread stockings not altogether a mockery. - -"Madame sees," Vandecque remarked, as the child ran towards him with -her hands outstretched and her eyes full of gladness, until she -stopped, embarrassed at the sight of the strange lady with the solemn -glance; "Madame sees; she recognises that she need have no fear, no -apprehension." - -"I see." Then, because she was a woman, she called Laure to her and -kissed and fondled the child, muttering, "Poor child; poor little -thing," beneath her breath. And, though she would have shuddered and -besought pardon for days and nights afterwards on her knees, had she -recognised what was passing through her mind, she was in truth -uttering maledictions on the mother who could thus send away for ever -from her so gentle and helpless a little creature as this; who could -send her forth to the life she was now leading, to the life that must -be before her. - -The interview was at an end, and the sister rose from her seat. As for -Vandecque, he would willingly have given half of whatever might be in -that bag of money still lying on the table--his well-acted -indifference to the presence of such a thing preventing him from even -casting the most casual glance at it--could he have dared to ask one -question, or throw out one inquiry as to whom the principal might be -in the affair. Yet it was impossible to do so since he was supposed to -know all that his wife had known, while actually not aware if she -herself had been kept in ignorance of the child's connections or, on -the contrary, had been confided in. "If she had only known more," he -thought; "or, knowing more, had only divulged all to me." - -But she was in her grave now, and, rascal though he had been, he could -not bring himself to curse the poor drudge lying in that grave for -having held her peace against such a man as he was, and knew himself -to be. If she knew all, then, he acknowledged, it was best she should -be silent; if she knew nothing--as he thought most likely--so, also, -it was best. - -But, still, he meant to know himself, if possible, something about the -child's origin. He, at least, was under no promised bond of secrecy -and silence; he had never been confided in. For, to know everything -was, he felt certain, to see a comfortable future unroll itself before -him; a future free from all money troubles--the only discomfort which -he could imagine was serious in this world. The person who had sent -that bag of louis'--the woman had said it contained gold!--he repeated -to himself, could doubtless provide many more. He must know who that -person was. - -With still an easy grace which seemed to be the remnant of a higher -life than that in which he now existed, he held the door open for his -visitor to pass out; with equally easy politeness he followed her down -the ricketty stairs and would have escorted her to the end of the -court, or alley, and afterwards, unknown to her, have followed the -simple creature to whatever portion of Paris she might have gone, -never losing sight of his quarry, but that, at the threshold, she -stopped suddenly and bade him come no farther. - -"It must not be," she said. "Monsieur Jasmin, return. And--forget not -your duty to the child." - -For a moment he paused dumfoundered, perceiving that this simpleton -was, in sober truth, no such fool as he had supposed her. Then he -bowed, wished her good day, promising all required of him as he did -so, and retired back into the passage of the house. Nor could any -glance thrown through the crack of the open door aid him farther. He -saw her pause at the entrance to the court, and, standing still, look -back for some minutes or so, as though desirous of observing if he was -following her; also, he saw her glance directed to the window of his -room above, as though seeking to discover if he was glancing out of -it; if he had rushed up there to spy upon her. - -Then, a moment later, she was gone from out the entrance to the court. -And, creeping swiftly now to that entrance, and straining his eyes up -and down the long street, he observed that no sign of the woman was -visible. - -He had lost all trace of her. - -Amidst the hackney coaches and the hucksters' carts, and, sometimes, a -passing carriage of the nobility from the neighbouring Quartier St. -Germain, she had disappeared, leaving no sign behind. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE DUKE'S DESIRE - -Vandecque never discovered who that woman was, whence she came, nor -where she vanished to. Never, though he brought to bear upon the quest -which he instituted for her an amount of intelligent search that his -long training in all kinds of cunning had well fitted him to put in -action. He watched for days, nay, weeks, in the neighbourhood of the -Hospital of Mercy, to or from which most of the Sisters, who were not -engaged in nursing or other acts of charity elsewhere, passed -regularly--yet never, amongst some scores of them who met his eyes, -could he discover the woman he sought. He questioned, too, those in -the court who had been dwelling there when first his wife came to -occupy the garret in which he had found her later, as to whether they -could remember aught of the arrival of the child. He asked questions -that produced nothing satisfactory, since all testified to the truth -of that which the poor woman had so often told him--namely, that the -child was brought to her before she came to this spot. Indeed, he -would have questioned Laure herself as to what she could remember -concerning her earliest years, only what use was it to ask questions -of one who had been but an infant, unable even to talk, at the time -the event happened. - -At last--and after being confronted for months by nothing but a dense -blackness of oblivion which he could not penetrate--he decided that -the woman who had appeared to him as a simple and unsophisticated -_religieuse_, capable only of blindly and faithfully carrying out the -orders given to her by another person, was, in truth, no Sister of -Charity whatever, but a scheming person who had temporarily assumed -the garb she wore as a disguise. He came also to believe that she -herself was Laure's mother, that she had bound herself in some way to -make the payment which he had by such extreme good fortune become the -recipient of, and that, in one thing at least, she had uttered the -actual truth--the actual truth when she had said that those louis' -would be the last forthcoming, that there could never be any more. Had -she not, he recalled to mind, said that such a sum as she brought was -not easily come by, as an excuse for her not having paid them before? -Also, had she not wept a little over the child, folded her to her -bosom, and called her "Poor little thing"? Did not both these things -most probably point to the fact that, judged by the latter actions, -she was the girl's mother, and, according to the statement which -preceded it, that she was not a woman of extraordinarily large means? -Had she been so, she would have been both able and willing to pay down -more than five hundred louis' for the hiding of her secret, and would, -to have that secret kept always safely (and also to possess the power -of seeing the child now and again without fear of detection) have been -prepared to make fresh payments from time to time. - -For five hundred louis' was what the canvas bag had contained. Five -hundred louis', as Vandecque found when, on returning to the garret -after losing sight of the woman at the entrance to the court, he had -turned them all out on to the table. Five hundred louis' exactly, -neither more nor less, proving that the sum was a carefully counted -one; doubtless, too, one duly arranged for. Louis' that were of all -kinds, and of the reigns during which they had been in existence--the -original ones of Louis the Just; the more imposing ones of Le Roi -Soleil, with the great sun blazing on the reverse side; the bright, -new ones but recently struck for the present boy-king by order of the -Regent; all of which led the astute Vandecque to conclude that the -pile had been long accumulating--that the first batch might be an old -nest egg, or an inheritance; that the second batch was made up of -savings added gradually; that the third had been got together by hook -or by crook, with a determination to complete the full sum. - -"Yet, what matters!" he said, to himself, as he tossed the gold pieces -about in his eager hands, and gloated over them with his greedy eyes; -tossing, too, a double louis d'or of the treacherous Le Juste, which -he had come across, to the child to play with--"what matters where -they come from, how they were gathered together to hide a woman's -shame? They are mine now! Mine! Mine! Mine! A capital! A bank! The -foundation of a fortune, carefully handled! Come, child; come, Laure; -come with me. To the _fournisseur's_, first; then to the dining rooms. -Some new, clean clothes for both of us, and then a meal to make our -hearts dance within us. We are rich, my child; rich, my little one. -Rich! Rich! Rich!" - -For, to the whilom beggared outcast and galley slave, five hundred -louis' were wealth. - -Time passed; in truth it seemed that Vandecque was indeed rich, or -growing rich. The garret was left behind; four rooms in the Rue du -Paon preceded by a year or so that apartment in the Passage du -Commerce at which he eventually arrived. Four rooms, one a -dining-room, another a parlour, in which at midnight there came -sometimes a score of men to gamble--women sometimes came too--and a -bedroom for each. He was growing well-to-do, his capital accumulating -as capital will accumulate in the hands of the man who always holds -the bank and makes it a stipulation that, on those terms alone, can -people gamble beneath his roof. - -Meanwhile Laure was fast developing into a woman--was one almost. She -was now seventeen, for she was within a year of the time when the -exile, Walter Clarges, was to whisper the words of suggested salvation -in her ear in the saloon of the demoiselles Montjoie--suggested -salvation from her marriage with Monsieur le Duc Desparre, from his -embraces. A beautiful girl, too, with her sweet hair bound up now -about her shapely head, her deep hazel eyes full and lustrous, calm -and pure. Una herself passed no more undefiled amidst the horrors of -Wandering Wood than did Laure Vauxcelles amidst the gamblers and the -dissolute _roués_ who surrounded the court of Philippe le Débonnaire, -and who, ere the games began at night--when occasionally permitted to -see her--found time to cast admiring glances at her wondrous, -fast-budding beauty. - -The name Vauxcelles was, of course, no more hers than was that of -Laure, which had been given to her by poor Madame Vandecque when first -she took the deserted and discarded waif to her kindly heart. But as -Vandecque had elected to style her his niece, so, too, he decided to -give her a name which would have been that of an actual niece if he -had ever had one. He recalled the fact that he had once possessed an -elder sister, now long since dead, who had married a man from Lorraine -whose name was Vauxcelles, and, he being also dead, the name was -bestowed on his _protégée_. It answered well enough, he told himself, -since Laure had come to his late wife far too early in her life to -remember aught that had preceded her arrival under the roof of the -unhappy woman's earlier garret; and it formed a sufficient answer and -explanation to any questions the girl might ever ask as to her origin. -In sober fact, she believed that she was actually the child of his -dead and gone sister and her husband. - -She would have loved her uncle more dearly than she did--she would -have loved the grave, serious man who had suffered so for his -"religion," as he often told her, but for two things. The first was -that she knew him to be a gambler; that he grew rich by enticing men -to his apartments and by winning their money; that several young men -had been ruined beneath their roof, and that more than one had -destroyed himself after such ruin had fallen upon him. She knew, too, -that others stole so as to be able to take part in the faro and biribi -that was played there; to take part, too, in the brilliant society of -those members of the aristocracy who condescended to visit the Rue du -Paon and to win their stolen money. For there sometimes came, amongst -others, that most horrible of young roués, the Duc de Richelieu and -Fronsac, from whom the girl shrank as from a leper, or some noisome -reptile; there, too, came De Noailles, reeking with the impurities of -an unclean life; and De Biron, who was almost as bad. Sometimes also, -amongst the women, came the proud De Sabran, who condescended to be -the Regent's "friend," but redeemed herself in her own eyes by -insulting him hourly, and by telling him that, when God had finished -making men and lackeys, He took the remnants of the clay and made -Kings and Regents. Laughing La Phalaris came, too, sometimes; also -Madame de Parabère; once the Regent came himself; leaning heavily on -the arm of his Scotch financier, and, under his astute mathematical -calculations, managed to secure a large number of Vandecque's -pistoles, so that the latter cursed inwardly while maintaining -outwardly a face as calm and still as alabaster. - -An illustrious company was this which met in the ex-galley slave's -apartments! - -What to Laure was worse than all, however, was that her uncle -sometimes desired her to be agreeable to occasional guests who -honoured his rooms with their presence. Not, it is true, to the -dissolute roués nor the Regent's mistresses--to do the soiled and -smirched swindler of bygone days justice, he respected the girl's -innocence and purity too much for that--nor to those men who were -married and from whom there was nothing to be obtained. But he -perceived clearly enough her swift developing beauty; he knew that -there, in that beauty, was a charm so fresh and fascinating that it -might well be set as a stake against a great title, an ancient and -proud name, the possession of enormous wealth. Before loveliness -inferior to Laure's, and purity not more deep--for such would have -been impossible--he had known of, heard of, the heads of the noblest -houses in France bowing, while exchanging for the possession of such -charms the right to share their names. What had happened before, he -mused, might well happen again. - -Laure, the outcast, the outcome of the gutters and the mud, the -abandoned child, might yet live to share a ducal coronet, a name borne -with honour since the days of the early Capets. And, with her, he -would mount, too, go hand in hand, put away for ever a disgraceful -past, a past from which he still feared that some spectre might yet -arise to denounce and proclaim him. If she would only yield to his -counsel--only do that! If she only would! - -Suitors such as he desired were not lacking. One, he was resolved she -should accept by hook or by crook, as he said to himself in his own -phrase. This was the newly succeeded Duc Desparre, the man who a year -before had been serving as an officer on paltry pay in the Regiment de -Bellebrune, and taking part in the Catalonian campaign--the man who, -in middle life, had succeeded to a dukedom which a boy of eighteen had -himself succeeded to but a year before that. But the lad was then -already worn out with dissipation which a sickly constitution, -transmitted to him by half-a-dozen equally dissipated forerunners, was -not able to withstand. A cold contracted at a midnight fête given by -the Regent in the gardens of Madame de Parabère's country villa at -Asnieres, had done its work. It had placed in the hands of the soldier -who had nothing but his pay and his bundle of swords (and a few -presents occasionally sent him by an admiring woman), a dukedom, a -large estate, a great rent-roll. - -It was six months before that snowy night on which the Marquise -Grignan de Poissy paid her visit to Monsieur le Duc, that Desparre, -flinging all considerations of family, of an ancient title and a still -more ancient name, to the winds, determined that this girl should be -his wife, that he would buy her with his coronet, since in no other -way could she be his. - -"I desire her. I love her. I will possess her," he said to himself by -night and day; "I will. I must marry her. Curse it, 'tis strange, too, -how her beauty has bound me down; I who have loved so many, yet never -thought of marrying one of them. I, the poor soldier, who had nothing -to offer in exchange for a woman's heart but a wedding ring, and would -never give even that. Now that I am well to do, a great prize, I -sacrifice myself." - -Yet he chuckled, too, as he resolved to make the sacrifice, -recognising that it was not only his love for and desire of possessing -this girl which was egging him on to the determination, but something -else as well. The desire to retaliate upon his numerous kinswomen who -had once ignored him, but who now grovelled at his feet. To wound, as -he termed them, the "women of his tribe," whose doors were mostly shut -to the beggarly captain of the Regiment de Bellebrune, but who, in -every case, would have now prostrated themselves before him with -pleasure--the elder ones because there was much of the family wealth -which he might direct towards them and their children eventually, if -he so chose, and also because rumour said that his acquaintanceship -with the Regent and John Law was doubling and trebling that wealth; -the younger ones because there was the title and the coronet and the -great position ready to be shared with some woman. Yet he meant to -defeat them all, to retaliate upon them for past slights. The only -share which they should have in any wedding of his would be the -witnessing of it with another woman, and that a woman of whom no one -knew anything beyond the fact that she belonged to the inferior -classes, and was the niece and ward of a man who kept a -gambling-house. - -It would be a great, a stupendous retaliation--a retaliation he could -gloat over and revel in; a repayment for all he had endured in his -earlier days. - -One thing alone stood in the way of the accomplishment of that -retaliation. Laure Vauxcelles refused absolutely to consent to become -the Duchesse Desparre--indeed, to marry anyone--as Vandecque told -Monsieur after he had well sounded his niece on the subject. - -"Refuses!" Desparre exclaimed. "Refuses! It is incredible. Is there -any other? That English exile to wit, the man Clarges? If I know aught -of human emotions, he, too, loves her." - -"She has refused him also." - -"Yet the cases are widely different. He is a beggar; I am Desparre." - -"She avers she will marry no one. She has also strange scruples about -this house, about the establishment I keep. She says that from such a -home as this no woman is fit to go forth as a wife." - -"Her scruples show that she, at least, is fit to do so. Vandecque, she -must be my wife. I am resolved. What pressure can you bring to bear -upon her? Oh! that I, Desparre, should be forced to sue thus!" he -broke off, muttering to himself in his rage. - -"I must think, reflect," Vandecque replied. "Leave it to me. You are -willing to wait, Monsieur?" - -"I must have her. She must be my wife." - -"Leave it to me." - -Monsieur did leave it to him, and, as the autumn drew towards the -winter, Vandecque was able to tell his employer--for such he was--that -all scruples were overcome, that the girl was willing to become his -wife. One thing, however, he did not tell--namely, the influence he -had brought to bear upon her, such influence consisting of the -information he had furnished as to her being an unknown and nameless -waif and stray, who, as he said, he had adopted out of charity. For, -naturally enough, he omitted all mention of the bag of louis' d'or -which he had received on her behalf, and also all mention of anything -else which he imagined his wife had previously received. So, when his -tale was done, it was with no astonishment that he heard Laure -Vauxcelles announce that she was willing to become the Duchesse -Desparre, since he concluded that, as she had now learnt who she -was--or rather who she was not--she was willing to sink all trace of -what she doubtless considered was a shameful origin in a brilliant -future. It never dawned upon his warped and sordid mind that this very -story, while seeming to induce her to compliance, had, in truth, -forced her to a determination to seek oblivion in a manner far -different from that of marriage; an oblivion which should be utter. - -As for Desparre, he asked no questions as to how Vandecque had brought -her to that compliance. It was sufficient for him to know, and revel -in the knowledge, that the girl, who moved his middle-aged pulses in a -manner in which they had never been stirred for years before by any -woman, was now to be his possession; sufficient for him also to know -that, in so becoming possessed of her, he would be able to administer -a crushing blow to the vanity as well as the cupidity of the family -which had so long ignored him; a blow from which he thought it was -very doubtful if their arrogance could ever recover. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE DUKE'S BRIDE - - -The Duc Desparre was making his toilette for his approaching -marriage--about to take place at midday at the church of St. Gervais, -which was conveniently placed between the streets in which his mansion -and Vandecque's new apartments were situated. - -Strange to say, Monsieur was in a bad temper for such a joyous -occasion, and, in consequence, his valet was passing an extremely bad -time. Many things had conspired to bring about this unfortunate state -of affairs, the foremost of which was that there had been a great fall -in the value of "Mississippians" or "Louisiana" stock, owing to the -fact that adverse accounts were reaching France as to the state of the -colony. Some of the settlers, who had gone out within the last two or -three years, had but recently returned and given the lie to all the -flourishing accounts so assiduously put about. There were, they said, -neither gold mines nor silver to be found there, as had been stated; -the Indians, especially the Natchez, were in open warfare with the -French and slaughtering all who came in their way; the soil was -unproductive, marshy and feverous--the colonists were dying by -hundreds. Law, the great promoter of the Louisiana scheme, was a liar, -they said, while, La Salle and Hennepin, the Franciscan monk who had -sent home such flourishing accounts to the late king, were, they -added, the same; and so were all who held out any hopes that Louisiana -could ever be aught to France but a suitable place to which to send -its surplus population, there to find death. It is true these -wanderers had been flung into the Bastille for daring to return and -promulgate such statements--but, all the same, those statements had -their effect on the funds, and "Mississippians" had fallen. - -Wherefore the Duc Desparre was a poorer man on this, his wedding morn, -than he had been yesterday, by one-half his newly acquired wealth, and -he was in a great state of irritation in consequence. While, also, he -remembered at this moment that Vandecque had had a deal of money from -him, none of which he was ever likely to see the colour of again. So -that, altogether, he was in a very bad humour--and there were other -things besides to annoy him. - -"Have you sent this morning to enquire how Mademoiselle Vauxcelles -is?" he asked of his valet, who at this moment was affixing a patch to -his face. "She has not been well for four days, and has been -invisible. I trust her health is restored. What is the answer?" - -"Mademoiselle is better, Monsieur," the man replied, "much better." - -"Is that the answer? No message for me?" - -"None was delivered to me from her, Monsieur le Duc. But Monsieur -Vandecque sent his compliments and said he expected you eagerly." - -"Did he? Without doubt! Perhaps, too, he expects a little more money -from me." This he whispered to himself. "Well, he will find himself -disappointed. If he requires more he may go seek it at the gambling -tables, or of the devil; he will get nothing further from me. -Henceforth it will be sufficient to have to support his niece." - -Then, his toilet being completed, he asked the valet if the company -were below and the carriages ready to convey them to the church where -the bride was to be met? - -"They assemble, Monsieur le Duc, they assemble. Already the -distinguished relatives of Monsieur are arriving, and many friends -have called to ask after Monsieur's health this morning, and have -proceeded to the church," while, as the little clock struck eleven in -silvery tones, the man added, "If Monsieur is agreeable it will be -well to descend now, perhaps." - -"So," said Desparre, rising, "I will descend. Yet, before I go, give -me my tablets, let me see that everything has been carried out as I -ordered," while, taking from the servant's hand a little ivory -notebook, he glanced his eye over it. - -"Yes," he muttered. "Yes. Humph! Yes. Rosina's allowance to be paid -monthly--ha!--curse her!--yet, otherwise, she would not hold her -tongue. The exempt to sell up the widow Lestrange if she pays not by -the 31st. Good! Good! The outfitters to be told that I will not pay -for the new furniture until the end of the year; ha! but I shall not -pay it then, though." And, so, he read down his tablets until he had -gone through all his notes. When, bidding his man perfume his ruffles -and lace pocket-handkerchief, he descended to the salon to greet his -relatives and guests; those dearly beloved relatives, who, he strongly -believed and hoped, were cursing themselves and their fate at this -very moment. - -In spite of their intense disapproval of the union which Desparre was -about to enter into, a union with the niece of a man whose reputation -was of the worst--which really would not have mattered much had he -belonged to the aristocracy!--those relatives had not thought it -altogether advisable to abstain from gracing the impending ceremony -with their presence. For Monsieur was the head of a great house, of -their great house, he had interest unbounded. And he was the Regent's -friend. He was almost one of the most prominent of the roués. What -might he not still do for them, in spite of this atrocious misalliance -he was about to perpetrate, if only they kept on friendly terms with -him? Then again, he was, as they supposed, enormously wealthy, rumour -saying that he had made some millions over Law's system--in which case -rumour, as usual, exaggerated--and, above all, he was approaching old -age; he was, and always had been, a dissolute man; there was little -likelihood that he would leave any heirs behind him. And, if so, there -would be some fine pickings for the others. Wherefore they swallowed -their disapproval and disgust of this forthcoming mésalliance and -trooped to his house to wish him that joy which they earnestly hoped -he would never experience, notwithstanding that it was a cruel, bitter -winter and that, unfortunately, wedding ceremonies took place at an -hour when most of them were accustomed to be snoring in their beds. - -These relatives formed a strange group; a strange collection of beings -which, perhaps, no other period than that of the Regency, five years -after the death of Louis XIV., could have produced. There were old -women present, including his paternal aunt, the Dowager Duchesse -Desparre, whose lives had been one long sickening reek of immorality -and intrigue under The Great King; women who, as she had done, had -struggled and schemed for that king's favours--or for what was almost -as good, the reputation of having gained those favours. Women who had -betrayed their husbands over and over again, women who had sinned -against those husbands with the latters' own consent, so long as the -deception had aided their fortunes. Yet, withal, their manners were -those of the most perfect ease and grace which the world has ever -known, and which are now to be found only amongst dancing mistresses -and masters of ceremonies. - -Amidst them all, however, the battered, half-worn-out roué moved with -a grace equal to theirs, he having become a very prince of posturers; -while bowing to one old harridan in whose veins ran the blood of -crusading knights and--some whispered--even of Henry of Navarre; -kissing the hand of another who had tapped the late Dauphin on the -cheek with her fan when he asked her if she liked hunting, and had -made answer that "innocent pleasures were not pleasure to her;" -leering at a younger female cousin in a manner that might almost have -made the Duc de Richelieu himself jealous, but which did not disturb -the fair recipient of the ogle at all. And he kissed the hand of the -Dowager Duchess with respectful rapture (though once she had refused -to let the impoverished soldier into her house), while he regretted -that such a trifle as his marriage should have brought her forth from -her home that morning; he carried a glass of tokay to one aunt and -ordered his servant to hand a cup of chocolate to another--the -distinction being made because the rank of this latter was not quite -so exalted as that of the former. - -He was revelling in his revenge! And then, suddenly, his face dropped -and he stood staring at the door. Staring, indeed, with so ghastly a -look upon that face that a boon companion of his began to think that, -after all, an apoplectic fit was about to seize him, and that leeches -to his head and a cupping would more likely be his portion than a -wedding on that day. - -For, at the door, was standing Vandecque, alone--and on his face was a -look which told the Duke very plainly that something had happened. - -"What is it?" he muttered, as he came close to him, while lurching a -little in his gait, as the boon companion thought--as though he had -fetters about his feet--and while his words came from his mouth with -difficulty. "Speak. Speak. Curse you! speak. Why are you here -when--when--you should be with her--at--the--church?" - -And all the time the eyes of the old and young members of his family -were looking at him, and the Dowager Duchess was wondering if the -bride had committed suicide sooner than go to his arms, while the -battered hulk who had been drinking the chocolate was raising the -wrinkles in her brow as much as she dared do without fear of cracking -her enamel, and leering at the other worn-out wreck whose shaking hand -held the glass of tokay. - -"There is no Duchess yet," she whispered to a neighbour, through her -thin lips, "and my boy, Henri, is second in succession." And again she -leered hideously. - -"Speak, I say," Desparre continued. "Something has happened. I can see -it in your face. Quick." - -"She--she--is--gone. Escaped. Married," Vandecque stammered. -"Married!" And Desparre's face worked so that Vandecque turned his -eyes away while he muttered. "Alas! Yes. This morning." - -"To whom? Tell me. Tell me. I--did--not--know--she had a lover." - -"Nor I. Yet it appears she had. She loved him all the time. That -Englishman. Walter Clarges." - -There was a click in the Chevalier's throat such as a clock makes ere -it is about to strike, and Vandecque saw the cords twitching in that -throat--after which Desparre gasped, "And I have called them here to -see my triumph!" and then glanced his eyes round his great salon. Then -he muttered, "Married!" and, controlling himself, walked steadily out -into the corridor and to a chair, into which he sank. - -"Tell me here," he whispered, "here. Where they cannot see my face, -nor look at me." - -"The woman found this in her room when she went to warn her the time -was near. She had no maid; therefore, I had engaged one from the -person who made the bridal dress. It was on her mirror. Look. Read." - -Desparre took the paper in his hands; they were shaking, but he forced -them to be still; then he glanced at it. It ran:-- - -"I refuse to be sold to the man who would have bought me from you. -Therefore I have sought a lesser evil. I am gone to be married to -another man whom, even though I do not love him, I can respect. An -hour hence I shall be the wife of Monsieur Clarges. He has loved me -for a year; now, his love is so strong, or, I should better say, his -nobility is so great, that he sacrifices himself to save me. God -forgive me for accepting the sacrifice, but there was no other way -than death." - -The Duke's hand fell to his knee while still holding the paper in it, -after which he raised his eyes to the other's face. - -"You suspected nothing; knew nothing of this?" he asked, his lips -still twitching, his eyes half-closed in a way peculiar to him when -agitated or annoyed. - -"Nothing. I swear it. Do you think that, if I had dreamed of such a -catastrophe, I would not have prevented it? It was to you I wished her -married--to you." - -"Ay," Desparre answered, "no doubt. We have worked together in -other things--you--but no matter for that now." Then he raised his -half-hidden eyes to the other. "Where does this man live?" he asked. -"I do not know. Yet his address can be found. There are many to whom -he is known. Why do you ask?" - -"Why!" and now there was another look in Desparre's face that -Vandecque did not understand. "Why! I will tell you. Yet, stay; ere I -do so send those people all away. Go. Tell them--damn them!--there is -no marriage to-day, nor--for--me--on any other day. Get rid of them. -Bid them pack. Then return," while, rising from the antique chair into -which he had dropped in the corridor, he went slowly into another -room, feeling that his feet dragged under him, that they were heavy as -lead. - -"By night," he murmured, "it will be all over Paris--at Versailles and -St. Germain--the Palais Royal. The Regent will laugh and make merry -over it with La Phalaris--countless women whom I have cast off will be -gloating over it, laughing at the downfall, the humiliation of -Desparre--the fool, Desparre, who had boasted of the trick he was to -play on his kinsfolk. _Dieu!_ to be fooled by this beggar's brat. Yet. -Yet. Yet--well! let Orleans laugh--still--he shall help me to be -avenged. He shall. He must. Or--I will tell my tale, too. Sirac and I -know as much as he about the deaths of the Duc and Duchesse de -Bourgogne and the Duc de Bretagne--about the Spanish snuff. Ha! he -must avenge me on these two--he shall." - -Vandecque came back now, saying that the company was departing, but -that some of the ladies, especially the Dowager Duchess, were very -anxious to see him and express their sympathy. Would he receive them? - -"Sympathy, faugh! Let them express their sympathy to the Devil, -their master. Now, Vandecque, listen to me. There is but one way of -re-establishing myself in the eyes of Paris. By retaliation, -punishment--swift, hard, unceasing. You understand?" - -Vandecque nodded. - -"Good. If you did not understand I should have to assist your memory -with reminders of other things--which would have been no more -remembered had all gone well--and of several little matters in your -past known to me. However, you need no reminders such as those, I -think." - -Again Vandecque showed by a nod that such was the case. - -"Good. Therefore, you will assist me to rehabilitate myself. So. So. -Very well. We must begin at once. Because, Vandecque, I am not well, -this has been a great shock to me--and--and, Vandecque, I had -a--perhaps it was an apoplectic seizure six months ago, when--when--I -was falsely accused of--but no matter. I am afraid I may have another -ere long. I feel symptoms. My feet are heavy, my speech is uncertain. -I must not leave the thing undone." - -"What," asked the other, "will you do?" - -"What!" Desparre paused a moment, and again the twitching came to his -lips; then, when it was over, he went on. "What! Vandecque," speaking -rapidly this time, "do you love your niece at all?" - -"Passably," and he shrugged his shoulders, "she was beloved of my dead -wife, and she was useful. Also, I hoped great things from her -marriage." - -"Those hopes are vanished, Vandecque. So, too, for the matter of that, -is your niece. Therefore, it will not grieve you never to see her -again?" - -"I shall never see her again. You forget she has a husband." - -"No, Vandecque. No! I do not forget. It is that which I am -remembering." - -"What do you mean, Monsieur?" - -"Later on you will know. Meanwhile," and he put a finger out and -touched him, "do you love this Englishman, who has spoilt your niece's -chances?" - -"Love him!" exclaimed Vandecque. "Love him! Ah! do I love him!" while, -as he spoke, he looked straight into Desparre's eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MAN AND WIFE - - -"This," said Walter Clarges, as he thrust open the door, "has been my -home for the last four years. You will find it comfortable enough, I -hope. Let me assist you to remove your cloak and hood." - -It was a large room into which he led his newly-married wife, situated -on the ground floor of an old street, the Rue de la Dauphine, in the -Quartier St. Germain. A room in which a wood fire burnt on this cold -wintry day, and which was furnished sufficiently well--far more so, -indeed, than were the habitations of most of the English refugees in -Paris after the "'15." The furniture, if old and solid, was good of -its kind; there were a number of tables and chairs and a huge lounge, -an excellent Segoda carpet on the floor, and a good deal of that -silver placed about, against the sale of which, for gambling purposes, -a strangely stringent law had just been passed in France. On the walls -there were some pictures--one of an English country house, another of -a horse, a third of a lady. - -"That is my mother," Clarges said. "My mother! Shall I ever see her -again? God knows!" - -She, following him with her eyes as he moved about the room, could -think only of one thing; of the nobility of the sacrifice he had made -for her that morning; the sacrifice of his life. He had married her -because it was the only way to save her from Desparre, the only legal -bar he could place between her and her uncle's desire to sell her to -the best bidder who had appeared. The law, passed by the late King, -which accorded to fathers and guardians the total right to dispose of -the hands of their female children and wards, was terrible in its -power; there was no withstanding it. Nothing but a previous marriage -could save those children and wards, and, even if that marriage had -taken place clandestinely, the law punished it heavily. But, punish -severely as it might, it could not undo the marriage. That stood -against all. - -"Oh! Monsieur Clarges," Laure exclaimed, as she sat by the side of his -great fire, the cloak removed from her shoulders, her hood off, and -her beautiful hair, unspoilt by any wig, looped up behind her head. -"Oh! Monsieur Clarges, now it is finished I reproach myself bitterly -with the wrong I have performed against you. I--I----" - -"I beseech you," he said, coming back to where she sat, and standing -in front of her. "I beseech you not to do so. What has been done has -been my own thought; my own suggestion. And you will remember that, -when I asked you to be my wife a year ago and you refused, I told you -that, if you would accept me, I would never force my love on you -further than in desiring that I might serve you. The chance has come -for me to do so--I thank God it has come!--I have had my opportunity. -Whatever else may happen, I have been enabled to save you from the -terrible fate you dreaded." - -He stood as he spoke against the great mantel-shelf, gazing down at -her, and she, while looking up at him in turn, recognised how great -was the nobility of this man. She saw, too, and she wondered now why -it struck her for the first time--struck her as it had never done -before--that he was one who should have but little difficulty in -gaining a woman's love if he desired it. She had always known that he -was possessed of good looks, was well-made and graceful, and had -clear-cut, handsome features. Now--perhaps because of what he had done -for her that day, because he had wrecked his existence to save -hers--hers! the existence of an abandoned child, a nameless woman--and -had placed a barrier between him and the love of some honest woman who -would make a home and happiness for him, she thought he seemed more -than good-looking; indeed, he almost seemed in her eyes superb in his -dignity and manliness. And she asked herself, "Why, why could she not -have given him the love he craved for? Why not?" - -"There was," she said aloud and speaking slowly, while, with her hands -before her on her knees, she twined her fingers together. "There was -no just reason why you should have made this sacrifice for me. I--I -refused to give the love you craved, therefore you were absolved from -all consideration of me. I had no claim on you--no part nor share in -your life. Oh! Monsieur," she broke off, "why tempt me with so noble -an opportunity of escape from my impending fate; why tempt me to avail -myself of so great a surrender by you of all that could make life -dear? Especially since I have told you!--thank God, I told you!--that -I am a nameless woman. That I have no past." - -"Hush," he said. "Hush, I beseech you. I loved you a year ago, and I -made my offer--even proffered my terms. You would not accept those -terms then; yet, because the offer was made, I have kept to it. Do you -think the story of your unacknowledged birth and parentage could cause -me to alter? Nay!--if I have saved you, I am content." - -Still she looked up at him standing there; still, as she gazed at him -who had become her husband, she felt almost appalled at the -magnanimity of his nature. How far above her was this man whose -love she had refused; how great the nobleness of his sacrifice! -And--perhaps, because she was a woman--even as he spoke to her she -noticed that he never mentioned the love which had prompted him to the -sacrifice as being in the present, but always as having been in the -past. "I loved you last year," he had said once; not, "I love you." - -"Now," he went on, seating himself in a chair opposite to her on the -other side of the great fireplace. "Now, let us talk of the future. Of -what we must do. This is what I purpose." - -She raised her eyes from the fire again and looked at him, wondering -if he was about to suggest that their life should be arranged upon the -ordinary lines of a marriage brought about on the principles of -expediency; and, although she knew it not, there was upon her -beautiful face a glance which testified that her curiosity was -aroused. - -Then he went on. - -"You know," he said, "that my own country is closed to me. For such as -I, who, although little more than twenty at the time--for such as -those who were out with the Earl of Mar--there is no return to -England, in spite of the Elector having pardoned many. Nor, indeed, -would I have it so. We Clarges have been followers of the Royal House -always. My grandfather fell fighting against Fairfax and the Puritans; -my father was abroad with King Charles II., and returned with him; I -and my elder brother fought for the present King whom, across the -water, they term 'The Pretender.'" He paused a moment, then said, "I -pray I may not weary you. But, without these explanations, the -future--our future--can scarce be provided for." - -"Go on," she said, very gently. Whereupon he continued. "England is -consequently closed to me--for ever. After to-day's work it may be -that France will be, too--and then----" - -"France, too!" she repeated, startled, "France, too! and 'after -to-day's work.' Oh!" and she made a motion as though to rise from her -chair, "what do your words mean? Tell me. Tell me." - -Her suddenly aroused anxiety surprised him somewhat; he wondered, -seeing it, if she feared that, even now, the relief against her fate -which he had provided her with was not sufficient; if still she feared -other troubles. Then, with a slight smile, he continued. - -"I mean that--forgive me if I have to say so--I may be called to -account for my share in saving you from the Duc Desparre. He is a -powerful man--a favourite with the Regent and the Court--he may -endeavour to revenge himself. I have seen an advocate; I took his -advice yesterday so that what I did this morning I might do with my -eyes open, and there is no possible doubt that I have committed an -offence against the law in marrying a ward contrary to her guardian's -will, for which I may be punished." - -"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh! this, too," and he saw that she had grown very -pale, whereupon he hastened to comfort her. "I beseech you," he said, -"have no fear. You are, so the advocate tells me, perfectly free from -any danger; nothing can happen to you----" - -"Monsieur!" she cried. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "So be -it! He imagines I fear only for myself. Alas! it is not strange he -should." - -As she spoke no more after that exclamation, he continued: - -"Therefore, since France is now, perhaps, no longer likely to be more -of a home to me than England, this is what I have decided to do. To -leave France for ever--to find another home in another land. To begin -a new life." - -"To begin a new life! Yes?" - -"Yes. A new life. As you know--who can help but know if they have been -in France during the last year or so!--this country is colonising -largely in America; there are great prospects for those who choose to -go to the Mississippi; Louisiana is being peopled by the French; -emigrants, planters are called for largely. If I go there, it is not -at all probable that Desparre's vengeance will follow me; nay, a -willing colonist can even get exemption for his sins committed in -France. I intend to take steps for proceeding to the new world as soon -as may be." - -She bent her head as though to signify that she heard all he said, -yet, even as she did so, there coursed again through her brain the -thought of how she had blasted this man's life. She was driving him -forth to a place of which she had heard the most terrible accounts, a -place overrun by savages who disputed every inch of their native -ground against the white man--sometimes, too, with other white men for -their allies--the very countrymen of him who sat before her. Of -herself she thought not at all; if he could endure the hardships that -must be faced, why, she, his wife, could endure them--must endure -them--too. She--but his voice aroused her from her thoughts, and it -showed that for her, at least, there was no likelihood of such -endurance being required. - -"I intend," he was saying, "to take steps for proceeding there as soon -as may be. But, ere I go, your welfare has to be consulted--provided -for. This is what I purpose doing," while, as he spoke, he rose and -went towards a large, firmly-locked bureau that stood in one corner of -the room, and came back bearing in his hand a small iron box which he -proceeded to open. "This," he said, with a smile that seemed to her as -she watched him to be a terribly weary one, "contains all that I have -left in the world, except what my mother contrives at various periods -to furnish me with. It is not much now--but something. There are some -four thousand livres here; enough to provide you with your subsistence -for the time being; to assist you in doing what I wish--what I think -best for you to do." - -"What," she asked, still with her eyes fixed on him, "is that?" - -"It would be best," he continued, "that, when I am gone, you should -endeavour to make your way to England--to my mother. I shall write to -her at once telling her that I am married, that my future necessitates -my going to Louisiana, and that, out of her love for me, her last -remaining child--for my brother is dead--she will receive you as her -daughter. And she will do it, I know; she will greet you warmly as my -wife. Only," and now his voice sank very low, was very gentle, as he -continued, "one thing I must ask. It is that you do not undeceive her -about--the--condition we stand in to one another--that, for her -sake--she is old, and I am very dear to her--you will let her -suppose--that--there is love--some love, at least--between us. If you -will so far consent as to grant me this, it is all--the only demand--I -will ever make of you." - -He lifted his eyes towards where she sat, not having dared to glance -at her while he made his request, but they did not meet hers in -return. Unseen by him, she had raised her hood as a screen to the side -of her face which was nearest to the logs; that, and her white hand, -now hid her features from him. He could not see aught but that hand. -Yet she had to speak, to make some answer to his request, and, a -moment later, she said from behind her hand in a voice that sounded -strangely changed to him: - -"As you bid me I will do. All that you desire shall be carried out." - -Then, for a moment, no further word was said by either. Presently he -spoke again. "Desparre is paid what I owe him--what I lost at play. It -will reach him by a safe hand at about the same time he learns that -you are--my wife, not his. And I owe no money now in Paris. All is -paid; during the past two days I have settled my affairs. As for these -apartments, when you desire to set out, do what you will with all that -they contain, excepting only those," and he pointed to the pictures of -the country house, the horse, and his mother. "Those I should not -desire to part with. I will take them with me to a friend. Now, I will -summon the concierge; she has orders to attend to all your wants." - -She rose as he spoke and turned towards him, and he saw that there was -no colour left in her face; that, in truth, she was deathly pale. Her -eyes, too, he thought were dim--perhaps, from some feeling of regard -or gratitude which might have been awakened in her--and as she spoke -her voice trembled. - -"Is this then," she asked, "our parting? Our last farewell?" - -"Nay. Nay," he said, "not now. Though it will be very soon. But I -shall not leave Paris yet. Some trouble might arise; your uncle may -endeavour to regain possession of you--though that he cannot do, since -you are a married woman and have your lines. I shall stay near you for -some days; I shall even be in this house should you require me. Have -no fear. You will be quite safe. And, when I am assured that all is -well with you, we will part; but not before." - -He went towards the hall to ring for the woman, but, ere he could -cross to where it was, she stopped him with a motion of her hand. - -"Stay," she said, "stay. Let me speak now. Monsieur--my husband--I -have heard every word that has fallen from your lips. Monsieur, I -think you are the noblest man to whom ever woman plighted her troth--a -troth, alas! that, as she gave it, she had no thought of carrying out. -Oh!" she exclaimed, raising her eyes, "God forgive me for having -accepted this man's sacrifice. God forgive me." - -Then, in a moment, before he had time to form the slightest suspicion -that she meditated any such thing, she had flung herself at his feet, -and, with hands clasped before her, was beseeching him also to pardon -her for having wrecked his life. But, gentle as ever, he raised her -from the ground and placed her again in the seat she had left, -beseeching her not to distress herself. - -"Remember this," he said; "what I did I did out of the love I bore you -when first I sought yours; remember that, though you had no love in -your heart to give me, I had plighted my faith to you. Remember that -my duty is pledged to you; that, if I prosper, as I hope to do, you -shall prosper too. Or, better still, if in years to come this yoke -which you took upon yourself galls too much, and you have no longer -any need of it, we will find means to break it. I will find means to -set you free." - -"To--set--me--free!" she repeated slowly. - -"Yes. Now I will go and seek the concierge. Then I will leave you -until to-morrow. You will, as I have said, be perfectly safe -here--perfectly at liberty. Have no fear, I beg. No one can harm you." - -The concierge came at his summons and took his orders, he telling her -briefly that the lady would occupy his apartments for a few days, and -that he would use some other rooms at the top of the house which she -had for disposal. Then, when he had seen a light meal brought to her -and the woman had withdrawn, he bade his wife good-night. - -"In the morning," he said, "I will tell you how my plans are -progressing. I am about now to visit one who is much concerned with -the colonisation of Louisiana, and, indeed, of the whole of the -Mississippi--doubtless I may obtain some useful knowledge from him." - -"And it is to this exile--this life in a savage land--that I have -driven you! You, a gentleman--I, God only knows what," she exclaimed. - -"Nay, nay. In any circumstances I must have gone forth to seek my -living in some distant part of the world. It could not have been long -delayed--as well now as a month or a year later." - -"At least, you would have gone forth free--free to make a home for -yourself, to have a wife, a----" - -But he would listen to none of her self reproaches; would not, indeed, -let her utter them. Instead, he held out his hand to her--permitting -himself that one cold act of intimacy--and said, "Farewell. Farewell, -for the present. Farewell until to-morrow." - -"Not farewell," she murmured gently, "not farewell No, not that." - -"So be it," he answered, commanding himself and forcing back any -thoughts that rose to his mind at what seemed almost a plea from her. -"So be it. Instead, au revoir. We shall meet again." - -And he went forth. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE STREET OF THE HOLY APOSTLES - - -When Walter left his wife it was with the intention of proceeding to -the offices of the Louisiana Company, known more generally as Le -Mississippi, situated in the Rue Quincampoix. For, at this exact -period, which was one of a great crisis in the affairs of the "Law -System," as it was universally called, those offices were open day and -night, and were besieged by crowds made up of all classes of the -community. Duchess's carriages--the carriages of women who had made -Law the most welcome guest of their salons, who had petted and -actually kissed him--as often as not at the instigation of their -husbands, when they had any--jostled the equally sumptuous carriages -of the rich tradesmen's wives and _cocottes_, as well as those of -footmen who had suddenly become millionaires; while country people, -who had trudged up from provincial towns and remote villages, rubbed -shoulders with broken-down gentlemen and ladies, who had hoped to grow -rich in a moment by the "System." Broken-down gentlemen and ladies -who, after a few months of mirage-like affluence, were to find -themselves plunged into a worse poverty than they had ever previously -known. - -For, as has been said, the "System" was breaking down, and France, -with all in it, would soon be in a more terrible state of ruin than it -had even been at the time of the death of that stupendous bankrupt and -spendthrift, "Le Grand Monarque." - -The Bank of France had almost failed--at least it could not pay its -obligations or give cash for its notes, which had been issued to the -amount of two thousand seven hundred million francs, and the -Mississippi Company was approaching the same state; it could neither -redeem its bonds nor pay any interest on them. - -Therefore all France was in a turmoil, and, naturally, the turmoil was -at its worst in Paris. Law--the creator of the "System" by which so -many had been ruined--had sought safety at the Palais Royal, where the -Regent lived; the gates of the Palais Royal itself were closed against -the howling mob that sought to force an entrance, the streets were -given up to anarchy and confusion. Meanwhile, in the hopes of quelling -the tumult, it was being industriously put about all over Paris that -fresh colonists were required to utilise the rich products of the soil -of Louisiana, and that, so teeming was this soil with all good things -for the necessary populating of the colony, that culprits in the -prisons were being sent out in shiploads, with, as a reward for their -emigration, a free pardon and a grant of land on their arrival in -America. And--which was a masterstroke of genius well worthy of John -Law--since the prisons were not considered full enough, innocent -people were being arrested wholesale and on the most flimsy pretences, -and thrust into those prisons, only to be thrust out of them again -into the convict ships, and, afterwards, on to the shores of America. - -Many writers have spoken truly enough when they have since said that a -light purse dropped into an archer's or an exempt's hands might be -made the instrument of a terrible, as well as a most unjust and -inhuman, vengeance. It was done that night in Paris, and for many more -nights, with awful success. Girls who had jilted men, men who had -injured and betrayed women, successful rivals, faithless wives; a poet -whose verses had been preferred to another's and read before De -Parabére or the Duchesse de Berri and her lover and second husband, -the bully, Riom; an elder brother, a hundred others, all disappeared -during those nights of terror and were never seen or heard of again. -Not in France, that is to say, though sometimes (when they lay dying, -rotting to death on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and, in their -last faint accents, would whisper how they had been trapped and sent -to this spot where pestilence and famine reeked) those who listened to -them shuddered and believed their story. For many of those who so -listened had been victims of a similar plot. - -Down the street which led to the Rue de la Dauphine--one which -rejoiced in the name of the Rue des Saints Apostoliques--there came, -at almost the same moment when Walter Clarges quitted his wife, a band -of men. Of them, all were armed, some, the archers and the exempts,[2] -being so by virtue of their duty of arresting troublesome people, -especially drunkards and brawlers of both sexes, while two others -walking behind wore the ordinary rapier carried by people of position. -These two were Desparre and Vandecque. Inclusive of archers and -exempts the band numbered six. - -"We may take them together," Desparre whispered in his comrade's ear, -"in which case so much the best. I imagine the English dog will show -fight." - -"Without doubt! When was there ever an Englishman who did not? Yet, -what matter! These fellows," and Vandecque's eye indicated that he -referred to the attendants, "will have to seize on him, we but to -issue orders. Now," and he turned to the fellows mentioned, "we near -the street where the birds are. You understand," addressing the man -who seemed to be the leader, "what is to be done?" - -"We understand," the man replied, though the answer was a husky one, -as if he had been drinking. "We understand. Take them both, without -injury if possible, then away with them to the prisons. She to St. -Martin-des-Champs, he to La Bastille. Ha! la Bastille. The kindly -mother, the gracious hostess! My faith! Yes." - -"Yes," answered Vandecque. "Without injury, as you say, if possible. -But, remember, you are paid well for what you may have to do; -remember, too, the man is an Englishman; he has been a soldier and -fought against the King of England for that other whom he calls the -King; he will show his teeth. He is but newly married--this day--he -will not willingly exchange the warm embraces of his beautiful -young wife" (and as he spoke he could not resist looking at Desparre -out of the side of his eye) "for a bed of straw. You must be -prepared--for--for--well, for difficulties." - -"We are prepared--I hope your purse is. We are near the spot--we -should desire to have the earnest before we begin. While as for -difficulties, why, if he makes any, we must----" - -"Kill him--dead!" - -The man started and looked round, appalled by the voice that hissed in -his ear. Yet he should have recognised it, since he had heard it -before that evening, though, perhaps, with scarcely so much venom in -its shaking tones then. And, as he saw Desparre's face close to his, -he drew back a little, while almost shuddering. There was something in -the glance, in the half-closed eyelids--the eyes glittering through -them--that unnerved him. - -"Dead," hissed Desparre again. "Dead." And he put forth his hand and -laid it on the archer's sleeve, and clutched at his arm through that -sleeve so that the man winced with pain, as a moment before he had -winced, or almost winced, from a feeling of creepiness. - -"Dead," Desparre repeated. - -"Mon Dieu!" the man said, raising his hand to his forehead and -brushing it across the latter, "we know our business, monsieur; no -need to instruct us in it. Though as for killing, that is not our -account as a rule----" - -"Peace," interrupted Desparre, "here is the reward. Hold out your -hand." - -The man did as he was bid, and, in the light of a seven nights' old -moon that, by now, overtopped the roofs of the houses, Desparre -counted out twenty gold louis' d'or (rare enough at that moment, when -all France was deluged with worthless paper; coins to be kept -carefully and made much of!) into his hand, and twenty more into the -hands of the principal exempt. Yet his own hand shook so that each of -the vagabonds raised his eyes to his face and then withdrew them -swiftly. They liked the look of the money better than the appearance -of the features of the man who was paying it. - -Then, suddenly, he started as he dropped the last piece into the -exempt's palm--while the latter, looking up again at Desparre, saw his -eyes staring down the street to the further end of it--though, at the -same time, there was a glance in them as if he were staring into -vacancy. Yet, in truth, they were fixed on a very palpable object--the -form of a man passing swiftly up the street of the Holy Apostles. - -The form of Walter Clarges! - -"See," Desparre whispered to Vandecque. "See. He comes. Ha! he has -left her alone. So! 'tis better." Then he turned to the Archers and -Exempts and muttered low: "There! There is the man. Coming towards -us. I would slay him myself--I could do it easily with the -secret thrust I know of," he whispered, "but I must risk -nothing--till--I--have--seen--her." - -While, as he spoke, he moved off to the other side of the street and -withdrew into the porch, or stoop, of a door, wrapping his roquelaure -around him. Yet, as the fellows drew themselves together and prepared -to seize on the man advancing towards them, they heard his voice send -forth another whisper from within that porch. - -"You know your office. Do it. And if he resists--slay him." - -Approaching, Walter Clarges saw the group of men standing in the -roadside close up by the footway, while, because of the troubles and -turmoils in the streets, as well as because he knew well enough of the -lawlessness that prevailed that night, he let his left hand fall under -his cloak on to the hilt of his sword, and thus loosened the blade in -its sheath, so that it should be ready for his right to draw if -necessary. Then, a moment later, he saw Vandecque's figure in front of -the others, and, recognising his features in the gleam of the moon, -nerved himself for an encounter. Though, even now, he scarcely knew -what form that encounter might take. - -"So," Vandecque exclaimed, "we have found you! That is well, and may -save trouble. Monsieur Clarges, you will have to go with us." - -"Indeed! On what authority? State it quickly and briefly. I have no -time to spare." - -"On the authority of the guardian of the woman whom you have removed -from his custody and married. The law has a punishment for that to -which you will have to submit." - -"Possibly. Meanwhile, your warrant for my arrest and detention." - -"The warrant is made out. I----" - -"Show it." - -"I shall not show it. It is sufficient for that later on. Meanwhile, I -warn you--come without resistance or we must resort to force. These -men are archers and exempts, if you resist them they will seize upon -you." - -"Let them begin. I am ready," and, as he spoke, his sword had leaped -from its sheath and was glittering before their eyes in an instant. - -"Begin," he repeated, "or stand back. My time is precious." - -"It is against the law that you contend. I warn you," Vandecque called -out excitedly. - -"So be it. It is for my freedom I contend. Whether it be either the -law or Vandecque, the sharper and swindler who embodies that law, I -care not. Let me pass, fellow," speaking impatiently, "or 'tis I who -will commence." - -"Fall on," exclaimed Vandecque, "and do your duty. Seize on him." - -'Twas easier said than done, however, as those five men found when -once they were engaged with the Englishman--well armed as they were. -The rapier wielded by Clarges seemed to have, indeed, the power of -five swords; it was everywhere--under their guard, perilously near -their lungs, through one man's throat already--a man who now lay -choking on the ground. Moreover, Clarges had had time to wind his -cloak swiftly round his left arm, and, with that arm bent, to ward off -several of their attacks. Nor was this difficult, since all were not -armed as well as he. The exempts had short swords of the cutlass -order, which would cut heavily but administer no thrust; the -archers had rapiers, or, rather, long thin tucks, which were more -deadly--Vandecque had a weapon as good as Clarge's own. Already it had -lunged twice at his breast--and hate had added, perhaps, an extra -force to those thrusts (for Vandecque was undone by the marriage that -had taken place that morning), and had twice been parried. Yet as -Clarges knew, he was spared but for a few moments; his fate was but -postponed. Against that rapier and the remaining blades--unless he -could kill the wielders of the latter, and so stand face to face with -Vandecque alone--he had no hope. The swordsman never lived yet who -could encounter four others--for the man on the ground was disposed -of--and keep them at bay for longer than a few moments. - -He knew his end was at hand; at every moment he expected the sharp -thrust of the rapier through his body, or the heavy swinging blow that -would cleave his head in half. He knew one or the other must come, yet -he fought hard against the odds, with his back against the house -behind him, his teeth clenched, his breath coming faster and faster -from his lungs. And, all beset as he was, knowing that death was near -at hand, he whispered to himself "for her, for her." - -Though once he thought, "'Tis better so, far better. Thus her way is -clear, and she is free of me." - -He forgot--he was mercifully permitted to forget for a moment that, -free of him, she would still be open to Desparre's designs again, and -might still be forced to marry him. - -Yet, a moment later, the recollection of this sprang swiftly as a -lightning flash to his mind. He must live for her, he must not be -slain and thereby set her free for Desparre. - -Nerved afresh to his task by this memory, he fought with renewed -energy--fought like a tiger at bay, determined that, even though he -fell, he would not fall alone; that he would have some more companions -on the dark road he must go, as well as the man now dead at his feet. - -"Two," he muttered through his set teeth as, darting like an adder's -fang, his rapier passed through a second man's breast-bone when, with -a yell of agony, the archer fell at his feet. "Two. Who next?" - -But still there were three to contend with, Vandecque, an archer, and -an exempt. And these two were raining blows at him, while the -gambler's sword was making pass after pass--it being caught once in -the folds of the cloak over his left arm and missing once his left -breast by an inch, while ripping open the coat and waistcoat as it -darted by. Then, as he warded off another swinging blow from the -archer's weapon, he knew the time had come. His rapier was cleft in -twain by the heavier metal of the other blade--his hand held nothing -but the hilt and a few inches of sundered steel. - -With a fierce exclamation he flung himself full at the man who had -disabled him, seized him by the throat ere he could swing his cutlass -again, and dashed with awful force the remnant of his sword in his -face, inflicting a frightful wound and battering the features into an -unrecognisable mass. - -Yet, as he did so, he uttered a terrible moan himself and reeled back -heavily against the wall, sliding a moment after down it and rolling -to the ground. Vandecque's rapier was through his left lung, an inch -below the shoulder. The fight was finished. - -"Is he dead?" that ruffian heard a harsh, raucous voice whisper as he -drew his sword from the other's body. "Is he dead?" while, turning, he -saw the cadaverous face of Desparre peering over his shoulder at their -victim. - -"Dead," he replied breathlessly. "Mon Dieu! I hope so. Were he not, we -should all have been dead ourselves ere long. And then--then--he might -have found you out in your hiding-hole." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -ALONE - - -Laure scarcely moved for an hour after Walter had left her, but still -sat upon the couch, gazing into the wood fire--musing always. - -Sometimes on the sacrifice this man had made; more often on the -profound depths of that sacrifice. - -For it had in its depth that which she had never dreamed of; it had -taken a shape she had never looked for. - -When he brought her to this apartment she had supposed that, from this -day, there was to commence a loveless life such as was so often -witnessed in the marriages of convenience with which she was familiar -enough in Paris; she had, indeed, told herself that she had escaped -one sacrifice only to become the victim of another. - -She had escaped Desparre, only to become tied to this Englishman for -ever; an escape for the better, it was true, since he was young and -manly, while Desparre was old and--worse--depraved. But, still, a -sacrifice. - -Yet, never had she dreamt of aught like this: of a marriage gone -through by him which was, in truth, all a sacrifice on his part but -none on hers. For he was bound to her for ever, and he asked nothing -from her in return. Not so much as a word of love, a look, a thought; -nothing! Nothing, though he knew by her confession that she was a -nameless, an abandoned child: the offspring of Shame! Yet he had taken -her for his wife. - -As she meditated upon it all, her eyes still watching the logs as they -smouldered on the hearth, there rose into her mind a reflection -which--because she was a woman--was more painful than any that had -previously possessed it. The thought that this was no marriage of love -on his part, no clutching by him at the one opportunity that had -arisen of gaining her for his wife, and, with that gain, the other -opportunity of, in time, drawing her to him, but, instead, was simply -the fulfilment of a word promised and given a year ago, the redemption -of that which was in his eyes as a bond. He had told her once--a year -ago--that all he asked was to be allowed to be her servant, her -champion, her sentinel; and now the opportunity had come to prove his -word. That was all! And she, reflecting, recalling other Englishmen -whom she had met or heard of, who were living a life of exile in -Paris, remembered how they all prided themselves above aught else -upon the sacredness with which they regarded their word when once -passed--how, amongst all other men, they were renowned for keeping -that word. He would have kept his, she thought sorrowfully, with any -other woman as equally well as with her, simply because he had given -it. - -Why the tears dropped from her eyes as she still mused and still gazed -into the dying embers, she could scarcely have told herself; all she -did know was that, gradually, a resolve was forming in her heart, a -determination that all the nobility should not be with him alone. On -her side also there should be, not a sacrifice--remembering what she -was, she dared not deem it that--but, at least, a reciprocity. If he -loved her still, if what he had done had not been prompted alone by -that sense of honour which governed all his countrymen's actions, then -he should have the reward that was his due. True or false as the -statement might be, she would declare that she loved him. - -"Why not?" she whispered to herself. "Why not? Whom have I ever seen -or known more worthy of my love? Ah!" she murmured, "return, return, -my husband, that I, too, may make confession." - -The winter night was come now, though from the churches near by the -hour of five was but striking. The Rue de la Dauphine was very still, -while yet, from a distance, there came the hum of many noises. She -knew that Paris was in a feverous state at this time, that Law's -bubble was bursting, that the Regent's popularity was gone, that the -boy-king's throne was in danger. And the archers, and the exempts, and -provost-marshal's guards were in these streets, carrying off the -turbulent ones to the many prisons of Paris, shooting them down -sometimes--as the report of a discharged carbine now and again -testified--clubbing them and beating out their brains as the most sure -way of preventing resistance. - -Yet, amidst this distant noise which sometimes disturbed the quiet -street at intervals, her ears caught now a footstep outside the -door--the footsteps, indeed, of more than one person, as well as a -whispering that mixed itself and mingled with her own murmur of -"Return, my husband." So that she wondered if her wish was granted, if -he had returned, and was giving the concierge further orders in a low -tone that she might not be disturbed; or if he was saying "Good night" -to some friends--perhaps to those two other Englishmen who that day -had witnessed their marriage. - -Then the door opened, and a man came in. A man who was not her -husband, but, instead, he who expected to have been that husband--the -Duc Desparre! - -With a cry--a gasp that was half a shriek--she rose and stood facing -him, the table, to one side of which he had advanced, being between -them. Facing him, with her hand upon her heart, - -"You!" she exclaimed. "You here?" - -Even as she spoke she wondered what possessed, what ailed the man; he -was so changed since the time when last she had seen him. He had -thrown back the cloak in which he had been muffled against the wintry -air; while, because the habits of the courtier and the gentleman--or, -at least, the well-bred man--were strong upon him, he had also removed -his hat. He had come, he stood before her, she knew and felt, as an -avenger; but he had been of the great Louis' time and the instincts of -that period could not be put aside or forgotten. - -Yet his appearance, the change which she noticed in him since they had -last met and she had listened to his hateful wooing, was terrible. His -face was white and drawn; the lines left by a dissolute life, perhaps -also by the rough life of a soldier--lines which had always been -strong and distinct--showed more plainly now; the eyes glistened -horribly. But, worse than all, more terrifying to behold than aught -else, were the twitchings of the muscles of his face and the shaking -of the long brown hand which was lifted now and again to that face, as -though to still the movement of his lips. - -"Yes," he said, and she started as he spoke, for the voice of the man -was changed also; had she not stood before him she would scarce, she -thought, have known to whom it belonged. "Yes. We had to meet again, -Laure--Madame Clarges. To meet again. Once. Once more." - -"Why?" she gasped. In truth, the girl was appalled, not only by his -presence there, but by his dreadful appearance, his indistinct, -raucous voice and shaking hands. - -"Why! You ask why? Have you forgotten? -We--were--to--have--been--made--man and wife--this morning. Yet----" - -"By no consent of mine," she cried, interrupting him and speaking -rapidly, "but of him--my uncle, my guardian. God! my guardian! My -guardian!" Then she continued, more calmly, "Yes, we were to have been -married thus: I to be sold; you to buy. Only, I did not choose it -should be so. Instead----" - -"Instead," he replied, interrupting in his turn, "you married -another--thereby to escape me. I--I--hope--you do not love him very -dearly. Not, for--instance, more than, than you loved me?" - -For a moment she paused ere answering, wondering dimly what lay -beneath his words, what threat was implied in them; but, still, with a -feeling of happiness unspeakable that now, at this moment, her -opportunity had come to fulfil some part of that reciprocity she had -resolved on. Even though he, her husband, could not hear the words, -she uttered them plainly, distinctly. - -"Your hope is vain. I love my husband." - -His shaking hand, clutching now at the table, shook even more than -before. For some time he essayed ineffectually to speak. Then, as once -more he appeared to be obtaining the mastery over his voice, she -resumed: - -"Why do you come here? What do you require? Between us there is -nothing in common. Nothing. You had best leave me." - -"Not yet. There is something further to be said--to be done." - -And now he mastered himself with some great effort, so that, for a -time, he was coherent, intelligible; and continued: - -"Listen," he said. "You did not love me. I knew that well enough, I -cared little enough upon that score. Yet I needed a wife; it pleased -me--for a reason other than your beauty--to select you. I announced to -all whom it concerned that I had done so. As for love, that had little -part or parcel in the matter. There was no more love--passion is not -love--in my heart for you than in yours for me. I have passed the time -for loving any woman; but----" - -"Why, then," she asked, gazing at him, "seek me?" - -"Because I am the bearer of a great name, a great fortune. Because I -despised the members of my family--they are all intriguing harridans -who formerly despised me. Because I sought a woman at once beautiful, -yet lowly, who should arouse equally their envy and their hate; who -should sting these women to madness with mortification. That is why I -selected you." - -"You may now select another," she replied coldly. "Doubtless there are -many to whom the holder of so great a name, so great a fortune, will -prove acceptable." - -"I shall not select another. Meanwhile, you have flouted me, exposed -me to the ridicule of the whole court--me, Desparre--of the whole of -Paris! Do you think that is to be quickly forgotten, overlooked? Do -you think that I, Desparre, will do either?" - -"You must do what seems best to you," she said, still coldly. -"Monsieur le Duc, I am not your wife. What you may choose to do is of -absolute indifference to me." - -He became, if such a thing were possible, more white than before. Once -his eye glanced at a chair close by as though he felt he must drop -into it; yet he forbore. Instead, planting both his shaking hands on -the table, he said: - -"The trick was clever that you played. Yet--as you should know, you -who haunted the gambling-hells of Paris with your precious -guardian--you should know that, however clever a trickster may be, -there is generally one to be found who is his master. Always. Always. -He always finds his master, does that trickster. Shall I tell you of a -cleverer trick than yours?" - -"What--what do you mean?" - -"Attend. You hear that noise in the next street; do you know what it -is? It is the archers and the exempts carrying of people to prison who -are supposed to be insurgents, uprisers against the King, the -Regent--the 'System.' Many of those persons are quite innocent, they -are simply passers-by seeking their homes. Still, they have, some of -them, enemies, people whom they have wronged, perhaps even -inadvertently; yet the wronged ones have now their hour. A purse--a -very light one--dropped into an archer's or an exempt's hands--a -hint--a name--an address--and--that is all! To-night the prisons, La -Force, La Pitié, La Tournelle--the Bastille; to-morrow the false -accusations--a month later the wheel, or, at best, the Mississippi, -the Colonies. And--and--my purse is not light." - -"Devil!" she murmured. "Devil incarnate!" - -"Ay, an aroused one. Yet, 'tis your own doing. You should have -thought, you should have reflected. Desparre's name was known in those -choice circles which you and Vandecque affected--in your own gambling -hell. Had you ever heard it coupled with so weak a quality as -forgiveness for an insult, a slight? Nay, madame, nay! None can -prevent either insult or slight being offered--it is only the weak and -powerless who do not retaliate. And I, Desparre, am neither." While, -once more, as he spoke, the twitchings of his face presented a -terrible sight. - -"You mean," she said, staring at him as one stares who is fascinated -by some horror from which, appalling as it is, the eyes cannot be -withdrawn, "you mean that this retaliation is to be visited on me. On -me--or, perhaps, one other. The man who enabled me to escape you--on -my husband?" - -"I mean precisely that. On you. Yet without my purse's weight being -much tested, either. For against you, madame, I have legal claims that -will, I fear, prevent you from enjoying your new-found happiness for -some time, even were your husband able to share it with you, which he -is not----" - -He stopped. For as he uttered those last words, "which he is not," she -had moved from the position in which she had stood all through the -interview; she had quitted that barricade which the table made between -them; she was advancing slowly round it to him. In her eyes there was -a light that terrified him; on her face a look at which he trembled -more than even his rage and unstrung nerves had previously caused him -to do. For, now, he saw that the victim was an equal foe--that the -aroused woman had changed places with him and was calling him to -account, instead of being called to account herself. - -"Speak!" she said; her voice low, yet clear, her eyes blazing, her -whole frame rigid, "speak. Have done with equivocation, with hints and -threats. Speak, villain. Answer me." While, as she herself spoke, she -raised her hand and pointed it at him. "You say he cannot share my -new-found happiness with me. Answer me! Why can he not? Two hours -ago he was here, with me, in this room. Where is he now?" - -Standing before her, his eyes peering at her--ghastly, horrible; upon -his face a look that was half a leer and half a snarl, he essayed to -tell her that which he had come to say. Yet, at first, he could utter -no word--almost it seemed to him as though he was suffocating, as -though his gall were rising and choking him. Yet, still, there was the -woman before him, close to him, her hand outstretched, her eyes -glaring into his. Again, too, he heard her words: - -"My husband! Villain! Scoundrel! Answer me. Where is my husband?" - -Then his voice came to him, though it seemed to her as though it was -the voice of one whom she had never known. At last he spoke. - -"He is dead," he said, "Half an hour ago. Slain by my orders. Dead. My -wrong, my humiliation is avenged." - -With a cry she sprang at him, frenzied, maddened at his words; her -hands at his throat, as though she would throttle him. - -"Murderer!" she shrieked. "Murderer! By your orders--By your -orders--By----" - -Yet, even as she spoke, the shaking assassin before her seemed to -vanish from her sight, the room swam before her and became darkened; -with a moan she sank swooning to the floor, forgetting, oblivious of, -all. - -"Come in," said Monsieur le Duc a moment later, as he opened the door -and showed a white face to those waiting without. "Come in. She is -quite harmless. Now is your time." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE PRISON OF ST MARTIN DES CHAMPS - - -The agreeable ceremony of marrying the prisoners to one another, ere -despatching them to Louisiana as convicts, was going on rapidly in the -yard of the Prison of St. Martin des Champs on a sunny morning of the -May which followed the ruin of Law's system; the paternal government -being under the impression that it was far better for moral -purposes--always matters of great importance in France!--that the new -tillers of the soil should go out as married couples. - -Moreover, the Government were a little embarrassed as to what they -should do with all the convicts with which the numerous prisons of -Paris were stuffed, since, at this period, there was no opportunity of -drafting the men off into regiments, nor of utilising the services of -the women. France was ruined--consequently she was not at war just now -with any Power--while she had no money with which to keep her convicts -hard at work. But (the idea having entered Law's fertile brain ere he -prepared to flee) it was thought that Louisiana might still be made of -some service to the Mother Country if her soil could be utilised, and, -since there were no capitalists left of the original order and, if -there had been, none who would embark their capital in that region, -the Government had decided on peopling the place with fresh batches of -convicts. Thus they attained a double object; they emptied their -prisons and they provided a population for New France--a population -which, since it was free and absolved from all further punishment of -its past crimes, might, on reaching the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, -flourish and do well, or, since both the Indians and the neighbouring -English colonists were very troublesome, might be swept off the face -of the earth. But, even in the event of such a lamentable catastrophe -as this, they would, after all, be only ex-convicts whose loss could -be supplied by fresh relays. - -Now, on this morning, it had come to the turn of the Prison of St. -Martin des Champs to be relieved of some of its inhabitants, while, -previous to their despatch to La Rochelle, and, in some cases, even -Marseilles, Toulon, and Cette (to which places they would have to walk -in chain-gangs, thereby to reach the convict transports), the marriage -ceremony was taking place between those who were willing to be united -together, and the governor and the chaplain were both in the yard -ready to officiate at the ceremony. - -"Listen," said the chaplain, addressing the gaol birds who were -blinking in the rays of the bright morning sun--an unaccustomed sight -to them, since many of their numbers had been for months buried in -dark underground cells, attached each to a block of wood by the humane -process of having a chain passed round their throats which was stapled -on to the beam behind. "Listen, while I expound to you the law by -which you now practically become free men and women once more." While, -as he spoke, he turned his eyes and bobbed his head to the right where -the men were huddled together, and to the left where the women were. -"Free to become wealthy colonists and planters; married men and women -instead of cutpurses and outcasts, or lost women. Listen, I say." - -"_Ohé!_" muttered one of the women, while almost all the others -laughed and grimaced, except two or three who scowled at the chaplain -and the governor and ground their teeth savagely together. "_Ohé!_ -hark to him. Lost women! Think of that! The rogue! Who knows more of -such unhappy ones than the reverend father? Mon Dieu My sisters! You -remember?" - -"Silence," bellowed the chaplain, who seemed a more important man than -the governor at this juncture, "silence, and listen to the law as -expounded by me and passed," the latter part of the sentence being -delivered as though of secondary importance--"by his Highness the -Regent. This is it." - -Then, having cleared his throat, he began again:---- - -"All who leave by the transport ships from La Rochelle, Marseilles, -Cette, Toulon, Dunkirk, or Brest go forth as prisoners already -pardoned and absolved from a shameful yet well-deserved death; -absolved and pardoned from that most meritorious penalty, I say, yet -still prisoners and convicts. Yet, now, see what a noble and forgiving -Government does for you all, fruit of the Abbey of Mount Regret[3] as -you are. As you step upon the shores of New France your chains will -fall away from you; you will be free; you will become honourable -citizens once more of the noblest country in the world, with a vast -continent before you on which Nature has poured out her most bounteous -treasures--all for you." - -"But how to obtain them, Roger, my friend?" screamed a bold-faced, -black-eyed young woman, who had evidently known the chaplain under -other circumstances than the present. "Tell us that," and she laughed -a strident laugh. - -"Silence, wretch," again bawled the chaplain, whereat the woman -laughed once more derisively. "Silence, creature. It is to tell you -this--and for other things--that I am here after a night of fasting -and prayer. On landing, to each man will be allotted plots of the most -excellent fertile ground, either on the banks of the Mississippi, the -Fiore, the Ste. Susanne, the Trinité, or the Boca-Chica rivers." All -these names he read from a paper in his hand. "To each married -couple--remember this, you abandoned ones, who have hitherto despised -and scoffed at the holy bonds of matrimony, into which I now invite -you who are still unwed to enter--a treble plot. Also tools for -husbandry and the building of houses, barns, and sheds. Also," he went -on with great volubility, still glancing at the paper in his hand, "a -musket to each man, a sufficiency of powder and shot for the slaying -of wild beasts; though not those of your own kind," he added, -remembering, doubtless, their proclivities. Then, his recollection of -their lawless natures prompting him again, he also added. "For if you -slay one another you will undoubtedly be executed. Therefore, take -heed, and if the beasts of the forest offer not sufficient killing to -your murderous and unregenerate natures, why! assist in exterminating -the natives who, being not yet baptised and received into the bosom of -our Holy Mother Church, are not to be accounted human. Then, there are -the English from neighbouring settlements who war with and dispute the -power of France in their insolence. Those, too, you may slay and -despatch--if--if they give you fair cause, which undoubtedly their -fierce and brutal nature will prompt them to do." - -"But how to live?" asked one man, an enormous and cruel-looking -ruffian; "how to live, Father Roger, until the land yields the -wherewithal?" - -"Listen, and you will learn. On arriving, you will be sent to that -noble town now rising as a monument of France's greatness; the town of -new Orleans, so named after our pious and illustrious Regent. 'Tis but -eighteen miles from where you will land, if the captains of the -transports arrive at the proper spot; a morning's walk. There you may -earn money by assisting in laying out the streets, building the -houses, making yourself useful. Work half the day at this, devote the -other half to attending to your allotted settlements, if they are near -at hand; otherwise, if they are afar off, work one week at New -Orleans, another at your plantations; and, thereby, shall you grow -rich and prosperous. 'Tis not hard to do, and, if it is, why, 'tis -better than a roadside gallows, a prison cell, or the wheel--any of -which you have all deserved." - -Whether he knew what he was talking about, or whether he knew how -impracticable were the schemes he propounded, cannot be told. It was -sufficient that, at least, the vagabonds before him knew no better -than he did, and, at any rate, he spoke truly in one particular--to -whatever life they went forth, it must be better than death on the -gallows or the wheel. And as they listened, they told each other that, -at the worst, they would be free and at liberty to commence a new life -of preying on their fellow creatures, if there were any worth preying -on. - -"Now," the chaplain continued hastily, for a glance at the prison -clock showed him that the time for his midday meal was approaching--a -meal at which he generally ate heartily, since, from various causes, -he was ever a poor breakfaster; "now for the holy and irrevocable bond -of marriage to which I invite you to enter, so that, thereby, you -shall all lead a life of propriety and decency--which, as yet, none of -you have ever done!--and shall also increase the population of New -France. Therefore, stand forth, first, all you who are agreed on -marriage; after which those who are not yet affianced unto one another -can select spouses according to their tastes. Stand forth, I say, you -who are agreed." - -Forth, at his bidding they came, many of them having already decided -on becoming united, since it seemed that those who were married might -derive more advantage from their emigration than those who were -single; and because, also, all in their own minds had decided that, -once in the foreign land to which they were going, the tie might -easily be broken if they got sick of it. Therefore they stood before -him, ready. - -They were a strange, vile-looking crowd, such as, perhaps, no other -state of society but that which prevailed in the last days of the -Regency of Philip of Orleans could have produced. All were not of the -lowest orders; some there were who had commenced life in circumstances -which should almost have warranted them against ever coming to such -case as they were now in. The chaplain's list contained their -names--or such names as they chose to be known by--as well as their -prison numbers; it contained, too, information as to where other -particulars could be gathered. And in that list was an account of what -crimes they were condemned for. - -Among the men, most had been convicted of robbery, accompanied -generally with violence; one had slain a youth in a gambling hell, or -tripot, after cheating him; another had drugged a friend and robbed -him; a third had broken into a church and stolen the sacred vessels; a -fourth had beaten a priest; a fifth had throttled his wife. While, -also, there were others convicted and sentenced to the gibbet or the -wheel for crimes which, besides these, seemed trifling: a shop boy who -had robbed his master: a master who had starved his shop boy to death; -a vicomte who had embezzled the trust money of a ward and lost it all -in the "System;" a clerk who had stolen money to indulge in loose -pleasures, and a literary man who had written against the doctrines of -Rome and had called her Babylon, he being prosecuted by the Cardinal -Dubois of pious life! - -The women were, however, the greater sinners, besides being also -better educated in most cases, and, likewise, more hardened and -defiant. One was beautiful, her golden hair being knotted now behind -her head--wigs in the Prison of St. Martin des Champs were, naturally, -superfluous!--her eyes as blue as the cornflower, large, limpid, and -full of innocence; yet she had murdered her husband and her husband's -mother to marry a man who, from the moment she was arrested, had never -come near her nor sent her word nor message, nor money for her -defence. She was now about to marry the embezzling vicomte. Next to -her there stood, ready to bestow herself on the literary man, a woman -who was her exact opposite, a creature black and swarthy, yet with the -remains of magnificent florid beauty in her dissolute face; a woman -born beneath the warm sun of Hérault. She, too, had committed secret -murder on one who had wronged her; yet now she was to be married. And, -sometimes, as he glanced at her who in a few moments would be his -wife, the literary man who boasted that he had made Pope Clement -tremble trembled himself. - -The others were all more or less alike; lost women, as Roger, the -priest had said--one of them was about to espouse the shop boy--young -viragoes, robbers of drunken men, and so forth. And all meant to lead -a new life in a new land, though not perhaps the manner of life which -the priest had so unctuously described. - -"Stand forth," he said again now, for the clock had struck twelve and -his onion soup and stewed mutton were ready. - -"Stand forth in front of me. Prepare to enter the Holy State." -Whereupon he rapidly ran his eye over the paper in his hand, compared -the numbers by which the convicts were known in the prison with the -names they had been tried under, and then, exhorting them to attend to -the ceremony in a decent and reverent attitude, he proceeded to make -each two into one. - -Yet before he did so he gave them one last salutary admonition, one -paternal warning. "Remember," he said, "that this is no idle ceremony -to be gone through carelessly, but an entrance into the honourable -state of matrimony; an espousal of each other as binding on you by the -laws of the land as though it had taken place at the altar of Notre -Dame, and been performed by Monseigneur the Archbishop. Pause, -therefore, ere it is too late; before you pledge yourselves to one -another; ransack your memories; be sure that none of you men have -wives anywhere else; that none of you women--though, in truth, most of -you have taken steps to make yourselves widows without the assistance -of Fate--have husbands. For if any of you have such ties and the fact -is ever discovered, nothing can save you again. Wherever you are, in -France or her colonies, you will most assuredly be executed, for such -is the punishment of bigamy as laid down by his late most sacred -Majesty, urged thereto by the pious Madame de Maintenon. I have warned -you. Turn your eyes inwards," and as he spoke he cast his own eyes -over the convicts before him to see which of them trembled or turned -pale. Doubtless there were some to whom the warning came home--amongst -them there must of a surety have been some dissolute wives who had -deserted their husbands, and selfish husbands who, having grown tired -of supporting wives of whom they had sickened, had long disappeared -from their knowledge--yet all were hardened and gave no sign of -meditated bigamy. The New World was before them; their imaginations -were inflamed with the hopes of, a fresh and more free life in New -France, or elsewhere, if they could escape from the old world. If they -had deserted a dozen wives, or husbands, each was now willing to -accept another. - -Therefore they gave no sign, and, after one more glance at their -brazen faces, the chaplain married those who stood before him to each -other. - -Then he gave them his blessing and his hopes that their union might be -prosperous and fruitful, and also--this he did not forget--passed in a -sober and righteous manner, after which he dismissed them and -exclaimed-- - -"Now for the undecided ones. Come, you," and he advanced towards where -three or four men were making proposals to as many women. "Come you, -time runs apace; are you agreed?" - -Two men and two women were agreed, the third man was unpropitious in -his suit. The woman to whom he offered himself refused to listen to -him, to even heed his words or to give any sign that she heard him. - -"What is her number?" the priest asked, while the governor by his side -bent down and twitched at her coarse prison cloak, which she had drawn -close round her shoulders and the lower part of her face, thereby -probably to conceal the latter. "What is her number? Let us see," and -he looked at his notebook. - -"54," the governor said, pointing to the figures sewn on her shoulder. - -"54," muttered the chaplain, referring to the paper in his hand and, -after that, to a small memorandum book he drew from beneath his -cassock. "54. Humph! Ha!" Then, after reading from the book for a few -moments, he turned to the rejected suitor and said: "Young man, you do -not lose much. She is almost the worst, if not the worst, of all in -the list--she is----" - -"She may reform--and--and--you see? She is beautiful." - -"I see," murmured the chaplain, "that is true. Yet a dower you are -best without. What, my son, was your crime?" - -"Oh as for that," the fellow stammered, "but little. My uncle was -rich; he would give me nothing--a--miser----" - -"Precisely. Wherefore you helped yourself. Yet you were an innocent -beside this woman whom you now seek to wed. An innocent! She was -affianced to a rich man of illustrious family. On the day that was to -witness their wedding, on that very day she jilted him and married an -English vagabond--a swindler--who, report says, shortly deserted her. -But before he did so, they inveigled the one who should have been her -husband to their dwelling at night on some vile pretence, and then -attempted to strangle him, she doing the deed herself with those -hands," and he pointed to the thin white hands of the woman which held -the coarse hood about her face. While he continued: "Her victim was -found almost throttled at her feet--the exempts swore to it--part of -his cravat was in her hand when they rushed in. My man, you are well -free of the creature, even if you could by law have wedded her, which -is doubtful. The brigand, her husband, may be still alive, plundering, -robbing elsewhere." - -He finished speaking, and the miserable creature who would have united -himself to the woman, shuddered at the escape he had had. Shuddered, -too, at the look of despair upon the woman's face, which he took for -the fury of a spitfire, as she, lifting her hood, stared up with -large, grief-stricken eyes from where she crouched, and said to the -chaplain: - -"It is a lie! A lie! My husband was no adventurer, while, for that -other, would to God he were truly dead. He merited death." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE CONDEMNED - - -The prisons had not emptied quite as swiftly as the authorities -desired after they had been stuffed full of real and imaginary -criminals who were to people New France, with a view to proving that -the Mississippi scheme was not such a falsehood as had been stated. -The principal cause of this was that trustworthy galleys which could -cross the ocean from the western coast of France to the Gulf of Mexico -were not obtainable, while of the transports, only three, _La Duchesse -de Noailles_, _La Victoire_, and _La Duchesse de Berri_, were fit to -make the passage. The consequence was, therefore, that but one prison -emptied itself at a time, and that the month of May had come ere, for -the detained of the two remaining gaols, La Tournelle and St. Martin -des Champs, vessels had been provided for their reception, while even -these had to be hired from private owners by the Government. - -On the unhappy creatures, whether actual or supposititious -malefactors, who had lain in damp and unclean dungeons during the -months which had now passed since the period of the great frost, this -fact fell with an even greater force of cruelty than anything which -the other evil-doers--incarcerated in La Pitié, La Salpêtrière, -Bicêtre or Vincennes--had had to undergo, since the incarcerated ones -of the latter places had to proceed only to La Rochelle or La Havre or -St. Malo, while those of the former had now to set out on a far more -terrible journey. They were to march, chained together, to Marseilles, -a distance, roughly, of 350 miles from Paris; to cross mountains and -vast plains beneath a sun which would be a burning one ere they had -accomplished half the distance, and to do so upon nourishment which -would scarcely suffice to keep alive those who had to make no -exertions whatsoever. The reason for this was that the private owners -of the vessels which were to be hired for the purposes of their -transport would only consent to let them be chartered for such use on -condition that Marseilles was made the port of embarkation. Their -ships belonged to, came into, that port; they would be there in the -beginning of June, and, if the Government chose to have their convicts -ready to proceed on board at that time, they were willing to undertake -their transportation to the Gulf. If not, then those vessels must be -used for the ordinary business they were employed upon, and, in no -circumstances, would they contract to proceed to any other port of -France, and certainly to none on the western coast, to await the -arrival of the convicts. - -Marseilles was, therefore, decided on as the place to which the -miserable wretches still inhabiting La Tournelle and St. Martin des -Champs were to proceed. Three days after the marriages which the -chaplain of the latter place had performed (as the chaplain of the -former had also done) the chain gangs were ordered to set out. The day -was fixed--May 15--so, too, was the hour--that of eight o'clock in the -morning. - -It is possible that upon this earth--beneath the eyes of God--no more -horrible nor more heart-rending sight has ever been witnessed than the -preparations for the departure, and the actual departure itself, of a -chain of galley slaves of both sexes towards the sea coast. And that -which was taking place on this 15th of May in the prison of St. Martin -des Champs might have wrung the hearts of even those persons who were -marble to the core; of even human fiends. Yet, however much the -process might be calculated to distress those who looked on, there was -a sufficiency of observers to cause the exit from the gaol to be so -surrounded that scarcely could the prisoners come forth, and the roads -and streets leading to the open country to be so stuffed and congested -with lookers-on as to be almost impassable. For to see the "strings," -as they were called, depart was ever one of the spectacles of Paris. - -Inside the prison, in its huge, vast yard, all were assembled at -daybreak--all who were to set out upon that horrible journey on foot -which was to know no end until the burning shores of the Mediterranean -were reached; the end of a journey which was then to give place to a -life of hell passed between close decks in ships none too seaworthy. A -life of weeks spent under the eyes of sentries with loaded muskets, of -overseers armed with whips coated with hardened pitch; of blasphemous -and brutal guards ready to strike with sticks, or the flats of sabres, -upon the backs of either men or women who disobeyed their orders and -injunctions; a life of horror to be endured until they were set ashore -free men and women in the New World. Perhaps the knowledge of that -impending freedom enabled some to look forward calmly to what they had -learned they would have to endure; perhaps--which was far more -probable--none among the murderers and murderesses, the thieves and -rogues and lost women, and innocent, guiltless victims, knew or dreamt -of what was before them. Far more probable! - -All were in the courtyard at daybreak. And now began the ceremony of -preparing, of making the _toilette de voyage_, as it was brutally -termed, of the travellers ere they set out upon their journey. Into -the vast gaol-yard--called in bitter mockery and spite by generations -of convicts who had quitted it on their road to the galleys, the -"Court of Honour"--there came now three waggons filled with chains and -fetters; _carcans_, or iron collars, to be fitted on to the necks of -men and women alike; iron bolts to join together the chains which -attached each of those prisoners to one another. To be rivetted on -here in Paris; to be never struck off again until the journey of 350 -miles was accomplished, and the human cattle stood upon the crazy -decks of the hired transports which were eventually to land them, free -at last, amidst the raging surf of the Gulf of Mexico. - -Free then, but, until then, condemned convicts in actual fact as much -as if, instead of being on their way to the New World, there to begin -a new life, they were to step on board the galleys themselves and -there begin the hideous existence which France enforced on all those -who offended against her laws. - -Before, however, these fetters and those chains were rivetted upon -their necks and wrists and ankles--rivetted cold, and thereby causing -awful agony to all the culprits--one thing had to be done. Those women -who, in the course of the months in which they had lain in prison, had -given birth to children, were now to be separated from them; separated -from them for ever in all likelihood, since it was certain that the -mothers would never return to France, and almost equally certain that -the children would never be likely to make their way to New France -when they grew up. Separated also--since the lawgivers of France -boasted that they punished but never persecuted--because these babes -had committed no crime; because, too, the Government paid no passage -money for children, nor arranged for their sustenance. - -Three women had given birth thus to children during the time they lay -in the vaults of St. Martin des Champs, which was one of the places of -reception for these galley slaves who now figured under the name of -colonists; and, not knowing that their babes would ever be torn from -them, had rejoiced exceedingly over their birth. For they had hugged -the little creatures to their bosoms to keep them warm and to warm -themselves; they had kissed and fondled them and crooned strange -phrases of maternal love over them; had even looked forward with joy -unspeakable to the extra burden which they would have to carry on the -long march that they suspected, truly enough, lay before them. And -they had passed the helpless things round at night to other women who -had been torn, shrieking, from their own offspring, or had been -spirited off to gaol ere they could utter one last farewell to them, -or give them one last mad embrace; they had passed these newborn -babes round surreptitiously in the dark, and when the warders -slumbered, to these poor bereft mothers, so that they might pet them a -little, call them by the names of their own deserted and lost -children, and bring, thereby, some sort of comfort to their aching -hearts in doing so. While the women, these other women who had been -wrenched away from their offspring, had arranged with those happier -ones to assist in the carrying of the infants on the weary march and -to help those who owned them, their reward to be that they should hold -the little mites within their arms sometimes and, thereby, delude -themselves into the belief that it was their own flesh and blood which -they were clasping to their aching breasts. - -Yet now--now!--those mothers who had been made happy by the coming of -the children were to be parted from them for ever. There strode -towards one of these mothers who was seated on the stone bench which -ran all round the Court of Honour, the Governor of St. Martin des -Champs (a stern man who had never possessed either wife or child, nor -anything of a home but tents and barracks, during a long life of -soldiering) accompanied by a woman from the Hospital of Charity--which -preceded by some years the Hospital for Foundlings--a nurse. And she, -that mother smiling there, had no idea, no suspicion, of aught that -was about to befall her. If any other of the convicts knew--which was -doubtful, since few had ever travelled the road before that all were -now to set out upon--not one spoke a word or gave a hint of the sorrow -that was to light upon the unhappy woman. - -"Say farewell to your child," the governor exclaimed. "Quick! there is -no time to lose. Bid it adieu; then give it to this good nurse," and -he indicated that other woman who accompanied him. - -The mother looked up at him with staring eyes. There was, in truth, a -half smile upon her face, as though she doubted if she heard aright -and was almost amused--if one so wretched as she could ever be amused -again!--at the strange, impossible form which the words he must -actually have uttered had taken to her ears. Then she said, quietly, -"What did monsieur say?" - -"Bid your child adieu. Quick!" the governor repeated impatiently; "or -it will be taken without your farewells. Quick! I say. There are two -others to be dealt with." - -"Bid my child--farewell!" she murmured, understanding his words at -last. "Bid it farewell. You mean that?" And, now, her eyes stared with -a horror that was awful to see. A horror that appalled even this man, -whose life had been passed amidst, first, the turbulence of years of -rough campaigning, and, next, amidst all the most depraved and savage -wild beasts of Paris humanity. - -Above the roar of clanking cold iron being fastened upon the chains of -men and women, the rivetting and fitting of _carcans_ upon different -throats--the white throats of erring women, the knotted, corded -throats of men who had worn them before and slaved out portions of -their evil lives with those cursed iron bands swathed fast about -them--amidst, too, the cheers of the populace outside, through whose -ranks, by now, the first chain--that of some men--was passing, that -woman's shriek was heard. It rose above all; above hoarse curses from -the male savages at the pain caused by the hammer as it struck the -edges of their collars together; above yells from the female savages -as the same process went on; above, too, the trumpets of the -gendarmerie, which, a merciful Government allowed to bray outside the -prison gates as an encouragement to the unhappy wretches setting out -upon that journey; above everything else that shriek arose. - -For she understood now! She knew that the little helpless mass of -human life which had lain so warm and snug within her arms for two or -three months was to be torn away from her for ever. - -"No! No! No!" she moaned, ceasing at last to shriek. "No! No! No. Ah, -monsieur, see how small, how helpless it is. My child! My child! My -little child! And--monsieur--it is not well--it--it--oh--oh! God, how -I have watched over it; cared for it. I have prayed to Him--I, who -never prayed before; I, who scarce knew how to form a prayer. -It is not well. It cannot live without me. It cannot; it -cannot. It is death to part us; death to it and me. And it is -so--so helpless--and--so--innocent." - -The governor had turned his back upon her. Perhaps her pleading had -wrung even his heart! Then the nurse spoke. The nurse, who, because -she was a gentle woman, wept. - -"Fear not, poor girl," she whispered, even as she strove to take the -child from the arms which clasped it so tightly. "Fear not. It shall -be well attended to. And, see, here is a number," whereon she gave the -unhappy mother a piece of paper, on which she hastily scrawled some -figures. "If you ever return you may find it thus--when it grows -up--it--what is your name?" - -"Le Blanc. I shall never return. Never." Then she moaned again. "My -child! My little child! And," she sobbed forth, "see, I had made a -sling wherewith to carry it--so--that--it should lie more easily upon -my breast. Oh! God--that I--that it--were dead." - -Many women had watched this scene, amongst them the two other -newly-made mothers, who saw in it what was to be their own fate and -the fate of their babes. So, too, had Laure Vauxcelles, herself -bearing a collar now around her beautiful neck--a light one, it is -true, since the warder whose duty it was to attend to these matters, -among other things, had observed that she was young and handsome, -and, being himself young, or, at least, not old, had spared her as -much as possible. On her left wrist there was fastened a great iron -loop--great for so small a wrist!--through which was to run the chain -that would attach her to those before and those behind her. To her -right wrist was an iron bracelet with a short chain hanging to it, -which, a few moments later, would couple her to the woman who would -march by her side from Paris to Marseilles--if she ever reached the -latter place, which she prayed fervently she might never do. - -The chain composed of men was already gone by now; out into the -street, beyond the prison gate, it had already passed; out into the -bright, warm sun, so cheering to those who had lain in that prison for -months--cheering now, but, ere long, to become an awful torture as the -days grew hotter and the south was neared. The chain composed of women -was about to follow. Of women, amongst whom, perhaps, were others as -innocent of guilt as Laure herself; women whom a relentless rival, a -rejected lover possessed of power, a suspicious, jealous husband also -possessed of power or--which was the same thing--of money, may have -consigned to this hellish doom. Women, too, who, although they were -the guilty things that Roger, the chaplain, had described them as -being, had possibly never walked three consecutive leagues in their -lives. Women who, instead, had in many cases ridden in carriages and -sedan chairs and coaches provided by their admirers. Yet now--now they -set forth to march to Marseilles, nearly 350 miles away by road; to -Marseilles, where, in the summer, the sun burned like a flaming -furnace, and to which the breeze of the southern sea came hot and -sultry as the breath from out of the mouth of a panting dog. - -The trumpets of the gendarmerie pealed louder, the mob outside was -screaming frantically, people were hanging half-way out of the -windows; some boys who had climbed a tree which grew in the dusty -place beyond the prison gates, were waving their ragged caps and -chattering and grimacing. "The female cord" was passing forth. Ahead, -went four mounted gendarmes, then, next, four waggons, destined to -occasionally give a lift to those women who fell by the wayside, yet -did not die at once. They who did so were left behind for the Communes -to bury! Now, in the waggons, were seated the galley sergeants. There -was no reason why they should walk; they were neither criminals nor -women. - -Then _la Châim_ issued from the gates, the two leading couples of the -double string, as the mob and the boys in the trees called them, -passed out. Amidst further roars, hurrahs, encouragements, low jeers -and fingerpointings, they came forth; amidst, too, exclamations from -some who recognised them. With, also, a woman's shriek issuing now and -again from out the mob's tight-packed density--a mother's heartbroken -cry perhaps, perhaps a sister's, perhaps a daughter's. Yet, with no -sign of sympathy from one set of beings who were witnessing the -spectacle; who had paid, and paid well, to thus witness it. -Beings--fashionable, well-dressed men and women, who had hired windows -at which to sit and see the chains go by, and who drank chocolate and -ate chipped bread and cakes and dainty butter brought from the cool -north; and laughed and chatted, and made appointments for the Gardens -of the Tuileries that night, or for boating parties on the Seine when -the evening air was cooling the atmosphere. - -Laure passed out, too, at last, manacled, shackled to the dark -southern woman who had married the literary man. Passed out with her -head bent down, her feet dragging like lead beneath her, her heart -beating as though it must burst. - -Passed out to what she knew and felt would be her death. To what she -prayed might be her death. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MARSEILLES - - -The chain gangs--the men a mile ahead of the women--marched but slowly -on their way; indeed, it was impossible that they should progress very -fast. Some, as has been said, especially among the female prisoners, -had never been accustomed to walking at all; others, amongst both -women and men, soon became footsore. The months passed in the dungeons -of the prisons, with their bodies chained by the neck to the beam -behind them, had given their feet but little opportunity of exercise, -that only being obtainable which they got from stamping on the ground -to drive out the cold they suffered from during the winter period. No -wonder that all became footsore ere a fiftieth part of their toilsome -journey was covered. - -Yet they went on; they had to go on. Marseilles was, to be exact, 356 -miles from Paris by road, and they were timed to do the distance in -thirty days; must do it according to the contract made by the -Government with the owners of the ships which were to transport the -"colonists," the "emigrants," to New France. Thirty days for 356 -miles. - -About twelve miles a day! Not much that for pedestrians, for hardy -walkers, for people used to journeying on foot day by day. A thing to -be accomplished easily, and easily to be surpassed, by the countless -pedlars who swarmed over the face of France; by itinerant monks, by -wandering ballad-singers, strolling players and troops of showmen; yet -not easy for women or men who, even if they had ever walked at all, -were now quite out of practice; who, also, were ill-fed and, in many -cases, were sick and ailing. Yet they had to do it. It must be done. - -Each morning, therefore, they set forth again on their route, no -matter whether the sun was beating down fiercely on their heads--they -being protected only by hats which they had been allowed to plait from -the prison straw, in anticipation of the forthcoming journey--or -whether the rain was falling in torrents. Each night they lay down -wherever the chain halted, which it generally did near some village or -hamlet, partly because there the colonists might be allowed to lie and -sleep beneath the shelter of barns and outhouses, but more -particularly because, thereby, the guards and the galley sergeants and -mounted gendarmes could find drinking shops and _pants_ wherein they -might rest and refresh themselves. And, gradually, as they went on and -on along the great southern road, through Montargis and Cosne, and by -Nevers, and on to Moulins and Montmarault, their numbers became a -little diminished nightly. Women dropped by the wayside, or, rather, -amidst the dust and mud of the high road; it was useless to place them -in the carts and carry them further; therefore they were left beneath -the hedges and the sparse bushes that bordered the route--left with -their coarse prison petticoat thrown over their dead faces to save -them from the flies--left there for the villagers to bury when they -were found. And, because the women passed along behind the men, they -saw--they could not help but see!--unless they were blinded by -staggering for league after league through heat and dust, that, with -the chain of men, the same thing had happened. Their bodies--some of -their bodies--were also to be seen lying beneath the hedges and the -bushes, but with no protecting rag over their faces. - -Yet, still, those who were not dead went on and on, stumbling, -falling, being dragged up by the companion manacled to them, or by the -guards (kind in some cases, brutal in others) on and on, like women -walking in their sleep; their lids half closed over their glistening, -fever-lit eyes, their senses telling them they were suffering, even as -the dumb brutes' senses tell them that they are suffering. But no -more! - -Shackled to the dark handsome woman of the south who had espoused the -writer who hated Rome and her customs, was Laure, alive still, though -praying that every day might be her last. That she would have ever -reached Clermont, to which they were by now arrived, had it not been -for this woman, was doubtful. For she, brought up by Vandecque in all -the luxury he could afford--partly from love of her, partly because -she was a saleable article that, carefully cherished, might fetch a -large price--was no more fitted to walk day by day a distance of from -ten to fifteen miles than she was fitted to sleep on the ground in -barns and outhouses, or to exist on bread and water and anything else -which her comrade could procure by stealing or begging from the -compassionate landlords of those inns where sometimes the chain -halted. - -Yet she had done it, she had survived, she was alive; she could feel -the cool mountain air of the Dômes sweep down upon and revive her. She -was still alive. - -It seemed to her as if a miracle alone could have kept her so; a -miracle that had for its instrument the woman Marion Lascelles -(Lascelles being the name of the man the latter had espoused, but from -whom she would be separated until they stood free in Louisiana). For -Marion, however vile her past had been, or whatever crimes she might -have steeped her hands in, was, at least, an angel of mercy to Laure, -though at first she had not been so. Instead, indeed, she, in her -great, masterful strength, which neither dungeon nor starvation had -been able to subdue, had strode fiercely along the baked roads which -led, as she muttered to herself, to the sea-coast first, and then to -freedom, though a freedom thousands of miles away. And, as she so -strode, she dragged at the chain which fastened Laure to her, until -once, in doing so, she brought down on her the eye of the officer, or -guard, who rode near. - -"What ails her?" he asked, guiding his horse up close to them, while -Marion saw his hand tighten on the whip he held as though about to -administer a blow. "What ails her? Does she want a taste of this?" and -he shook it before their eyes. The fellows in charge of the chain -gangs were indeed officers, but, since none but the most brutal, or -those who had risen from the lowest ranks, would condescend to accept -this employment, to which they were regularly appointed for periods, -their savageness was not extraordinary. - -"Nay," replied Marion; "it is my fault. I am too rough with her. And -you can see that she is a gentlewoman, delicately bred. If," and her -black eyes flashed at him, "you are a man, strike not one as helpless -as she is." - -"Oh! as for that," the fellow answered, "there are no delicately-bred -ones here. Sentenced convicts all, while you are in our hands. Yet, -since you are the best-looking women in the gang--I love both fair and -dark myself!--I will not beat her this time. But there must be no -lagging; the transports sail under three weeks from now if the wind is -fair. We must be there--at Marseilles." - -"She shall not lag," Marion replied. "If she fails I will carry her." - -"God bless you," Laure said to her that night, as, still chained to -each other, they lay down together in a shelter for sheep outside -Issoire, since the dreary march was now almost half compassed though -many leagues had still to be accomplished. "God bless you, you are a -true woman." Then she put out her hand and touched the dark one of the -woman at her side, and called her "sister." - -With this began their friendship; with it began, too, a revolution in -the hot, fiery blood that coursed through the veins of Marion -Lascelles. She scarcely knew at first what crime the woman next to her -had been condemned for, though she had caught something of what the -chaplain of the prison had said to the fellow who desired to marry -Laure; but one thing she did know, namely that, besides herself, this -was an innocent, suffering creature. And this weakling had called her -"sister"; had prayed God to bless her--to bless her! "When," she -mused, "when, if ever, had such a prayer gone up to heaven for her; -when, when?" Not, she thought, since she was a simple, innocent child, -roaming about the sandy, sunburnt beach of Hérault with her hand in -her mother's--a fisherman's widow, now years since dead. And from -that day she was no longer the fierce companion, but instead, the -protector of Laure, striving always to give the latter some portion of -her own sparse allowance of food; stealing bits of meat out of the -_pots-au-feu_ if the chance ever came her way, sharing all with her; -walking with her arm round her waist, while Laure's head reclined on -her shoulders. - -"I shall die," the latter said more than once, "I shall die ere we -reach Marseilles. Oh! Marion, let them not leave me by the wayside." - -"Bah!" Marion answered, "you shall not die. I will fight death for -you, wrestle with him, hold you back from him. You have to live." - -"For what?" the other would ask. "For what?" and her soft eyes would -look so sad that Marion, still unregenerate, would swear a fierce -southern oath to herself, while she folded Laure to her bosom and -strained her to it with her strong arms. "For what?" Marion would -repeat. "Why, for freedom, first; for justice. That poor imbecile -marching ahead of us" (she was referring to her newly-espoused -husband) "has it seems the gift of writing, at least, since it has -brought him to this pass. We will tell him your history" (for Marion -knew it all now): "then he shall put it into words, and so, somehow, -it shall have its effect. In this new land to which we go there must -be a governor, or vice-regent, or someone in power. He will surely -help you, especially after he has seen you! And there are two other -reasons why you should live." - -"I do not know them," Laure faltered. - -"You love your husband?" - -"Ah!" the other gasped. - -"You love him, I say. My God! do I not know what love is!" and she -smote her breast as she spoke. "You love him. You have told me all. -You loved him; you came to love him on the day you married him, the -day he saved you from that--that animal!" - -"He is dead!" Laure wailed. "He is dead!" - -"I doubt it. Men do not die easily." Possibly, here, too, she was -speaking from experience. "I doubt it. More like, those animals, -Desparre and your uncle, caused him to be arrested and thrown into -prison; remember, they may have encountered him on their road to you. -He may be--who knows?--in the chain that is now on its road to Brest -or Dunkirk." - -Laure wrung her hands and shook her head at this, while Marion -continued:-- - -"Or suppose Desparre lied to you; suppose they had not encountered him -at all. Suppose, I say, he came back to you that night, the next -morning, and found you gone; with none to tell where--you say yourself -that no servant appeared on the scene ere the exempts dragged you -away. Suppose he came back. What then?" - -"I do not know; I cannot think." - -"I can. He will find out what has become of you, follow you. _Mon -Dieu!_" as a sudden thought flashed into her mind. "Did he not tell -you he meant himself to emigrate to Louisiana, the very place to which -we go. Courage; courage; courage." - -"Oh!" Laure gasped, "if--if I dared to hope that." - -"Dared to hope! There is nothing else to be supposed but that. He will -be there. Surely, surely, Laure, you will meet your husband in this -colony, big as they say it is. All will be well." - -"Nay," she said, "nay. It will never be well. He married me to save me -from Desparre; he had ceased to love me. Yet--yet, if I could see him -once again, only once, I would tell him----" - -"What?" - -"That I surrendered; that I had come to love him. Yet of what avail -would that? He will be a gentleman planter; I--I a released convict, a -woman earning her bread by labour. Also, he knows--that--I have no -origin." - -"He knew it before he married you. And, knowing it, be sure he loved -you." And Marion Lascelles, whether she believed the comforting hopes -she had endeavoured to raise in the other's breast, or whether she had -only uttered them in the desire to put fresh strength into her sad -heart, would hear no word of doubt. - -But still the chains went on, the men a mile ahead, the women -following behind. But ever on, and with the journey growing still more -toilsome to these poor creatures worn by this time to skeletons; more -toilsome because they were passing through Haute Loire and Ardèche now -and the mountains were all around them, and had to be climbed by their -bleeding, festering feet. Ascents that had to be made which lasted for -hours, followed by descents as wearying to their aching limbs. - -In truth, it might have seemed to any who had observed that chain of -women that it was a small army of dead women which was passing through -the land. An army of dead women who had been burnt black and become -mummified, whose bony frames were enveloped in prison garments, -foul--even for such things--from rain and the mud they had slept in -and the white powdery dust that had blown on to them. Dead women, who, -when they halted, fell prostrate and gasping to the earth, or reclined -against rocks and trees rigidly, with staring, glassy eyes--eyes that -stared, indeed, but saw nothing. Women, in fact, to whose lips the -guards and the sergeants of the prisons--themselves burnt black, -though not worn to skin and bone by constant walking, since they had -their horses and the carts--were forced to hold cups of water, as -otherwise the prisoners must have died of thirst, not being able to -fetch or lift them for themselves. But still--with now half their -number left behind dead, amongst which were two of the women whose -children had been taken from them--they went on. Down by where the -Rhone swept and swirled; past Beaucaire and Tarascon, past Orgon and -Lambèse; past Aix, sacred twenty years before to the slaughter, and -the murder, and the mock trials of many Protestants still toiling at -the galleys, hopeless and heartbroken. On, on, on, until, beneath a -lurid evening sky, the eyes of the guards--but not the sightless eyes -of the women--discerned a great city lying upon the shores of a -limpid, waveless sea. - -Marseilles! It was there before them, before the eyes of those men on -horseback and in the carts, only--what was happening, what was doing -in it? That, they could not understand. - -For, beneath that lurid and gleaming sky, which had succeeded to an -awful thunderstorm that had passed over the unhappy chain gang an hour -before and drenched them afresh, as they had been drenched so many -times in their long march, they saw fires blazing from pinnacles and -towers, as well as upon the city walls. They knew, too, that similar -fires must be blazing in the streets and market-places and great open -spaces--they knew it by another fierce red light that rose up and -mingled with the red flames and flecks which the sun cast upon the -purple, storm-charged clouds. - -"What is it?" a mounted gendarme whispered to a comrade. "What! Can -the storm, the lightning, have set the city in flames? Yet, surely not -in twenty places at once!" - -"Nay, nay," the other muttered, his eyes shaded by his hands as he -glanced down to where those flaming lights were illuminating all the -heavens with their glare as the night grew on, and the fires burnt -more fiercely. "Nay; they burn fuel for some reason, they ignite it -themselves." - -"What! What! What! For what reasons?" - -"God knows," muttered the gendarme, becoming pious under this -awe-inspiring thing which he did not understand. "They did it once -before," the other whispered. "Once! nay, oftener. My grandam was a -Marseillaise. I have heard her tell the tale. They feared the pest." - -"The pest--my God! Ere we left Paris people whispered that it had -broken out in the Levant. The Levant! Marseilles trades much there. -What if--if----" he stammered, turning white with fear and -apprehension. - -"What if," said his comrade, taking him up, "it should be here!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -"MY WIFE! WHAT WIFE? I HAVE NO WIFE." - - -Two months before the chain-gangs set out for Marseilles from the -Prison of St. Martin des Champs, namely at the end of March, Walter -Clarges descended from a hackney coach outside the house in which he -had lived in the Rue de la Dauphine, and entered its roomy hall, or -passage. Then, taking a key from his pocket, he was about to open the -door of his own suite of apartments on the right of the hall, when he -saw that, attached to the door, was a great padlock which fastened a -chain into two staples fixed in the outer and inner framework. He saw, -too, something else. A spider's web that had been spun above the chain -itself by the insect, which, at the present moment, was reposing in -its self-made house. - -For a moment, seeing this, he stood there pondering while looking down -upon the creature in its web--accepting, acknowledging, the sign of -desolation which this thing gave--then, ever so gently, he shrugged -his shoulders with a gesture that might have brought the tears to the -eyes of any woman--nay, of any man--who had observed him. - -"Scarce," he muttered, "could I have expected aught else. After so -long. After so long." Then, turning away, he went to the back of the -long hall where, opening a small door, he called down some stairs to -the woman who had been the housekeeper three months before--at the -time when he brought Laure to his rooms. - -Presently, after answering him from where she was, she appeared, her -sleeves turned up and her hands wet, as though fresh from some simple -household work, and, seeing him, exclaimed-- - -"In truth! It is Monsieur Clarges. Returned--at last! Monsieur has -been away long. Perhaps to his own land. No matter. Now he is back. -Yet--yet----" she said, looking up at him in the gleaming light of the -spring sun: "Monsieur has not been well. He is white--oh, so white! -Evidently not well." - -"I have been close to death for months. At death's door. In the -hospital of the Trinity. No matter for that. Instead, tell me where -the lady is whom I left here on--on--the night I brought her. When did -she cease to occupy these rooms; when depart? As I see she must have -done by this." And he indicated with his finger the spider in its web. -"Also, what message, what letter has she left for me?" - -For answer the woman glanced into his face with wide-open eyes--eyes -full of astonishment, surprise. Then she said: - -"Monsieur asks strange questions. Letters! Messages! From her?" - -"From her. Surely she did not go away and leave none behind." - -"But--but----" the other stammered, she being appalled by the look in -his eyes; "beyond doubt she went with Monsieur. Upon that night. I -have ever thought so. I----" - -"She went away upon that night!" he said, his voice deep and low. -"Upon that night?" - -"Why, yes, Monsieur," the woman replied. "Why, yes." And now she found -her natural garrulity; she began to tell her tale, such as it was. "I -have always thought that, after Monsieur had given his orders as to -Madame's occupation of the rooms, he and the lady had changed their -minds and had decided to go away together. Especially since a -compatriot of Monsieur's called a few days later and said that Madame -was Monsieur's wife--that--that--the marriage had taken place on the -morning of that day." - -"My compatriot told you that?" - -"He told me so. As well as that he himself had assisted at the -wedding. Therefore, I felt no surprise at the absence of Monsieur and -Madame." - -"What?" asked Walter Clarges, still in the low deep voice that was -owing, perhaps, to the thrust through the lungs he had received in the -Rue des Saints Apostoliques three months ago, perhaps to the tidings -he was now gleaning--"what happened on that night? How did she go -away? Surely, surely, you must have known she did not go with me." - -"Alas!" the woman answered. "I knew nothing; saw nothing. I knew not -when she went, and deemed for certain that Monsieur had returned for -her. That he had taken her away with him." - -"You mean, then, that she went alone? Walked forth from this house -alone. Leaving no word--no message. Has--never--since--sent--one. You -mean that?" - -"Monsieur, I know not what I mean. Oh! Monsieur, listen. That night -was a night of horror. Awful things were being done outside. Monsieur -knows. Hideous, heart-rending things! A neighbour of mine, Madame -Prue, came in, rushed in in the evening, and said that the archers and -exempts were seizing people in the streets who had committed no -crimes, yet had been denounced by their neighbours as criminals. Her -own son, she said, was abroad in the streets, and he was so wild, as -well as hated by all in the quarter because he was a fighter and a -brawler in his cups. She feared--she feared--she knew not what. That -he might resist and become quarrelsome. Thereby, be lost and sent to -the prisons--the galleys; even, some whispered, to foreign lands, -exiled for ever. And she, Madame Prue, begged me to go with her, to -assist in finding him--to--to----" and the woman paused to take -breath. - -"Go on," said Walter Clarges. "Go on. You went. When did you return?" - -"Not for three hours. We could not find the son--he has never been -found yet. God alone knows where he is. His mother is heartbroken. -They say--they say there are hundreds in the prisons being transported -to foreign lands--to----." - -"You came not back for three hours! And the lady--my--my--wife?" - -"Monsieur, she was gone. And I thought nought of it. The streets were -in turbulence, shots were heard now and again; even houses, apartments -entered. I deemed you had returned for her, dreading to leave her -alone; that you had taken Madame away, dreading also to keep her in -this quarter. That you had, perhaps, sought a better one, or the -suburbs, and were enjoying--well! your honeymoon." - -"My honeymoon," he whispered to himself. "My God!" Then he said aloud. -"And there was no message? No letter left in the room? You are sure?" - -"There was nothing. I entered the room meaning to offer Madame some -supper--it was vacant. No sign of aught. The fire was gone out. The -lamp was extinct. There was--nothing." - -"Nothing!" Walter repeated. "Nothing! No sign of aught. Not a line of -writing. No letter left then or come since." - -"Oh," exclaimed the woman, "as for 'come since'--there are -several----" - -"And you have kept me thus in torture! Where are they? Where? Where? -Doubtless one is from her?" - -"I will go and fetch them. Since Monsieur has been away I have not -opened the rooms. Not since I cleaned them during the first days of -Monsieur's absence." - -"Fetch them at once, I beseech you. Yet, ere you go, give me the key -of this padlock. Let me enter the rooms. Bring the letters here at -once." - -The woman sped on her way to the back of the house, and, while she was -gone, Walter applied the key to the padlock--brushing away the spider -and its web as he did so--then turned the other key of the door and -entered his sitting-room while he muttered, "She will have gone to -England, as I wished her. She has written from there. All will be -well. All. All. Yet why did she go so soon? Why leave this house the -moment my back was turned?" - -And, even as he remembered she had done this, he felt a pang at his -heart. - -Why! Why I Why had she acted thus? Why before seeing him again; before -waiting for his return? - -The rooms looked very lonely and desolate as he glanced around them, -while throwing open the wooden shutters ere he did so--lonely and -desolate as all rooms and houses invariably appear which have remained -unused and shut up for some considerable space of time. And they -seemed even more so than they would otherwise have done, because of -her whom he had left sitting by what was now a cold and empty hearth. -Where, he asked himself, where was she? Yet he would soon know--in an -instant; he could hear the woman's pattens clattering up the bare cold -steps of the stairs and along the hall--he would soon know. - -She came in a moment later, one hand full of kindlings and paper to -make a fire, the other grasping some letters--half a dozen--a dozen. -And amongst them there must be one--more than one from her--he could -see the English frank--also the red post-boy stamped in the corner. -She had written. - -He snatched as gently as might be the little parcel from the woman's -hand, ran the letters rapidly through his own--and recognised in a -moment that there were none, was not one, from her. Not one! Three -were from his mother, another was in a woman's writing which he did -not recognise, another from his compatriot, from him who had witnessed -his marriage. But from her--nothing! - -He let the servant lay and light the fire while he stood by looking -down into the fast kindling flames and holding the letters in his hand -listlessly, then, when she rose from her knees and glanced at him -inquiringly, he shook his head gently. - -"No," he said, in answer to her questioning eyes. "No. She has not -written yet. Not yet. Leave me now if you will. These at least must be -attended to." - -When she had gone from out the room, after turning back ere she did so -to cast a swift glance at him, a glance which led her to passing her -apron across her eyes after she had gained the passage, he sat down in -the deep fauteuil by the fire in which he had so often sat since he -had lived there--the fauteuil in which his wife of a day had sat -before him on their wedding night--and brooded long ere he opened the -letters which lay to his hand. - -"What does it mean?" he murmured to himself. "What? Were Vandecque and -that creeping snake, Desparre, whom I saw lurking in the porch of a -house ere I was vanquished, on their way here when we met? Did they -come on here afterwards? Yet, even so, what could they do to her? -Nothing! The law punishes not those women who disobey their parents or -guardians by marrying against their wish, but, instead, the man who -marries them. It could do nothing to her. If she went from here she -went of her own free will, even though cajoled by Vandecque into doing -so. As for Desparre, what harm could he do? She hated him; she married -me when she might have married him. No! No! It is Vandecque I must -seek. Vandecque! At once. At once. Now. Yet, to begin with, these -letters." - -Those from his mother were the first to which he turned; before all -else he, this married yet wifeless man, sought news of her. Her love, -at least, never faltered; never! And, he reflected sadly, it was the -only woman's love he was ever likely to know. There could be no other -now that he was wedded to one who had disappeared from out his life an -hour after his back was turned. - -"Yet, stay," he mused, as these thoughts sped swiftly through his -troubled mind. "Stay. She may have followed my injunctions and have -made her way to England. The news I seek may be here, in these." - -But, even as he so thought, something, some fear or apprehension, told -him that it was not so, and that his mother had no information to give -him of his wife. - -Swiftly he ran through his letters after opening them, putting away -for the moment all consideration of his mother's anxiety as to what -might have happened to him, since she had not heard from him for so -long. Swiftly only to find that, beyond all doubt, she had neither -seen nor heard aught of Laure. There was no mention of her. No word. - -"I have no wife," he murmured. "No wife; nothing but a bond that will -for ever prevent me from having wife or child, or home. Ah well! so be -it. I saved her; saved her from him. Of my own free will I did it. It -is enough." - -Yet, though she had gone away thus and had left him without word or -sign, he remembered that there was still one other thing--two other -things--for him to do. Things that he had mused upon for weeks as he -lay in the hospital in which he found himself on emerging from a long -delirium, and while his wounded lung was slowly healing--the -determination to find both Desparre and Vandecque, and, then, to slay -both. - -To kill Vandecque as he would kill a rat or a snake that had bitten -him; to force Desparre to stand before him, rapier in hand, and to run -the villain through the lungs, even as his jackals had done to him -while their employer looked on from out the shelter of the porch. - -This he meant to set about now, at once, to-day; but, first, let him -read his mother's letters and write one in reply. - -Those letters were full of the distress she was in at gleaning no news -from him, full of tender dread as to what might have befallen him in -Paris, which, she had heard, even in her country seclusion, was in a -terrible state of turmoil in consequence of the bursting of the -Mississippi bubble and the ruin following thereon; also, they -expressed great fear that, in some manner, his Jacobite devotion might -have led him into trouble, even though he was out of England. - -Thus the first two ran. The third contained stranger and more pregnant -news; news of so unexpected a nature that even this gentle, anxious -mother put aside for the moment her wail of distress over the lack of -tidings from her son to communicate it. - -His distant cousin, she wrote, Lord Westover, was dead, burned to -death in his own house in Cumberland, and with him had also perished -his son; therefore Walter Clarges, her own dear son, had, unexpectedly -to all, inherited the title as well as a large and ample fortune. He -must, consequently, she said, on receipt of this at once put himself -in communication with the men of business of the Westover family, the -notary and the steward; if, too, she added, he could see his way to -giving in his adherence to the reigning family his career might now be -a great, almost an illustrious, one. The Hanoverian King was welcoming -all to his Court who had once espoused the now utterly ruined Stuart -cause. All would be forgotten if Walter but chose to give in his -allegiance to the new ruler of England. And, perhaps with a view to -inducing him to think seriously of such a change, she mentioned that -she had heard from a sure source that, not six months before he met -with his terrible death, the late Earl had seen King George, and had -been graciously received by him. There was, she thought, no doubt that -he at least had made his peace with the reigning monarch. - -To Walter Clarges--or the Earl of Westover, as he now was--this news -seemed, however, of little value. Titles, political principles--which -he felt sure he should never feel disposed to change--even -considerable wealth, were at the present moment nothing to him; -nothing in comparison with what he had to do, with what he had set -himself to do. - -This was to seek out and wreak his vengeance on those two men, -Desparre and his tool and creature, Vandecque. As for her, his -wife--now an English aristocrat, a woman of high patrician rank by -marriage--she had gone; she had left him without a word, without a -message as to what life she intended to lead henceforward, or what -existence to pursue. Yet, he had no quarrel with, no rancour against, -her; he could have none. He had offered himself to her as a man who -might be her earthly saviour, though without demanding in return any -of the rights of a husband, without demanding the slightest show or -pretence of affection; and she had taken him at his word, she had -accepted his sacrifice! That was all. Upon her he had no right to -exercise any vengeance whatsoever. - -It was on Desparre first; on Vandecque next; or rather, on whichever -might first come to his hand, that the punishment must fall; and fall -it should, heavily. Of this he was resolved. - -Pondering thus, he picked up the letter addressed to him in a woman's -handwriting, and, opening it, began its perusal. - -Yet, as he did so, as he read through it swiftly, his face became -white and blanched. Once he muttered to himself, "My God, what awful -horror have I saved her from!" And once he shivered as though he sat -on some bleak moor, across which the wintry wind swept icily, instead -of in his own room, on the hearth of which the blazing logs now roared -cheerfully up the great open chimney. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -WHERE IS THE MAN? - - -When Walter Clarges was left lying on the footway of the Rue des -Saints Apostoliques, on that cold, wintry night after Vandecque's -rapier had struck through his left lung, there was not an hour's life -left in him if succour had not been promptly at hand. Fortunately, -however, such was the case, and, ere he had been stretched there -twenty minutes, his prostrate form was found by a number of soldiers -of the "Regiment of Orleans," who happened to pass down the street on -their way to where their quarters were, near the Hôtel de Ville. All -these men had been drinking considerably on this night of lawlessness -and anarchy, they having, indeed, been sent forth under the charge of -some officers to restore, if possible, peace and tranquillity to the -streets, and to prevent the archers and exempts from continuing the -wholesale arresting and dragging off to prison (after first clubbing -and beating them senseless) of many innocent persons. And, for the -rescues which they had made of many such innocent people, they had met -with much gratitude and had been treated to draughts of liquor strong -enough and copious enough to have turned even more seasoned heads than -theirs, and were now reeling back to their quarters singing songs, -yelling out vulgar ribaldries, and accosting jocosely, and with many -barrack-room gallantries, the few women who ventured forth, or were -forced to be abroad on such a night. - -"Body of a dog," said one, a big, brawny fellow, whose magnificent -uniform shone resplendent under the rays of the now fully risen moon, -as they flashed down from the snow upon the roofs, "is our Regent -turned fool? What will he gain by this devil's game of arresting all -the people who object to lose their money in his cursed schemes. 'Tis -well De Noailles sent us out into the streets to-night to stop it all, -or the boy-king might never sit on the old one's throne. By my -grandmother's soul, our good Parisians will not endure everything, and -Philippe, who is wise, when he is not drinking or making love, should -know better than to play such a fool's game. 'Tis that infernal -Dubois, or his English friend, the financier----" - -"La! la!" said another, equally big and brawny, "blaspheme not Le -Débonnaire. He is our master. Ho! le Débonnaire!" Whereon he began to -sing a song that everyone sung in Paris at this time, in which he was -joined by all his comrades: - - - "Long live our Regent, - He is so débonnaire." - - -Then he broke off, exclaiming while his comrades continued the -refrain, "Ha! What have we here? Ten thousand thunders! Is it a -battlefield? Behold Look at this Dead men around! The house-wall -splashed with blood! How it gleams, sticky and shiny, in the moon's -rays! Poor beasts!" - -"Beasts in truth!" exclaimed a third. "Archers, exempts! _Fichtre!_ -who cares for them. Dirty police, watchmen essaying the duties of -soldiers--of gentlemen, of ourselves. Bah!" and he kicked a dead -archer lying in the road with such force that the thud of his -heavy-spurred riding-boots sounded hideously against the corpse's -ribs. "Let them lie there till the dogs find them." - -"Ay! ay!" exclaimed the first of the speakers. "Let them lie. But this -other, here; this is no exempt nor archer--instead, a gentleman. Look -to his clothes and lace, and his hands. White as De Noailles's own. -Also, he is not dead yet." - -Meanwhile, he who thus spoke was bending over Walter Clarges and had -already run his great muscular arm beneath the wounded man's -shoulders, thus lifting him into a sitting position, whereby a stream -of blood issued swiftly from his lips, and, running down his chin, -stained the steinkirk and breast lace beneath. - -"That saves him," he exclaimed, "for a time, at least. The red -wine was choking the unfortunate. And observe; you understand? -This is a gentleman. Set upon by these sewer rats either for -robbery--or--or--or," and he winked sapiently, "by some rival." - -Whereon, as he spoke, the man who had kicked the dead fellow lying in -the road looked very much as though he were about to repeat the -performance. Yet he was arrested in the act by what the other, who was -supporting Walter's still inanimate form, said: - -"Nay, fool, kick not the garbage. They cannot feel. Instead, scour -their pockets. Doubtless the pay of Judas is in them. And, if so, 'tis -rightly ours for saving this one. To the soldier and gentleman the -spoils of war. To the gentlemen of Monseigneur's guard the perquisites -of those wretches." - -Meanwhile, even as he spoke, the gentleman of Monseigneur's guard was -doing his best to restore the victim of Desparre and Vandecque to -life. Half a handful of snow was placed on the latter's burning -forehead; his vest was opened by the summary process of tearing the -lace out of it and wrenching the sides apart. Gradually, Clarges -unclosed his eyes, understanding what was being done. - -"God bless you!" he murmured as well as the blood in his mouth would -let him. "God bless you! My purse is in my pocket. Take----" Then -relapsed into insensibility. - -"Bah! for his purse. This is a gentleman. We do not rob one another. -The dog eats not dog, as the Jew said to the man who unhappily looked -like one. Instead, despoil those carrion, and, you others, help me to -bear him to the Trinity. 'Tis close at hand. Hast found aught, -Gaspard?" - -"Ay!" the other gentleman of the guard replied. "A pocketful of -louis-d'ors. Ho! for Babette and Alison and the wine flask to-morrow." - -"Good! Good!" the first replied. "The wine cup and the girls -to-morrow. Yet, not a word of anything to anybody. We found this -Monsieur stretched on the ground wounded. As for the refuse here," and -he looked scornfully at the dead men, "poof! we do not see them. They -are beneath the notice of sabreurs. Lift him gently; use your cloaks -as bands beneath his body. So away to the Trinity. Forward! _Marchez, -mes dragons!_" - - -* * * * * * - - -The days drew into weeks, and the weeks into months. The winter, with -its snows and frosts was gone; the spring was coming. Yet, still, -Walter Clarges lay, white as a marble statue, in the hospital bed, -hovering 'twixt life and death. But, because he was young and healthy, -and had ever been sober and temperate, his constitution triumphed over -the thrust that had pierced his lung and gone dangerously near to -piercing his heart; his wound healed well and cleanly both inside and -out, his mouth ceased at last to fill with blood each time he coughed -or essayed to speak. Recovery was close at hand. - -That he was a gentleman the surgeons recognised as plainly as the -good-natured swashbucklers of Monseigneur's guard had done. His -clear-cut, aristocratic features and his delicate shapely hands showed -this as surely as his rich apparel (he had put on the best he had for -his wedding), his jewelled watch by Tompion (which his father had left -him), and his well-filled purse seemed to testify the same. But they -did not know that what the purse contained was all he would have in -the world after he had made provision for the woman he had married in -the morning, and had paid every debt. At last, one day, the surgeon -spoke to him, telling him that he was well and cured. If he had a home -he might go forth to it, nothing now being required but that he should -exercise some little care with his lung, while endeavouring to catch -no chill--and so forth. - -"Yes," he said, "I have a home, such as it is. An apartment in a back -street, yet good enough, perhaps, for an English exile--an English -Jacobite." - -He had told them who he was and his name, while contenting himself -with simply describing the attack upon him as one made by armed -ruffians on that night of confusion, and thinking it best that he -should say no more. To narrate the reason why he had been thus -attacked, to state that he had taken a woman away from her lawful -guardian, and married her on the morning when she was about to have -become the wife of a prominent member of the noblesse--prominent in -more ways than one!--would, he knew, be unwise. It might be that, even -now, Desparre or Vandecque could set the law upon him, in spite of -their base attempt at murder. If such were the case, and he should -become a prisoner in the Bastille or Vincennes, his chance of being of -further help to his wife would be utterly gone. And, for the same -reason, he had not, during the last two weeks that he had been enabled -to speak or write, sent any message to the custodian of the house -where he lived, nor to his wife. He imagined that, since he had not -returned on that night as he had promised to do, she would continue to -remain on in the apartments in the Rue de la Dauphine until she heard -from him. He had shown her his strong box and had told her that it -contained four thousand livres, enough to provide her with her -subsistence for some time to come. Surely she would not fail to -utilise the money--would not forget that she was his lawful wife, and, -though caring nothing for him, was therefore fully entitled to do with -it what she chose. He would find her there on his return. And -then--then they would make their arrangements for parting. He would -force himself to bury, in what must henceforth be a dead heart, the -love and adoration he had for her. Nay, he would do more. He had told -her that, in days to come, he would find some means of setting her -free from the yoke of their marriage, that yoke which must gall her so -in the future. He could scarcely imagine as yet how this freedom was -to be obtained, but, because of that adoration, that love and worship -of his, it should be done. He had saved her from Desparre; soon she -would need him no more. Then she could fling him away, if any means -could be devised to break the bonds that bound her to him. - -What he did find when he reached the house in the Rue de la Dauphine -has been told, and how, when there, he learned that his thoughts of -setting her free had long since been anticipated. She had waited for -no effort on his part. She had escaped and left him the first moment -that a chance arose, after having availed herself of the sacrifice he -had made, all too willingly, for her. - -"So be it," he said at last, as he sat before the burning logs, -thinking over all these things, while that letter, written in some -unknown woman's handwriting, lay at his feet "So be it; she is gone. I -have no wife. Yet, yet"--and he gazed down as he spoke at the -paper--"had she known this story which it tells--if it is the truth, -she should have thanked me five thousand times over for the service I -did her. To have saved her from Desparre as her husband was, perhaps, -something worth doing--to save her from the awful, hellish union into -which she would have entered unknowingly, would surely have entitled -me to her everlasting gratitude--even without her love." - -And, again, he shuddered as he glanced at the letter lying there. - -"Now," he exclaimed, springing to his feet, "that is over; done with; -put away for ever. One thing alone is not--my vengeance." - -"Vandecque's abode I know," he muttered, "though not the address of -that double-dyed scoundrel, his master. That I must learn later. Now -for the jackal." - -He seized his roquelaure and was about to throw it over his shoulder -when he paused, remembering that he was unarmed--since the last sword -he had worn, that one which had been broken in the affray of the Rue -des Saints Apostoliques, was left where it had fallen. Then he went -into his sleeping room and came forth bearing a strong serviceable -rapier, which he passed through his sash. - -"It has done good work for me before now," he mused; "'twill serve yet -to spit the foul creature I go to seek." - -Whereupon, putting the letter from his unknown female correspondent in -his pocket, he went forth and made his way to the spot at which he had -met his wife on the morning of their ill-starred marriage; the "Jardin -des Roses," out of which the Passage du Commerce opened. - -The roses were not yet in bloom, the spring flowers were only now -struggling into bud; yet all looked gay and bright, and vastly -different from what it had done on that cold wintry morning when Laure -had stolen forth trembling to the arbour in which he waited for her, -and had gone with him to that ceremony which she then regarded as but -a lesser evil than the one she fled from. - -"What hopes we cherish, nourish in our hearts," he thought, as he went -swiftly over the crushed-shell paths to the opening of the Passage. -"Hopes never to be realised. Even as I married her, even as I vowed -that never would I ask her for her love, nor demand any consideration -for me as her husband, I still dreamed, still prayed that at -last--some day--in the distant future--she might come to love me. If -only a little. Only a little. And now! And now! And now! Ah, well! It -must be borne!" - -He reached the house in the Passage as thus he meditated; reached it, -and summoned the concierge to come forth from his den. Then, when the -man stood before him ready to answer his inquiries, he said: - -"I seek him who occupies the second floor of this house. Your tenant, -Vandecque." - -"Vandecque!" the man exclaimed. "Monsieur Vandecque! You seek him?" -and the tones of the man's voice rose shriller and shriller with each -word he muttered. "You seek Monsieur Vandecque?" - -"'Tis for that I am here. What else? Where is he?" Then, seeing a -blank look upon the man's face, he suddenly exclaimed: "Surely he is -not dead?" - -"Dead; no. Not that I know of. Though, sometimes, I fear. -But--but--missing. He may be dead." - -"Missing! Since when--how long ago?" - -"Since the night of the--the--catastrophe. The night of the day when -mademoiselle threw over the illustrious duke to marry an English -outcast. They say--many think--that it broke his heart; turned him -demented. That he drowned himself, poor gentleman, plunged into the -Seine to hide----" - -"Bah!" exclaimed Walter, "such fellows as that do not drown -themselves. More like he is in hiding for some foul crime, attempted -or done. If this is true that you tell me" (he thought it very likely -that the man was lying by Vandecque's orders) "what of his companions, -his clients--the men who gambled here. The 'illustrious duke' of whom -you make mention; where is that vagabond?" - -The man rolled up his eyes to heaven as though fearing that the skies -must surely be about to fall at such profanation as this, and would -have replied uncivilly to his interrogator only--the accent of that -interrogator showed him to be an Englishman of the same class as the -man who had stolen the Duke's bride. And he remembered that Englishmen -were hot and choleric; above all that they permitted no insolence from -inferiors. He did not know but that, if he were impertinent, he might -find himself saluted with a kick or a blow. But, because he had as -much wit of a sub-acid kind as most of his countrymen, he muttered to -himself, "Apparently, Monsieur knows Monsieur le Duc." But, aloud, he -said, "Monsieur le Duc is extremely unwell. He is no longer strong; in -truth, he has lived too well since he removed himself from the army. -They say," and the fellow sunk his voice as though what he was now -about to impart was of too sacred a nature to be even whispered to the -vulgar air, "they say that Monsieur fears a little fluxion, a stroke -of apoplexy. His health, too, has suffered from the events of that -terrible morning, and that----" - -"No matter for his health. Where is he? Tell me that. If I cannot find -Vandecque I must see him." Then, taking a louis from his pocket, he -held it out, while making no pretence of disguising the bribe. "Here," -he said, "here is something for your information. Now, answer, where -is the man?" - -"He is," the concierge said, slipping the louis with incredible -rapidity into his breeches' pocket, "at or near Montpelier. The -doctors there are the finest in the world, while the baths are of -great repute for such disorders as those of Monsieur le Duc." - -"This is the truth? As well as that Vandecque has disappeared?" - -"Monsieur, I swear it. And, if Monsieur doubts me, he can see Monsieur -Vandecque's apartments. They will prove to him that they have not been -occupied for months. Also, if Monsieur demands at the Hôtel Desparre -he will learn that, in this case as well, I speak the truth." - -"I take you at your word. Let me see the apartments. Later, I will -verify what you say as to the absence of Desparre." - -"Ascend, Monsieur," said the man, pointing to the stairs. "Ascend, if -you please." Walter Clarges did as was suggested, yet, even as he -preceded the concierge, he took occasion to put his hand beneath his -cloak and loosen his sword in its sheath. He did not know--he felt by -no means sure of what he might encounter when he reached those rooms -upon the second floor. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE PEST - - -Almost did those unhappy women of the cordon, or chain-gang--those -skeletons clad in rags--thank God that something was occurring down -below in the great city, the nature of which they could not divine -beyond the fact that it was horrible, and must be something -portentous, since it delayed their descent from the hill towards the -ships that were, doubtless, now waiting in the harbour to transport -them to New France. For, whatever the cause might be--whether the city -were in flames, or attacked by an enemy from the sea, or set on fire -in different places by the recent lightning--at least they were -enabled to rest; to cast themselves upon the dank earth that reeked -with the recent rain; to lie there with their eyes closed wearily. - -Yet, amongst those women was one who knew--or guessed, surely--what -was the cause of those flames; what they signified. The dark woman of -Hérault--the woman who, as a child, had listened to stories told of -not so many years ago, when, forth from this smoking city which lay -now at their feet, had rushed countless people seeking the pure air of -the plains and mountains; people seeking to escape from the stifling -and pestiferous poison of the pest that was lurking in the narrow, -confined streets of Marseilles. - -"It has come to the city again," she whispered in Laure's ear, as the -latter lay prostrate by her side--chained to her side--"As it has -come, they say, more than thirty times since first Christ walked the -earth--since Cæsar first made the place his. It must be that it has -come again." - -"What?" murmured Laure, not understanding. "What has come? Freedom or -death? Which is it?" - -"Probably both," Marion Lascelles answered. "Freedom and death. Both." - -Then, because her eyes were clearer than the eyes of many by whom she -was surrounded, and because her great, strong frame had resisted even -the fatigues and the miseries of that terrible journey from Paris to -which so many of her original companions had succumbed--to which all -had succumbed, more or less!--she was able to observe that the mounted -gendarmes and the warders and gaolers were holding close consultation; -and that, also, they looked terror-stricken and agitated. She was able -to observe, too, that a moment later they had been joined by a -creature which had crept up the hill to where they were, and had -slowly drawn near to them. Yet it had done so as though half afraid to -approach too close, or as one who feared that he might be beaten away -as an unknown dog is driven off on approaching too near to the heels -of a stranger. - -Thrusting her brown, sunburnt hands through her matted, coal-black -hair, now filled and clotted with mud that had once been the dust of -the long weary roads she had traversed until the rain turned it into -what it was, she parted that hair from off her eyes and glared -transfixed at the figure. It was that of a man almost old, his sparse -white locks glistening in the rays of the moon which now overtopped -the brow of the hill behind them--yet it was neither the man's age nor -his grey hairs that appalled her. Instead, it was his face, which was -of a loathsome yellow hue--it being plainly perceptible in the -moonbeams--as is the face of a man stricken to death with jaundice; a -face covered, too, with huge carbuncles and pustules, and with eyes of -a chalky, dense white, sunken in the hollow sockets. - -"It is," Marion muttered hoarsely to herself, "the pest. That man is -sickening, has sickened of it. God help us all! Slave-drivers and -slaves alike. I saw one like him at Toulon once." And again she -muttered, "God help us all!" - -Above her murmur, which hardly escaped beyond her white, clenched -teeth, there rose a shout from those whom she termed to herself the -slave-drivers--a shout of fury and of horror. - -"Away, leper!" cried the man who had been the most stern of all the -guards, on seeing this figure near to him and his companions; "away, -or I shoot you like a dog," and he wrenched a great horse pistol from -out his belt as he spoke. "Away, I say, to a distance. At once." - -The unfortunate, yellow-faced creature did as he was bidden, dragging -himself wearily off for several paces, while falling once, also, upon -one knee, yet recovering himself by the aid of a huge knotted stick he -held in his hands; then he turned and said in a voice which, though -feeble, was still strong enough to be heard: - -"In the name of God give me some water. I burn within. Oh! that one -should live and yet endure such agony!" - -"You shall have water--later," a warder answered. "Only, approach not -on peril of your life. Presently, a jar of water for you shall be -carried to a spot near here." Then the speaker asked huskily, and in a -voice which trembled with fear, "Is it the pest? Down there--in the -city?" - -"It is the pest," the man replied, his awful white eyes gleaming -sickeningly. "They die in hundreds daily. Whole families--whole -streets of families--are dead. All mine are gone--my wife and seven -children. I, too, am stricken after nursing, burying them. I cannot -live. In pity's sake, put that jar of water where I can reach it -ere--ere they come forth!" - -"They come forth?" the guards of the cordon exclaimed all together. -"Ere who come forth?" - -"Many who are still left alive. All are fleeing who can leave the -city. It is a vast tomb. Hundreds lie dead in the streets--poisoning, -infecting the air. Also, the dogs--they, too, are stricken, through -tearing them. The rooks, likewise, who have swooped down upon the -bodies. God help me! The water! The water The water! Ere they come." - -Perhaps it was compassion, perhaps fear, perhaps the knowledge that -ere long they, too, might be burning inwardly from the same cause as -that which now affected this unhappy man, which caused those brutal -custodians to take pity on his sufferings. But, from whatever cause it -might be, at least that pity was shown. A flat, squat bottle holding -about a pint was taken by one of them to a little rising knoll some -seventy yards away and put on the ground; then the pest-stricken man -was told he might go to it. - -By now, even as he hobbled and dragged himself on his stick towards -that knoll, his white eyes gleaming horribly, the women of the -chain-gang had somewhat recovered from the stupor in which they had -been lying; some besides Marion Lascelles had even sat up upon the -rain-steeped ground and had heard all that had passed. And, now, they -raised their voices in a shrill clatter, shrieking to their -custodians: - -"Release us! Release us! Set us free! We are not doomed to this; -instead, we are on our road to freedom. Strike off these accursed -irons; let us find safety somewhere. None meant that we should perish -thus," while Marion's voice was the loudest, most strident of all, -since she was the strongest and the fiercest. - -A common fear--a common horror--was upon everyone by now: women -prisoners and captors, or custodians, alike; all dreaded what was -impending over them. Wherefore their cries and shrieks, which, before -this day, would have been answered with the lash or the heavy riding -wand, were replied to almost kindly. - -"Have patience, good women," the gendarmes and guards replied, "have -patience. All may yet be well. If the vessels are in the port they -will soon carry you to sea; to a pure air away from this." - -Yet still more hubbub arose from all the women. Those very women who, -upon the weary journey, had prayed that each day might be their last, -screamed at this time for life and safety and preservation from this -awful death--the death by the pest. - -"Turn us back," they wailed. "Turn us back. It has not penetrated -inland, or we should have heard of it on the route. Turn us back, or -set us free to escape by ourselves. 'Tis all we ask. It is our due. -The law desires not our death. Above all, no such death as this!" - -But again their guardians bade them have patience, telling them that -soon they would be on board the transports and well out upon the pure -bosom of the ocean. - -"Well out!" cried Marion Lascelles, her voice still harsh and -strident, her accent defiant and contemptuous. "Well out to sea! Yes, -after traversing that fever-stricken city from one end to the other to -reach the docks. How shall we accomplish that; how will you, who must -accompany us? You! You, too! Can we pass through Marseilles unharmed? -Can you?" and again she emphasised the "you," while striking terror -into the men's hearts and making them quake as they sat on their -horses or reclined in the carts. "All are doomed. We, the prisoners. -You, the gaolers." - -Those men knew it was as she said; they knew that their lives were -subject to as much risk, were as certain to be forfeited, as the lives -of the wretched women in their charge. Whereon they trembled and grew -pale, especially since they remembered that this was a woman of the -South, and, therefore, one who doubtless understood what she spoke of. -The people of the Midi had been reared from time immemorial on legends -telling of the horrors of the earlier pests. - -Whatever terrors were felt by either prisoners or custodians, women or -men, were now, however, to be doubly, trebly intensified. They were to -see, here, upon this rising upland of sunburnt and, now, rain-soaked -grass, sights even more calculated to make their hearts beat with -apprehension, their nerves tingle, and their lips turn more white. - -Forth from the smitten, pestiferous city lying at their feet--that -city which now flared with a hundred fires lit to purify it, if -possible--there came those who could escape while still life remained, -and while the poisonous venom of the scourge had not reduced them to -helplessness. They came dragging themselves feebly if already struck -by the disease; swiftly if, as yet, the fever had not penetrated their -systems nor death set its mark upon them. Walking rapidly in some -cases, crawling in others; running, almost leaping, if able to do so. -Doing anything, thereby to flee away in the open; out into the woods -and plains and mountains--anything to leave behind the accursed city -in which the houses were empty or only filled with corpses; the -accursed streets in which the dead bodies of men and women, of dogs -and crows, lay in huddled masses. - -A band of nuns passed first--their heads bound in cloths that had been -steeped in vinegar into which gunpowder had been soaked; their holy -garments trailing on the ground, their rosaries clattering as they -went along, their faces white with terror though not with disease. -These were good, pious women, many of them young, who, until now, when -the panic of dread had seized upon them, had nursed the sick and dying -under the orders of their saintly bishop, Henri de Belsunce de -Castlemoron, but who, at last, had yielded to the fear that was upon -all within Marseilles, and had fled. They had fled from their -cloisters out into the open, rushing away from the city of death, -shrieking to those who were stricken to keep off from them in the name -of God and all his Saints; even arming themselves with what were -called the "Sticks of St. Roch," namely, canes from eight to ten feet -long, wherewith to ward off and push aside the passers-by and, -especially, the dogs which were supposed to be thoroughly infected -from the dead bodies at which they sniffed and sometimes tore. Nay, -not supposed only, since the creatures had already perished by -hundreds from having done so. - -Running by their side, endeavouring to keep up with those over whom, -but a little while ago, she had ruled with a stern, unbending power, -went the mother superior, a fat, waddling woman, whose face may have -been comely once, but was now drawn with fright and terror. Yet--with -perhaps some recollections left in her mind, even now, of the sanctity -and charity that should be the accompaniment of her holy calling--she -paused on seeing the group of worn, sunburnt, and emaciated women -sitting there under the charge of their frightened warders, and asked -who and what they were? - -"Galley slaves," one of these warders answered; "at least, emigrants. -They go to New France. Can we pass through the city, think you, holy -mother, or reach the ships without danger? Can we go on to safety and -pure breezes?" - -"Alas!" the woman answered, gathering up her skirts even as she spoke, -so as to flee as swiftly as might be after her flock, which had gone -on without pausing when she herself did so. "Alas, there are no ships. -The galleys are moored outside 'tis true, but all else have put to sea -to escape. Turn back if you are wise. Ah!" she cried with a scream, a -shriek, as some other fugitives from the city passed near her, their -eyes chalky white, their faces yellow and blotched with great livid -carbuncles. "Oh, keep off! keep off!" And she waved her long stick -around her and then rushed precipitously after her band of nuns. - -But still the refugees came forth, singly, in pairs, in families. Some -staggered under burdens which they bore, such as bags containing food -or jars holding water. Numbers of women carried not only babes in -their arms and folded to their breasts, but others strapped on to -their backs. Some men wheeled hand barrows before them with their -choicest household goods flung pell-mell into them; some, even, had -got rough vehicles drawn by horses or cows--in one or two instances by -dogs, and in another by a pig--by the side of which they walked while -their stricken relatives lay gasping within. Yet, even as these latter -passed along, that which was most distinctive in their manner was the -horror which those who still remained unstruck testified for those who -were stricken, yet whom the ties of blood still prompted them to save. -A son passed along with his aged mother dying on the truck he pushed -before him, yet he had bound his mouth up with vinegar-steeped cloths -so that her infected breath should not be inhaled by him; a husband, -whose wife was at the point of death, bore, fastened on his chest, a -small iron tray on which smoked burning sulphur, so that he should -inhale those fumes. Others, too, carried flasks and bottles of -spirituous liquors, from which they drank momentarily; some smoked -incessantly enormous pipes full of rank, coarse tobacco, and drew into -their lungs as much of the fumes as they could bear. - -There, too, passed flying domestics and servitors, upon whose coarse -hands sparkled rich and sumptuous rings never made to be worn by such -as they, and carrying in those hands strong boxes and jewel boxes. -None need have asked how they became possessed of such treasures as -these! Imagination would have told at once of dead or dying employers, -of dark houses rifled, and of robbery successful. - -Yet these fugitives were such as, up to now, had escaped the deadly -breath of the pest, and were not so horrible as those stricken by that -breath. These latter were too awful to behold as they staggered along -moaning, "I burn! I burn!" and then flung themselves down to lick the -rain-water off the grass beneath them, or to thrust their parched -tongues into rivulets formed by the recent downpour. They flung -themselves down, never, in many cases, to stagger to their feet again. -Exhausted they lay where they fell, and so they died. - -The stream of refugees ceased not. Under the rays of the now risen -moon they poured forth continuously from the flaming city beneath -them, their faces lit also by the crimson-illuminated sky above. They -came on in numbers, running or walking, breathlessly if strong, -staggering, falling, moaning, shrieking sometimes, if already attacked -by the pest. - -And Marion Lascelles sitting up upon the sodden hill slope, her -hands holding back her matted hair so that the soft wind now blowing -from above should not cause it to obscure her eyes, saw all these -passers-by, and felt a horror in her soul that she had never before -known in her tempestuous life. While, also, she saw something else, -and whispered in the ears of the half inanimate Laure what it was that -she perceived. "Observe, dear one," she muttered, "observe. The -guards, all of them, the gaolers and gendarmes move. They mix with -that rushing crowd; see, they disappear; almost, it seems, they -dissolve into the night. One understands what they have determined to -do. They flee, too; they dare not face this thing. They depart, -leaving us here. The cowards!" And if eyes as well as lips could hurl -contemptuous curses at others, the woman of the South hurled them now -at the departing captors. - -"For," she said a moment later, "the safety the creatures seek they do -not give us the opportunity of finding as well. They have left us -chained and manacled so that we, on our part, cannot escape." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -"I HAD NOT LIVED TILL NOW, COULD SORROW KILL" - - -The night wind rose as the hours went by, so that at last the cool -breezes brought ease, and, in a manner, restoration to those unhappy -women lying or sitting upon the slope of the hill which lay to the -north of Marseilles. Gradually, under its influence, many of them -began to feel more strength coming to their wasted and aching limbs, -while others, who up to now had been dazed and stupefied at the end of -their journey, began to understand that the long and terrible march -from Paris was at last concluded; that, henceforth, there was to be no -more dragging of weary, bleeding feet along league after league of -rough and stony roads. - -Unhappily, however, as this fact dawned upon them, so did another and -more hideous one--the awful, ghastly fact that they had but escaped -from one terror to be surrounded by a second to which the first was -almost a trifle. - -As their senses came back to many of them, such senses being aroused -by the continual excitement of the talk amongst those who were already -awake or had never slept since their arrival, they grasped this fact, -and became aware of what was now threatening them. They grasped the -fact that death in a more horrid garb than that which it had -previously worn had to be faced, and was around them; close to them; -and about to seize them in an awful embrace. - -Some started to their feet shrieking as this knowledge dawned upon -them, while clanking their chains as they did so, and endeavouring to -tear from off their necks the loathsome _carcan_, or collar, in their -frenzy, or to rush away from where they were back to the great plain -through which they had passed but a day or so ago, or up to the -vine-clad heights of which they had caught a sight as they drew near -to the end of their journey. Anywhere! Anywhere, away from this new -terror which threatened them. Then, even as they wailed aloud, while -some cast themselves upon their knees and prayed to be spared from the -horrible contagion into which they had advanced, the voice of Marion -Lascelles was heard speaking to them, counselling them as to what they -should do, what measures take to preserve themselves from this fresh -calamity. And, because, all along that dreary road which stretched -from Paris in the north to Marseilles in the south, this woman's -strong, indomitable courage and contempt for suffering and misfortune -had cheered and comforted them, they hearkened to her now. They -welcomed, indeed, any words that fell from her lips. - -"Listen," she said, "my sisters in misery. Listen to me. Of what use -is it for each to try and wrest from off her neck the accursed -_carcan_ that encloses it, to tear from off her wrists the accursed -cordon that binds her to her neighbour? It is impossible; not that -they might be thus easily parted with, did the warder rivet them to us -in Paris. Yet, how else have we progressed here but with them on; how -progressed along dusty roads, beneath the burning sun, the beating -rains, over mountains and across valleys. We have done this, I say to -you, yet now the night is fresh and cool." - -"Thank God for that. For that," they murmured. - -"Ay, thank Him for that. 'Tis well we do so, sinners as most of us -are. We need His help and blessing. But, hear me. Can we not also -retreat together, as we have advanced over all these leagues to this -plague-stricken spot? Can we not?" - -But no more words were required from her; already they understood and -grasped her meaning. It was simple enough, yet, heretofore, their -despair and frenzy had prevented them from conceiving that, together, -they might escape from this place, as, together, they had reached it. - -With cries of rejoicing and exultation they prepared to do what she -suggested; to flee at once from this awful spot. To join those who -were still pouring out of the city unceasingly, even though the -depth of the night was now upon them; to follow in the wake of those -who had already gone. They knew--those previous fugitives--they must -know--where to flee for safety; to follow them was to reach that -safety themselves. - -Weak, enfeebled as they were, they prepared to act upon Marion's -advice; staggeringly they formed themselves once more into the lines -in which they had marched day after day and week after week; they -turned themselves about to unwind the tangled chains which ran from -the first woman of the chain-gang to the last, and placed themselves -in order to at once depart. And it seemed easier to their poor bruised -bodies, easier, too, to their aching hearts, to thus set about these -preparations for seeking safety since there were now no longer brutal -gendarmes nor custodians, nor guards of any kind to lash them with -whips or curse them with foul oaths. - -Wherefore they turned back, commencing at once to retrace the road -they had come and walking in the same order as they walked from the -first--since the position of none could be altered. And by Marion's -side was Laure, as ever. - -"You are refreshed," the former said to her companion; "you can -accomplish this? Strive--oh! strive--poor soul, to be brave! Remember, -every step we take, every moment, removes us farther and farther from -the risk of this awful thing. Be brave, dear one," and, herself still -strong and brave, unconquered and unconquerable, she placed her arm -around that of her more delicate fellow-prisoner and helped her upon -the way. - -"I will be brave," Laure answered. "I will struggle to the end. My -heart is broken, death would be welcome--yet not such a death as this. -Oh! Marion, I do not desire to die thus--like those," and she pointed -to some of the awful yellow-faced victims who were being wheeled or -dragged along, or were staggering by themselves to the mountains and -open country. "Yet, surely," she added, "the risk is as great here as -in the city below, so long as we keep in their vicinity. Is it not?" - -"Ay, it is," the other answered. "Yet we will break off from them ere -long. Alas! these chains. If we were only free of them we could all -separate; you and I could climb that little hill together which rises -over there; we could go on and on until the feverous breath of the -pest was left behind. But we can do nothing. All must stay together." - -Still they went on, however--not swiftly, because amongst them there -was not one, not even Marion herself, who could progress otherwise -than slowly, owing to the fatigue that was upon them after their long -march, and owing, also, to the weight of their irons, as well as to -the fact that they were almost famished. Their last meal had been -eaten at midday, and they had been promised a full one by their late -guardians on entering the gates of Marseilles. Yet, now, they were -retreating from Marseilles, and there were no guardians left to -provide for them. When, Marion wondered, would they ever eat again; -how would food be found for the mouths of all in their company? There -were still some twenty women left chained together; how could they be -fed? - -Even, however, as she reflected on all this, another thought arose in -her mind; one that had had no existence in it for many hours, or, -indeed, days. - -"Where is the men's chain-gang, I wonder?" she mused aloud. "The men -who, poor wretches, are in many cases our newly-made husbands. Where -can they be? They were ahead of us all the way; therefore, since we -have not passed them, and since, also, we halted within musket-shot of -the city, it follows that they, at least, have entered the doomed -place--are doomed themselves. Great God! we who survive this are as -like as not to be widows again soon," and she laughed a harsh, -strident laugh that had no mirth in it, but was born of the bitterness -within her. - -Those words "our newly-made husbands" gave rise to thoughts in Laure's -own sad heart that she would willingly have stifled if she had -possessed the power to do so. They recalled memories that (when she -had not been too dazed--almost too delirious--to dwell upon them -during the horrors of the past six weeks) she had endeavoured to -dispel. Memories of the noble Englishman who had sacrificed his -existence for her--nay! if that villain Desparre had spoken truth, his -very life--and whose sacrifice had obtained for her no more than the -state of misery in which she was now plunged. - -"Yet," she whispered, half to herself, half aloud, so that Marion -heard her words; "yet, almost I pray that he may be dead----" - -"Your husband?" the other interrupted. "You pray that he may be dead! -He who gave up all for you--the man whom you love. Whom, Laure, you -know you love?" For still Marion insisted, as she had insisted often -enough before during the journey, that Laure had come to love Walter -Clarges. - -"Yes--I even pray for that--sometimes," the girl answered. "For--for -if he lives, how doubly vile must he deem me. What must he think of -me, supposing--supposing that Desparre lied--that he was not -dead--that he was not even met by that villain and his myrmidons--that -the whole story was false!" - -"What should he think!" exclaimed Marion, not, in truth, grasping -Laure's meaning. "What should he think?" - -"What? Why think that but I used him for my own selfish purposes to -escape from marriage with Desparre, as, God forgive me, was the case; -and that, once he had left me alone in his home, I next escaped from -him. How can he know--how dream of what befell me? Who was there to -tell him of what happened in that room? Even I, myself, know nothing -of what occurred from the time I fell prostrate at Desparre's feet, -until I awoke a prisoner in that--that prison, which I only left for -this," and she cast her eyes despairingly around upon her miserable -companions and upon the flying inhabitants of the stricken city who -still went on and on, their one hope being to leave the place behind. - -But the brave heart, the strong mind of Marion Lascelles--neither of -which could be subdued by even that which now encompassed them--would -not for an instant agree to such hopelessness as her companion -expressed. Instead, she cried: - -"Nay, nay. He would not do so. Believe that Desparre lied when he said -that your husband was dead, since how could such a creeping snake as -that slay such as he was, one so noble. Believe he lived, and, thus -living, returned to find you gone. But, in doing so----" - -"He would hate, despise, loathe me. He would deem me what I was, base -and contemptible, and so, God help me! endeavour to forget. He would -remember nothing except that he had parted with his freedom for ever -to save so vile a thing as I." - -"Again I say nay, Laure," and now Marion's voice sank even lower, her -tone became more deep. "Laure, I know the hearts of men--God help -_me_, too!--I have had cause to know them--bitter cause, brought about -sometimes by my own errors, sometimes by their own wickedness. And -I--I tell you, you have judged wrongly. This man, this Englishman, -loved you with his whole heart and soul; he loves you still." - -"Alas! alas! it cannot be," Laure murmured. "It is impossible." - -"At first," Marion went on, "he may, it is true, deem that you used -him only as a tool. He may do so because no man who ever lived has yet -understood woman's nature--ever sounded the depths of that nature. -Therefore, not knowing, as they none of them know, our hearts, he may -at first believe, as you say, that you sacrificed his existence to -your salvation. Not understanding, not guessing in his man's blindness -that, as he made the sacrifice, so the love for him sprang newborn -into your heart. Is it not so, Laure? Here in the midst of all these -horrors with which we are surrounded, here with death close at hand, -with infection in the air, ready to seize on one or all at any moment, -answer me. Speak truth as you would speak it on your death-bed. You -love him--loved him from that moment? Answer! Is it not so?" - -"Yes," Laure said, faintly, her whisper being almost drowned in the -soft, cool breeze that came sweeping over them from the distant -mountain-tops of the Basses Alpes. "Yes, I loved him from the -first--from the moment when he took me to his house. Oh, God!" she -murmured, "when he told me that we must part, deeming that I could -never love him, almost I threw myself at his feet, almost I rushed to -his arms beseeching him to fold me in them, to stay by my side for -ever. And now--now--we shall never meet again." - -"Never meet again, perhaps," said Marion, scorning to hold out hopes -to the other that she could not believe were ever likely to be -realised; "yet of one thing be sure, namely, that he will seek for -you. As time goes on he will learn the truth--how, I cannot tell, yet -surely he must learn it--and then--and then no power on earth, nothing -short of the will of God will prevent him from seeking for you." - -"And finding me dead. Here, or in the new land to which we go." - -"The new land to which we go!" Marion echoed, scornfully. "The new -land to which we go! I doubt if that will ever be. If it were not for -these cursed irons we should be free now--free for ever. We could -disperse singly, or in couples, wander forth over France, even seek -other lands. And--and you could write to him." - -"Ah!" Laure exclaimed. "Write to him! To do that! Oh, Marion, Marion, -you are so strong, so brave! Set us free! Set us free! Set us free!" -Alas! that Marion should have spoken those words, or have let them -fall on Laure's ears, thus raising desires and expectations never to -be gratified. There was no freedom to come to them--none from so awful -a captivity as that which was now to enslave them. - -For, even as Laure uttered her wail for freedom, which was born of her -companion's hopeful words, the atom of liberty they possessed--the -liberty of being able to remove from this fever-tainted spot to some -other that remained still unpoisoned by the breath of the pestilence, -although shackled and chained altogether--was taken away. - -There came up swiftly behind them a band of men; they were a number of -convicts, drawn from the galleys lying at the Quai de Riveneuve, as -well as several of the beggars of Marseilles, known as "the crows:" -beggars who were employed and told off to act under the orders of the -sheriffs in removing the dead from the streets, in lighting nightly -the fires to purge the city, and in fulfilling the duties of the -police--mostly dead themselves by this time. - -And in command of them were two sheriffs. - -"These are the women, the emigrants," one of the latter said to the -other. "'Twas certain they could not be very far behind the men." Then -the speaker, who was mounted, rode his horse up to where this group of -desolate, forlorn wanderers stood hesitating while appalled by the -sudden stoppage of their escape, and said-- - -"Good women, whither are you going? Your destiny is Marseilles, en -route for New France." - -For a moment those unhappy women stood helpless and silent, gazing -into each other's worn faces, not knowing what answer to make or what -to say. In truth they were paralysed with the fear that was upon them, -namely, that they were about to be driven into the infected city, -paralysed also with grief at their escape being cut off. - -"Answer," the Sheriff said, not speaking harshly. And then, with all -the eyes of her companions in misery fixed on her and bidding her -plainly enough to act as their mouthpiece, Marion said-- - -"Those who drove us from Paris here have fled in fear of the contagion -that is amongst you. We, too, have sought to flee away from it. The -law which condemned us to transportation to New France, to be followed -by our freedom, did not condemn us to this." - -"You speak truth," the Sheriff said, his voice a grave and solemn, yet -not unkindly, one. "Yet you must go on with what you are sent here -for. And--and--we need women's help here, such help as nursing and so -forth. You must come with us and stay until the ships, which have put -to sea in fear, return to transport you to New France." - -"It is tyranny!" Marion Lascelles exclaimed. "Tyranny to force us -thus!" - -"Not so," the Sheriff replied. "Not so. You will be treated well; your -freedom will begin at once. Your irons shall be struck off now. Also, -while you remain with us and work for us--heaven knows how we require -assistance--you shall have a daily wage and good food. But--you must -come." - -"We shall die," Marion exclaimed, acting still as the spokeswoman of -all. "And our deaths will lie at your door." - -But still the Sheriff spoke very gently, saying that, even so, they -must do as he bid them. Then, next, he ordered some of the convicts to -stand forward and remove their chains and collars, so that even the -short distance to be accomplished ere reaching the city should be no -more irksome than possible. - -After which he said to the group of women, many of whom were sobbing -around him, some with fear of what they were about to encounter, and -some with joy at losing at last, their horrible, hateful iron burdens. - -"Do not weep. Do not weep. Already is our once bright, joyous city a -vale of tears. Nay, there can be, I think, no more tears left for us -to shed. I myself can weep no more. I who, in the last week, have -buried my wife, my two daughters, and my little infant babe." - -"Oh! oh!" gasped Marion and Laure and all the women standing round who -heard the bereaved man's words. "Oh! Unhappy man. Unhappy man!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -AN ARISTOCRATIC RESORT - - -The little watering-place of Eaux St. Fer, which stood on the slope of -a hill some few leagues outside Montpelier, and nearer than that city -to the southern sea-board, was very full this summer; so full, indeed, -that hardly could the visitors to it be accommodated with the -apartments they required. So full that, already it had incurred the -displeasure of many of those patrons--who were mostly of the ancient -nobility of France--at their being forced to rub shoulders with, and -also live cheek by jowl with, such common persons as--to go no -lower--those of the upper bourgeoisie. Yet it had to be done--the -doing of it could not be avoided; for this very year the waters of -Eaux St. Fer had bubbled forth a degree warmer than they had ever been -known to do before; they tasted more of saltpetre than any visitor -could recollect their having done previously, and tasted also more -unutterably nauseous; while marvellous cures of gout and rheumatism, -and complaints brought on by overeating and overdrinking and late -hours, as well as other indulgences, were reported daily. Even at this -very moment the gossips staying at The Garland (the fashionable -hostelry) were relating how Madame la Marquise de Montesprit, who was -noted for eating a pâté of snipe every night of her life for supper, -was already free from pain and able to sit up in her bed and play -piquet with the Abbé Leri, whose carbuncles were fast disappearing -from his face; while, too, the Chevalier Rancé d'Irval had lost eight -pounds of his terrible weight, and the Vicomtesse de Fraysnes had -announced that in another week she would actually appear without her -veil, so much improved was her complexion. Likewise, it was whispered -that, only a day or so before, three casks of the atrociously tasting -water had been sent up to Paris to no less a person than the Regent -himself. - -Wherefore Eaux St. Fer was full to suffocation; dukes, duchesses, and -all the other members of what was even then called the old régime, -were huddled together pell-mell with bankers, merchants, even eminent -shopkeepers and tradesmen; and, except that in the principal alley, or -walk, it was understood that the nobility kept to one side of it, and -those whom they termed the "refuse" to the other, one could hardly -have told which were the people who boasted the blood of centuries in -their veins, and which were those who, if they knew who their -grandfathers were, knew no more. And, after all, when one's blood is -corrupted by every indulgence that human weakness can give way to -until the body is like a barrel, and the legs are like bolsters, and -the face is a mass of swollen impurity, or as white as that of a -corpse within its shroud, it matters very little whether that blood is -drawn from ancestors who fought at Ascalon and Jerusalem or peddled -vulgar wares in the lowest purlieus of cities. - -"Mon ami!" exclaimed one of the high-born dames, who kept to the right -side of the alley, to an aristocrat who sat on a bench beneath a tree -close by where one of the fountains of Eaux St. Fer bubbled forth its -waters, "Mon ami, you do not look well this morning. Yet see how the -sun shines around; observe how it shows the wrinkles beneath the eyes -of Mademoiselle de Ste. Ange over there, and also the paint on the -face of the old Marquis de Pontvert. You should be gay, mon ami, this -morning." - -"I am not well," replied the personage whom she addressed. "Neither in -health nor mind. Sometimes I wish I were a soldier again, living a -life of----" - -"Neither in health nor mind!" the lady who had accosted him repeated. -"Come, now. That is not as it should be. Let us see. Tell me your -symptoms. First, for the health. What ails that?" and, as she asked -the question, she peered into the man's dull eyes with her own large -clear ones. Then she continued, "Remember, Monsieur le Duc, that, -although an arrangement once subsisting between us will never come to -a settlement now, we are still to be very good--friends. Is it not -so?" Yet, even as she asked the question, especially as she mentioned -the word "friends," she turned her face away from him on the pretence -of flicking off some dust from her farthest sleeve, and smiled, while -biting her full, red nether lip with her brilliantly white teeth. - -Then she turned back to him, saying: "Now for the health. What is the -worst?" - -"Diane, I suffer. I burn----" - -"_Already!_" she exclaimed. And the Marquise laughed aloud at her own -cruel joke; a merry little, rippling laugh, and one more befitting a -girl of twenty than a woman nearly double that age. And her blue eyes -flashed saucily--though some might, however, have said, sinisterly. -Then she begged the other's pardon, and desired him to continue. - -But, annoyed, petulant at her scoff, he would not do so; instead, he -turned his white face away from where she had taken a seat beside him, -and watched the other members of his own order strolling about under -the trees, their hats, when men, under their arms, their dresses, when -women, held up in many cases by little page boys. - -She, on her part, did not press him to continue. She had strolled -forth that morning from The Garland, where she had been fortunate -enough to secure rooms for herself and her maid, with the full -determination of meeting Monsieur le Duc Desparre and of conversing -with him on a certain topic, her own share in which conversation she -had rehearsed a thousand times in the last seven months, and she meant -to do so still; but as for his health, or his mental troubles, she -cared not one jot. Indeed, had Diane Grignan de Poissy been asked what -gift of Fate she most desired should be accorded to her old lover at -the present time, she would doubtless have suggested that a long, -lingering illness, which should prevent him from ever again being able -to enjoy, in the slightest degree, the fortune and position he had -lately inherited, would be most agreeable to her. For this man sitting -by her side had, in his poverty, been her lover, he had accepted -substantial offerings from her under the guise of her future husband, -and, in his affluence, had refused to fulfil his pledge to her--a -Grignan de Poissy by marriage, a Saint Fresnoi de Buzanval by birth--a -woman notorious, famous, for her beauty even now! - -No wonder she hated the "cadaverous infidel"--as often enough she -termed him in her own thoughts--the man now seated by her side. - -Her presence in this resort of the sick and ailing was, like that of -many others, simply for her own purpose. Some of those others came to -keep assignations; some to win money off well-to-do invalids who, -although rushing with swift strides to their tombs, could not, -nevertheless, exist without gaming; some to carry on here the same -life which they led in Paris, but which life there was now at a -standstill and would be so until the leaves began to fall in the woods -round and about the capital. As for her, Diane Grignan de Poissy, she -needed neither to drink unpleasant waters that tasted of iron and -saltpetre, nor to bathe in them, nor to follow any regimen; though, to -suit her own ends, she gave out that she did thus need to do so. -Instead, and actually, in all her thirty-eight years she had never -know either ache or pain or ailment, but had revelled always in superb -health, notwithstanding the fact that she had been a maid of honour -once at Versailles to a daughter of the old King--that now-forgotten -"Roi Soleil!"--and had taken part since in many of the supper parties -given by Philippe le Débonnaire. - -Yet in spite of all, she was here, at Eaux St. Fer. - -Presently she spoke again, saying in a soft, subdued voice, into which -she contrived to throw a contrite tone-- - -"Armand, dear friend, you are not going to quarrel with me for a -foolish word; a silly joke! Armand, the memories of the past -brought me here--to see you. I heard that you were suffering, and -also--that--that--you--could not recover from the trick put upon you -by that girl--Laure Vauxc----" - -"Silence!" he said, turning swiftly round on her. "Silence! Never -mention that name, that episode again in my hearing. It has damned me -in the eyes of Paris--of France--for ever. It has heaped ridicule on -me from which I can never recover. It is that--that--that--which has -broken me down. Neither Tokay, nor late nights--as I cause it to be -given out--nor----" He paused in his furious words, then said a moment -later, "Yet, so far as he, as she, are concerned, I have paid the -score. He is dead, she worse than dead." - -"I know, I know," she murmured, her blue eyes almost averted, so that -he should not observe the glance that she felt, that she knew, must be -in them. "I know. Let us talk of it no more. Armand, forget it." - -"Forget it! I shall never forget it. What can I do to drive it from my -own thoughts or to drive the memory of my humiliation by that beggar's -brat from out the memory of men--of all Paris!" - -"Ignore it. Again I say, forget. Thus you cause others to do so." -Then, as though she, at least, had no intention of saying aught that -might re-open, or help to re-open, the wounds caused to his vanity by -the events of the winter, she picked up idly a book he had been -glancing at when she drew near him, and which had fallen on to the -crushed-shell path of the alley as they conversed. She picked it up -and began turning its fresh white pages over. - -"It amuses you?" she asked. "This thing?" And she read out the title -of one of Piron's latest productions, the comic opera, "Arlequin -Deucalion." - -"One must do something--to pass the time. If we cannot see a play, the -next best thing is to read one." - -"Alas," his companion exclaimed, "the plays of to-day are so -stupid--so puerile! No plot, no characters bearing truth to life. Now -I! Now I--ah!----" she broke off. "Look at that! And just as we speak, -too, of plays and playwriters. Behold, Papa de Crébillon. Mon Dieu! -What is the matter with him. He jabbers like a monkey. Yet still he -bows with grace--the grace of a gentleman." - -"He suffers from gout atrociously," Desparre muttered. - -In truth, the figure which now approached the pair seated in the alley -might have been either of the things which Diane Grignan de Poissy had -mentioned, a monkey or a gentleman. His face was a drawn and twitching -one, filled with innumerable lines and with, set into it, deep sunken -eyes, while his manners were--for the period--perfect, his bow that of -a courtier, and worthy of the most refined member of the late Louis' -court. For the rest, he was a man of over forty years of age, and was -renowned already as the author of the popular dramas "Electra," -"Atreus," and "Idomeneus." By his side walked a lad, his son, Claude -Prosper, destined to be better known even than his father, though not -so creditably. - -"Good morning, Monsieur de Crébillon," cried the bright and joyous -Diane--bright and joyous as she assumed to be!--while the dramatist -drew near to where she and her companion were seated beneath the -acacias. "You are most welcome. 'Tis but now we were talking of plays -and dramas--lamenting, too----" - -"Ah! Madame la Marquise!" exclaimed the dramatist at the word -"lamenting," while his face twitched worse than before, since assumed -horror was added to it now. "Lamenting; no! no! madame! lament -nothing. At least there is, I trust, nothing to lament in our modern -drama." - -"Ay, but there is though!" the Marquise said. Then assuming an air of -playful reproof, she went on: "How is it that you all miss plot in -your productions now? Why have you no secrets reserved for the -end--for the dénouement, for the last moment ere they make ready to -extinguish the lights. Eh! Answer me that. Hardy was the last. Since -then it is all pompous declamation, heavy versification, dull pomp, -and thunder. Hardy belonged to a past day, but at least he excited his -listeners, kept them awake for what was to come--what they knew would -come--what they knew must come." - -"Madame has said it----" the dramatist bowed at this moment to three -ladies of the aristocracy who passed by, while Desparre rose from his -seat to greet them with stiff courtesy, and Diane Grignan de Poissy -smiled affectionately. "Hardy did belong to a past day. We have -changed all that, Corneille changed it." At the name of Corneille he -bowed again solemnly. "Yet," he said, "plot is no bad thing. A little -vulgar and straining, perhaps, yet sufficiently interesting." - -"Monsieur de Crébillon," Desparre exclaimed here, he not having spoken -a word before or acknowledged the dramatist's presence, except by a -glance, "you may be seated. There is a sufficiency of room upon this -bench." - -With a gleam from his sunken eyes--which might have meant to testify -thanks to Monsieur le Duc, or might have meant to convey contempt--was -he not already a popular favourite among the highest ranks of the -aristocracy in Paris, and, even here, in Eaux St. Fer, one of those to -whom the fashionable side of the alley was thrown open as a right!--he -took his seat upon the vacant space on the other side of the Marquise. -Then, from out the hollow caverns of his eye-sockets he regarded her -steadily, while he said-- - -"Has Madame la Marquise by chance any protegé among her many friends -who has written a play with a plot? An embryo Hardy, for example. -Almost, if a poor poet might be permitted to have a thought," and -again his glance rested with contempt on Desparre; "I would wager such -to be the case. Some gentleman of her house who deems that he has the -sacred fire within him----" - -"Supposing," interrupted Diane, "that one who is no poor -gentleman--but--but--as a matter of fact--myself--had conceived -a good drama, a--a--story so strange that she imagined it might -amuse--nay--interest an audience. Suppose that! Would it be possible -to----?" - -"Madame," exclaimed le Duc Desparre, "have you turned dramatist. Are -you about to become a bluestocking?" - -"Why not?" she asked, with a swift glance that met his; a glance that -reminded him--he knew not why--of the blue steely glitter of a rapier. -"Why not? Have not other women of France, of my class, done such -things?" - -"Frequently," de Crébillon replied, answering the question addressed -to the other. "Frequently. Yet--yet--never that I can recall in -public, before the lower orders, the people. But to pass a soirée -away, to amuse one's friends in the country. That would be -another thing. A little comedy now,--with a brilliant, startling -conclusion--" - -"Mine is not a comedy!" - -"Perhaps," questioned the dramatist, "a great classical tragedy? With -a dénouement such as was used in early days?" - -"Nay, a drama. One of our own times." - -Still, as she spoke, she kept her eyes fixed full blaze upon de -Crébillon--yet--out of the side of them--she watched Monsieur le Duc. -And it might be that the sun was flickering the shadows of the acacia -leaves upon his face and, thereby, causing that face to look now as -though it were more yellow than white. She thought, at least, that -this was the tinge it was assuming. Yet--she might be mistaken. - -"Will you not tell us, Madame la Marquise, something of this plot, at -least?" the duke asked, "give us some premonition of what this subject -is. Or prepare us for what we are to expect when this drama sees the -day?" - -And she knew that his voice trembled as he spoke. "Nay, nay, Monsieur -le Duc," the dramatist exclaimed, "to do that would destroy the -pleasure of the representation. It would remove expectancy--the salt -of such things." Then, turning to the Marquise, he asked: "Is Madame's -little play written, or, at present, only conceived? If so, I should -be ravished to read it; to myself alone, or to a number of Madame's -friends. There are many here, in Eaux St. Fer. And the after dinner -hours are a little dull; such an afternoon would compensate for much." - -"The plot is alone conceived. It is in the air only. Yet it is all -here," and she tapped with her finger on her white forehead over which -the golden hair curled crisply. - -"Will Madame la Marquise permit that I construct a little play for the -benefit of her friends? The saloon of The Garland will hold all she -chooses to invite. Doubtless, Monsieur le Duc will agree with me that -no more ravishing entertainment could be provided in Eaux St. Fer, -which is a little--one may say--a little _triste_--sometimes." - -Heavily, stolidly, Monsieur le Duc bowed his head acquiescingly; -though, had it been in his power to do so, he would have thrown -obstacles in the way of the Marquise's little plot ever falling into -de Crébillon's hands. He had seen something in that steely glitter of -her blue eyes which disturbed him, though he scarcely knew why such -should be the case--yet, also, he could not forget that this was a -woman whom he had wronged in the worst way possible to wrong such as -she--by scorning her in his prosperity. Therefore he was disturbed. - -Half an hour later the alley was deserted, the visitors were going to -their dinners, it was one o'clock. The Duc had departed to his, the -Marquise Grignan de Poissy was strolling slowly towards The Garland, -there to partake of hers; de Crébillon and his son walked by her side. -And, as they did so, the dramatist said a word. - -"Always," he remarked quietly, "I have thought that Madame la Marquise -was possessed of the deepest friendship for Monsieur le Duc." - -"_Vraiment!_" she exclaimed, transfixing him with her wondrous eyes. -"_Vraiment!_ And has Monsieur de Crébillon seen fit to alter that -opinion?" To which the other made no answer, unless a shrug of his -lean shoulders was one. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -"THE ABANDONED ORPHAN" -PROLOGUE - - -The company had assembled in the saloon of the Garland and formed as -fashionable a collection of the upper aristocracy as any which could -perhaps be brought together outside Paris. Not even Vichy, the great -rival of Eaux St. Fer, could have drawn a larger number of persons -bearing the most high-sounding and aristocratic names of France. For -Eaux St. Fer was this year _la mode_, principally because of that one -extra degree of heat which the waters were reported to have assumed, -and, next, because of the rumour, now accepted as absolute truth, that -the Regent had casks and barrels of those waters sent with unfailing -regularity to Paris daily. And, still, for one other reason, namely, -that here the life of Paris might be resumed; the intrigues, the -flirtations, and the scandals of the _Maîtresse Vile_--or of that -portion of it which the highest aristocracy of the land condescended -to consider as Paris, namely, St. Germain, the Palais Royal and -Versailles--might be renewed; everything might be indulged in, here as -there, except the late hours of going to bed and the equally late ones -of rising, the overeating and overdrinking, and the general wear and -tear of already enfeebled constitutions. Everything might be the same -except these delights against which the fashionable physicians so -sternly set their faces. - -"Do what you will," said those aristocratic tyrants, who (after having -preached up the place as one from which almost the elixir of a new -life might be drawn) had now followed their patients to the spot -thereby to guard over and protect them, and, also, to continue to -increase their bills. "Do all that you desire, save--a few things. No -late hours, no rich dishes, no potent wines, no heated rooms. Instead, -fresh air all day long in the valleys, or, above, on the hills; the -plain living of the country and long nights of rest; for drink, the -pure draughts of the springs and of milk. Thereby shall you all return -to Paris renovated and restored." - -Yet they were careful not to add, "And ready to commence a fresh -career of dissipation which shall place you in our hands again and, -eventually, in the tombs of your aristocratic families." - -Since, however, the visitors followed with more or less regularity the -prescribed regimen, the wholesomeness of the life was soon apparent in -renewed appetites, in cheeks which bloomed--almost, though not -quite--without the adventitious aid of paint and cosmetiques; in -nerves which ceased to quiver at every noise; in nights which were -passed in easy slumbers instead of being racked by the pangs of -indigestion. Wholesome enough indeed, revivifying and strengthening; a -life that recuperated wasted vitality and prepared its possessors for -a new season of dissipation and debauchery at the Regent's court. Yet, -withal, a deadly dull one! Wherefore, when it was whispered that they -were invited to "a representation of a play" by "a lady of rank," -which play was, as they termed it themselves, "_Un secret de la -Comédie_," since everyone in Eaux St. Fer knew who the lady of rank -was, they flocked to the saloon of The Garland, and did so a little -more eagerly than they might otherwise have done, since there was also -in the air a whisper that, in the "representation," was something more -than the mere attempts of a would-be bluestocking to exhibit her -talents for dramatic construction. - -De Crébillon possessed another talent besides an inventive genius and -a power of writing tragedies; he had a tongue which could whisper -smoothly but effectively, a glance which could suggest, and an -altogether admirable manner of exciting curiosity by a look alone. - -So they were all gathered together now, two hours after their early -and salutary, but scarcely appetising, dinners had been eaten; and -they formed a mass of gorgeously-dressed, highbred men and women, -everyone of whom were known to the others, and everyone of whose -secrets were, in almost every case, also known to each other. Yet, -since each and all had a history, none being free from one skeleton of -the past (or present) at least, this was not a matter of very much -importance. - -In costumes suited for the watering-places--yet made by the astute -hands of the workwomen of Mesdames Germeuil or Carvel, Versac or -Grandchamp, and produced under the equally astute eyes of those -authorities in dress--the ladies entered the room where the -representation was to take place, their pointed corsages and bouffante -sleeves, with their deep ruffles at the elbows, setting off well their -diamond-adorned head-dresses and their flowered robes. As for the men, -their dress was the dress of the most costly period in France, not -even excepting the days of the Great Monarch; their court-swords -gold-hilted; their lace at sleeve and breast and knee worth a small -fortune; their wigs works of art and of great cost. - -"Mon ami," said the Marquise Grignan de Poissy to a youth who -approached her as she made her way through the press of her friends, -the young man being none other than her nephew, the present bearer of -the title of the de Poissys, "you are charming; your costume is -ravishing." - -"Yet," she continued, "that is but a poor weapon to hang upon a man's -thigh," and she touched lightly with her finger the ivory and gold -hilt of the court-sword he carried by his side. "There is no fighting -quality in that." - -"My dear aunt," exclaimed the young marquis, glancing at her -admiringly, for, even to him, the beauty of his late uncle's widow was -more or less alluring, "my dear aunt, it professes to have no fighting -qualities. It is only an ornament such as that," and he, too, put out -a finger and touched the baton, or cane, which she carried in her hand -in common with other ladies. - -"Yet this," she said, "would strike a blow on any who molested me, -even though it broke in the attempt, being so poor a thing," and her -deep blue eyes gazed into his while sparkling like sapphires as they -did so. - -"And," he replied, not understanding why those eyes so transfixed him, -or why, at the same time, he vibrated under their glance, "this would -run a man through who molested you, even though it broke in the -attempt, being so poor a thing," and he gave a little self-satisfied -laugh. - -"Would it? You mean that?" - -"Without doubt, I mean it," he replied, his voice gradually becoming -grave, while he stared fixedly at her, as though not comprehending. -"Without doubt, I mean it." Then he said, a moment later--speaking as -though he had penetrated the meaning she would convey: "My dear aunt -Diane, is there by chance anyone whom you wish run through? If so name -him. It shall be done, to-night, to-morrow, at dawn, for--for--the -honour of our house and--your bright eyes." - -"No! No! No! No! I do but jest. Yet, come, sit by me, I--I am nervous -for the success of this play. I know the writer thereof----" - -"So do I!" he interjected. - -"And, see, all are in their places. De Crébillon comes on the platform -to speak the argument. Sit. Sit here, Agénor. Close by my side." Then -she muttered to herself so low that he could not hear her words. -"Almost I fear for that which I have done. Yet--Vengeance confound -him!--he merits it. And worse!" - -An instant later the easy tones of de Crébillon were heard -announcing--as briefly and succinctly as though he were addressing the -players at the Français ere reading to them the plot of some new drama -by himself--what was to be offered to the audience. - -Having opened his address with many compliments to those assembled -there and to their exalted rank, equalled only by their capacity of -judgment and their power to make or mar for ever that which would now -be submitted to them as the work of an illustrious unknown, he went -on-- - -"The scene is in two acts. The title is 'The Abandoned Orphan.' The -leading characters are Cidalise, who is the orphan, and Célie, who has -protected her. The first act exhibits the child's abandonment, the -second--but, no! Mesdames et Messieurs--that must be left for -representation, must be unrolled before you in the passage of the -play. Suffice it, therefore, if I say now that the work has been -hurriedly written so as to be presented before you for your -delectation; that the actors and actresses are the best obtainable -from a troupe now happily roaming in Provence; that, in effect, your -indulgence is begged by all. Mesdames et Messieurs, the play will now -begin." - -Amidst such applause as so fashionable an audience as this felt called -upon to give, de Crébillon withdrew from the hastily-constructed -platform which had been erected in the great saloon--which was not, in -truth, very great--the blue curtain that was stretched across from one -side of the room to the other was withdrawn, and the play began. Yet -not before more than one person in the audience had whispered to -himself, or herself, "At whom does she aim?" Not before, too, more -than one had turned their eyes inwardly with much introspection. And -one who heard de Crébillon's words gave a sigh, almost a gasp of -relief. That one was Monsieur le Duc Desparre. To his knowledge he had -never abandoned any infant. - -There was, naturally, no scenery; yet, all the same, some attempts had -been made to aid dramatic illusion. The landlord had lent some bits of -tapestry to decorate the walls, and some chairs and tables. In this -case only the commoner sort were required, since la scene depicted a -room not much better than a garret. And in this garret, as the curtain -was pulled aside, was depicted Célie having in her arms a bundle -supposed to be the child, Cidalise, while on the bed lay stretched the -unhappy mother, dead. - -With that interminable monologue, so much used by the French -dramatists of the period, and so tolerated by the audience of the -period, Célie delivered in blank verse a long recitation of what had -led to this painful scene. Fortunately, the actress who played this -part was (as happened often enough in those days, when the wandering -troupes were quite as good as those which trod the boards of the -Parisian stages, though, through want of patronage or opportunity, -they very often never even so much as entered the capital) quite equal -to its rendition, she having a clear distinct diction which she knew -thoroughly well how to accompany with suitable gesture. Also, which -caused some remark even amongst this unemotional audience, she -bore a striking likeness to the highbred dame who was the -authoress of the drama. The woman was tall and exquisitely shaped; her -primrose-coloured hair--coloured thus, either by art and design, or -nature--curled in crisp curls about her head; her eyes were blue as -corn-flowers. Wherefore, as they gazed on her, there ran a suppressed -titter through that audience, a whispered word or so passed, more than -one head turned, and more than one pair of eyes rested inquiringly on -Diane Grignan de Poissy sitting some row or so of chairs back from the -platform. And there were some whose eyes sought the countenance of le -Duc Desparre and observed that his face, although blank as a mask, -showed signs of aroused interest; that his eyes were fixed eagerly on -the wandering mummer who enacted Célie. - -"'Tis thee," whispered Agénor to his aunt. "'Tis thee!" - -"Yes. It is I," she whispered back. In solemn diction, the woman -unfolded her story. The story of an innocent girl betrayed into a mock -marriage, a fictitious priest, desertion followed by death, and her -own determination to secure the child and to rear it, and, some day, -to use that child as a means whereby to wreak vengeance on the -betrayer because he was such in a double capacity. He had sworn his -love to Célie, to herself, as well as to the unfortunate woman now -lying dead; he had deceived them both. Only the dead woman was poor; -she was rich. Rich enough, at least, to provide in some way for that -child, to keep it alive until the time came for producing it. "As I -swear to do," Célie cried in rhyme, this being the last speech, or -tag, of the prologue, "even though I wait for years. For years." Then -she called on Ph[oe]bus and many other heathen divinities so dear to -the hearts of the French dramatists, to hear her register her vow. -And, thus, the prologue ended amidst a buzz from the audience, loud -calls for Célie, for de Crébillon, for the author. Expectancy had been -aroused, the most useful thing of all others, perhaps, to which a -prologue could be put. De Crébillon led on the blue-eyed, -golden-haired actress, and she, standing before the most exalted -audience which had ever witnessed her efforts, considered that her -fortune was as good as made. Henceforth, farewell, she hoped, to -acting in barns and hastily-erected booths in provincial towns and -villages, to the homage of country boors and simple country gentlemen. -She saw before her . . . what matters what she saw! In all that -audience none, except a few of the younger and most impressionable of -the men, thought of the handsome stroller; all desired to know what -the drama itself would bring forth. - -For none doubted now (since they knew full well from de Crébillon's -whispered hints and suggestive glances who the author was) that -Desparre was the man pointed at as the betrayer of the woman who had -been seen stretched in the garret. All remembered that, for years, -even during the life of the old king, his name had been coupled with -that of the Marquise. And they remembered that she, who was once -looked upon as the certain Duchesse Desparre of the future, had never -become his wife; that instead, he had meant to wed with a woman who -had emerged none knew whence except that it was from the gutters of -the streets--from beneath a gambler's roof; and that even such a one -as this had jilted him! Jilted him who sat there now, still as a -statue, white as one, too. Looking like death itself! - -What were they about to see? A denunciation of this man by his -abandoned child to that intended bride born of the gutter, a -denunciation so fierce and terrible that even she, that creature of -nothingness, shrank from him as something so base--so _scabreux_, as -they termed it in their whispers--that she dared not share his -illustrious name! Was that what was now to be depicted before them? -Was that the true reason for the scandal with which all Paris had rung -since the cruel months of winter; of which people still spoke apart -and in subdued murmurs? Was the abandoned orphan, or rather her -representative, to speak her denunciation on that platform? Was that -woman of the people to fly from him before their eyes? Was the Duc -Desparre to be held up before them here, on this summer day, in the -true colours which all knew him to possess, but which all, because he -was of their own patrician order, endeavoured to forget that he thus -possessed? - -If so, then Diane Grignan de Poissy's vengeance was, indeed, an awful -one! If so, then God shield them from having their own secrets fall -into her possession, from having her vengeance aroused against them, -too! - -As had been ever since the days of Hardy, of Corneille, of Moliere, -their attention was now drawn to the fact that the actual play was -about to commence by three thumps upon the stage from a club, and, -once more, they settled down to the enjoyment of the spectacle; the -buzz amongst them ceasing as again the curtain was drawn back. They -prepared for the denunciation! Yet, still, in their last whispers to -each other ere silence set in, they asked how that denunciation was to -take effect? There were but two female characters, Célie, the -protectress, Cidalise, the orphan. Where then was the character of the -woman to whom the man was to be denounced; the woman who should -represent before them that creature of the lower orders who, in actual -fact and life, had last winter fled from Desparre--the blanched figure -sitting before them--sooner than become his wife and a duchess? - -Perhaps, after all, they thought and said, they had been -mistaken--perhaps, after all, it was not a true representation of -Desparre's degradation which was about to be offered to them! Perhaps -they had misjudged, overrated, the vengeance of Diane! - -Well! they would soon see now. The curtain was withdrawn, the scene -was exposed, and it represented a pretty _salon_ adorned for a -festivity--a betrothal. - -The play began. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -"THE ABANDONED ORPHAN" -DRAMA - - -The usual guests who figure at stage weddings had assembled in the -salon. Evidently, the audience whispered, one to another, it was a -marriage contract, at least, which was about to be signed--or, -perhaps, an assemblage of relatives at the bride's house ere setting -forth to the church. No doubt of that, they thought, else why the -love-knots at ladies' wrists and breasts--quite clean and fresh -because, somehow, the poor strolling players who represented -high-born dames had been provided with them by the giver of the -entertainment--and why, also, had the gentlemen got on the best suits -which the baggage waggon of their troupe contained? - -Wherefore, after seeing all this, the actual high-born dames and men -of ancient family in the audience gave many a sidelong glance at each -other, while the former's eyes frequently flashed leering looks over -their enamelled cheeks and from beneath their painted eyelashes and -eyebrows. For all recalled that, in the real drama which had happened -in Paris in the winter months--the real drama over which Baron and -Destouches and Poinsinet (who should never have been an author, since -he was born almost a gentleman), and other grinning devils of the pen, -had made such bitter mockery in verse and prose--in that real drama, a -marriage, renounced and broken, had formed the main incident. -Recalling all this, they settled down well into their seats, eager and -excited as to what was to come. - -Enter amongst the guests, Célie. The handsome woman was made up to -look a little older now. Yet, "the deuce confound me!" said the -venerable Marquise de Champfleury, a lady who, fifty years before, had -been renowned for her _bonnes fortunes_ in the Royal circle, "the -deuce confound me! she resembles Diane more than ever." Which was -true, and was, perhaps, made more so by the fact that the woman was -now wearing a costly dress which Diane Grignan de Poissy had herself -worn more than once at Eaux St. Fer before all her friends, but which -she had now bestowed upon the wandering actress. The latter was, -indeed, so like Diane, that again and again the revered marquise -uttered her oaths as she regarded her. - -To Célie there entered next Cidalise, young, slender, pretty, -yet--because sometimes the troupe were starving and had naught to eat -but that which was flung to them in charity, or a supper of broken -victuals given them by an innkeeper in return for a song or -performance before a handful of provincial shopkeepers--thin, and out -of condition. Nevertheless, she could deliver her lines well, and -speak as clearly as Charlotte Lenoir had done, or as La Gautier did -now--and would have become a leading actress, indeed might become one -yet, if she could only get a foothold in Paris. - -In short, sharp sentences, such as the French dramatists loved to -intersperse with the terribly long monologues which, in other places, -they put into the mouths of their characters, Célie asked her if she -was resolved to carry out her contract and marry this man, this -Prince, who desired her for his wife? Yes, Cidalise replied, yes. Not -because she loved him, but because her origin was obscure, her present -surroundings revolting. Was not her uncle a gambler! At this there was -a movement amongst the audience; many exquisitely painted fans were -fluttered, a rustle of silk and satin and brocade was perceptible. -And, also, eyes gleamed into other eyes again, but none spoke. Even -the old Marquise de Champfleury swore no more. The aged trifler had -become interested, a novelty which had not occurred to her--unless in -connection with herself and her food and her health--for a long time. - -Yet, because when all is said, these were ladies and gentlemen, not -one stole a glance in the direction of Monsieur le Duc. - -Had they done so they would have seen that he sat motionless in his -seat, with his eyes half closed, yet glittering, as they gazed at the -two women on the stage. - -Two more figures were now upon the scene. His Highness, the Prince, -the bridegroom predestinate, and also the uncle of Cidalise; the first -called Cléon, Prince de Fourbignac, the second, Dorante. They loved -such names as these, did those old French dramatists. Yet what was -there about the man who played the Prince which awoke recollections in -the minds of all the audience of another man they had once seen or -known who was not the Duc Desparre, but someone very like him? -How--how was that likeness produced? The vagabond, the stroller who -enacted the illustrious personage, was a big, hectoring fellow, with a -short-clipped, jet black moustache; an individual who looked more -accustomed to the guardroom than a salon, to a spadroon clanking against -his thigh--perhaps sticking out half a foot through its worn-out -scabbard--than to a clouded cane which he now wielded, even though -in a salon. His clothes, too--they were the best that could be found -in the frowsy, hair-covered trunk which carried the costumes of the -"first gentleman" of the troupe--seemed more fitted to some bully or -sharper than to an exquisite. So, too, did his expressions, his -"Health, belle comtesse!" to one high-born (stage) lady, his -"_Rasade_" to another whose glass touched his as she wished him -felicity; so, too, did his vulgar heartiness to all. - -"A Prince!" the real aristocrats in front muttered to themselves and -each other, yet remembered that the words he uttered must for sure -have been put into his mouth either by the authoress, or her -collaborateur, De Crébillon. Only, why and wherefore? And still they -were puzzled, since many of them could recall in far back days some -fellow very much like the creature who was now strutting about the -stage and kicking a footman here and there, slapping the bare -shoulders of female guests, and giving low winks to his male friends. - -There was some art in this, they muttered; some recollection which it -was intended to evoke. Whom had they ever known like this? What fellow -who, for some particular reason, had been admitted to their august -society--a society in which, to do them justice, they behaved -admirably and with exquisite grace so long as their actions were -public, no matter how much they atoned for that behaviour by extremely -questionable conduct in private? - -Then they remembered all, memory being aroused by none other than the -respected Marquise de Champfleury. - -"_Me damne!_" she whispered, changing her form of exclamation -somewhat--probably for fear of being monotonous. "_Me damne!_ does no -one recall our friend when a beggarly captain on the frontier? _Hein!_ -he was the second, heir then, wherefore we permitted his presence -sometimes. Yet, only sometimes, God be praised! Had he not been an -heir, our lackeys should have kicked him down the street. You -remember; you, Fifine, and you, Finette? Heaven knows you are both old -enough to do so!" - -After which the amiable aristocrat ceased her pleasing prattle, and -attended to the development of the drama before them. - -They were all doing that now, eagerly, absorbingly, and even more -especially so since the fine memory of the old Marquise had recalled -to them, or most of them, the time when Desparre stamped about their -salons roughly, and, because he was the second heir to the dukedom and -almost sure to succeed to it some day, treated them all to a great -deal of what they termed privately in disgust, "his guardroom -manners." And, in remembering, they thought what good fortune it was -for Diane (if it was not the outcome of astute selection) to have -secured this rough fellow to personate the man she was undoubtedly -bent on exposing--the man who now sat staring at the stage with his -face as set as a mask, and as expressionless. - -Meanwhile, the play went on. The signing of the contract which, all -recognised now, was the ceremony to be performed, was at hand. First -came the bridegroom, who--having ceased his tavern buffooneries--so -becoming to a Prince! and in the distribution of which he had included -Cidalise, who, with well-acted horror, shrank from him every time he -approached her--drew near the table at which the notary and his clerk -sat, and, having slapped the former on the back, affixed his signature -with a great deal of gesticulation, and then handed the quill with -ostentatious politeness to his future Princess. - -"Sign, dear idol," he whispered in a stage whisper, "sign. I await -with eagerness the right to call thee mine." Only he marred somewhat -these affecting words by winking at another girl who stood by -Cidalise. - -On either side of that Iphigenia were grouped now Célie and -Dorante--an old grisly actor this, round shouldered and ill-favoured, -who had forgotten to shave himself that morning, or who, perhaps, -imagined that, as he represented a Parisian gambler, it was a touch of -nature to go thus unclean--Cléon being of course next to Cidalise. And -to her, Célie spoke clearly, so clearly that her voice was heard by -everyone of the audience present in the salon of The Garland as she -said "Sign, Cidalise." Then she stood with her large blue eyes fixed -full on Cléon, while the expression in them told the spectators as -plainly as words could have done that the great moment was at hand, -that the dénouement was coming. - -"Sign," she said again. - -Taking the pen, the girl signed, repeating in stage fashion the -letters of the name "Cidalise," so that the audience, who could not -see the characters, should understand that they were being written -down. - -"So," exclaimed Célie, her eyes still on Cléon, "So, Cidalise. -Continue." - -"D. O. R.," murmured the bride as she pretended to write again, when, -suddenly, breaking in upon hers was heard the voice of the leading -actress. "No! Not that. If you sign further you must use another -name." Then, turning to Cléon she hissed rapidly: - -"_Lâche!_ You abandoned one woman and deserted another. My time has -come." - -Aroused thoroughly, the audience bent forward in their chairs. The -Marquise de Champfleury drew a quick breath, but cursed no more. -Agénor Grignan de Poissy felt his aunt's hand tighten convulsively on -his. Now, not one of the painted patricians glanced at the other; all -eyes were on the stage, except one pair--those of Diane--and they were -fixed on Desparre! - -"What must I sign?" whispered Cidalise, trembling, and playing her -part as the audience said afterwards, _à ravir_. "What? What?" - -"Demand of thy uncle--uncle, mon Dieu! Demand of Dorante. Speak, -Dorante." - -"Thy real name," replied Dorante slowly, effectively, "is De -Fourbignac." - -"Thou canst not marry him," and now the woman who represented Célie -was superb, as, with finger extended and eyes ablaze, she pointed at -Cléon, (she got to Paris at last and became the leading lady at the -Odéon!). "He is thy father. Even as he deserted me, so, too, he -deserted thy mother, leaving her to die of starvation. Villain! -_maraud!_" she exclaimed, turning on Cléon. "What did I promise thee? -Thus I fulfil my vow." - -"And thus I avenge myself," cried Cléon, tugging at his rapier. "Thus, -traitress----" - -But the actor did not finish his speech. From outside the wall of the -salon was heard ringing the great bell of The Garland; the bell which -was a signal to all who resided at the inn that now was the time when -the noblesse, in contradistinction to those of the commercial world, -repaired to the wells of Eaux St. Fer, there to take their glass of -those unutterably filthy, but health-giving waters. Perhaps it was an -arranged thing; arranged by the vengeful Diane, or the spiteful De -Crébillon. Perhaps, too, it was arranged that, as the bell ceased to -ring, the old Comte de la Ruffardière, a man who was of the very -highest position even among so fashionable an audience as that -assembled there, should rise from his chair and say, in a voice -exquisitely sweet and silvery: - -"Mesdames et Messieurs,--you hear that bell. Alas, that it -should--although we are desolated in obeying it--that it should be -able to call us away from this most ravishing drama. Yet, my dear -friends, we have our healths, our most precious healths, to consult. -If we miss our revivifying glass what shall become of us? Madame," -addressing the representative of Célie, "Monsieur," to Cléon, -"Mademoiselle," to Cidalise--his manners were of a truth perfect--not -for nothing had he handed the Grand Monarch his shirt for forty-two -nights in every year (by royal appointment), and watched his august -master's deportment both in public and private--"we are penetrated, we -are in despair, at having to depart ere this most exciting play is at -an end. A play, my faith! it is a tragedy of the first order. Yet, -yet, it must be so. We are all invalids--sufferers. Alas! the waters -the waters! We must partake of the waters!" - -Then he bowed again, solemnly to each actress, in a friendly way to -the representatives of Cléon and Dorante, comprehensively to all. And, -strange to say, not one of those gifted Thespians seemed at all -surprised, nor in the least offended, at the departure of the -audience, which was now taking place rapidly. On the contrary, the -shrinking, persecuted Cidalise, that distinguished heroine and -once-about-to-be sacrificed one, tapped him lightly on his aged cheek -with her bridal fan as he stepped on to the foot-high stage, and -whispered, "be still, _vieux farceur_," while Célie regarded him with -a mocking smile in her blue eyes. Nor did Cléon refuse a fat purse -which, surreptitiously, the old courtier dropped into his hand, but, -instead, murmured his thanks again and again. - -The audience had indeed departed now amidst rustlings of silks and -satins, the click-clack of light dress swords upon the parquet floor, -and the sharp tap of high heels. Diane, with her nephew, had slipped -out even as De la Ruffardière commenced his oration; scarcely any -were left when he had concluded it and his withered old cheek had -received the accolade of Cidalise. And, it was strange! but not one -had looked at--in solemn truth, all had avoided looking at--the only -person who seemed to make no attempt to move. Desparre! - -Desparre, who sat on and on in his seat, motionless as ever, and -always stone, marble white; his eyes glaring through their drooping -lids at the little stage on which the battered old courtier was -whispering his compliments. - -Presently however, the latter turned and descended the foot-high -platform, casting his eyes,--for him, timidly and, undoubtedly, -furtively--at the silent, motionless figure sitting there. Then he -turned round to the actors and actresses who, themselves, had observed -Desparre, while, in a totally different tone from that in which he had -previously addressed them, he said: - -"Begone. Quit the stage. Your parts are played. And," he muttered to -himself, "played with sufficient effect." - -As they obeyed his orders--he watching them depart from the scene of -what was undoubtedly their triumph (never before had those wandering -comedians achieved such a success--in more ways than one), he went -over slowly to where the Duke sat and touched him gently on the -shoulder. The withered, battered old roué, who had known the secrets -and intrigues of the most intriguing court that ever existed in -Europe, had still something left that did duty for a heart. - -"Come, Desparre. Come," he said. "The company has broken up. It is -time to--to--to take the waters." - -But Monsieur le Duc, sitting there, his eyes still fixed on the stage, -made him no answer, though his lips moved once, and once he turned -those eyes and gazed at the old Chevalier by his side. - -"Come, Desparre," the other repeated. "If not the waters, at least to -your apartments. Come." - -Then, old and feeble though he was, he placed his hands under -Desparre's shoulders and endeavoured to assist him to rise. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -"THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH" - - -"If," said Lolive, the Duke's valet, to himself later that day, "he -would speak, would say something--not sit there like one dead, I could -endure it very well. But, mon Dieu! he makes me shudder!" - -It was not strange that the shivering servant should feel afraid, -though he scarce knew of what. One feels not afraid of the actual -dead--they can harm us no more, even if they have been able to do so -in life!--unless one is a coward as this valet was; yet, still, the -brave are sometimes appalled at the resemblance of death which, on -occasions, those who are yet alive are forced to assume, owing to some -strange stroke that has attacked either heart or nerve or brain. And -such a stroke as this, subtle and intangible, was the one which had -fallen upon Desparre. - -He was alive, Lolive knew; he could move, he felt sure; almost, too, -was he confident that his master could speak if he chose. Yet neither -did he move nor speak. Instead, he did nothing but sit there immobile, -before the great cheval glass, staring into it, his hands lying -listless in his lap, his face colourless and his lips almost as much -so. - -Once, the valet had made as though he was about to commence undressing -Desparre after having previously turned down the bed and prepared it -for his reception, but, although the latter had not spoken, he had -done what was to the menial's mind more terrifying. He had snarled at -him as an ill-conditioned cur snarls at those who go near him, while -showing, too, like a dog, his discoloured teeth with, over them, the -lips drawn back and, thereby, exhibiting his almost white gums. And -with, too, his eyes glistening horribly. - -Then the man had withdrawn from close vicinity to that master and had -busied himself about the room, while doing anything rather than again -approach the chair in which the stricken form was seated. Also, he lit -the wax candles in all the branches about the room; on the dressing -table, over the bed, and in girandoles placed at even distances on the -walls, while receiving, as it seemed to him some comfort from the -light and brightness he had now produced. For some reason, which, as -with his other fears, he could not have explained, he feared to be -alone in the gathering darkness with that living statue. - -Summoning up again, however, his courage, he approached once more his -master and pointed to the latter's feet and to the diamond-buckled -shoes upon them, then whispered timorously that it would be well if -Monsieur would at least allow those shoes to be removed. "Doubtless -Monsieur was tired," he said; "doubtless also it would relieve -Monsieur." - -But again he drew back trembling. Once more that hateful snarl came on -Desparre's face, and once more there was the drawn-back lip. "What," -the fellow asked himself, "what was he to do?" Then, suddenly he -bethought him of the fashionable doctors from Paris of whom Eaux St. -Fer was full; he would go and fetch one, if not two of them. Thereby, -at least, he would be acquitted of failing in his duty if the Duke -died to-night, which, judging by his present state, seemed more than -likely. - -Thinking thus, he let his eyes wander round the room, while meditating -as he did so. Near to the bedside was a locked cupboard in which he -had placed, on their arrival, a large sum of money, a sum doubly -sufficient to pay any expenses Desparre might incur during his course -of waters; in a valise, bestowed in the same cupboard, was a small -coffer full of jewellery of considerable value. And, upon the walls of -the lodging, was the costly tapestry which, in accordance with most -noblemen and all wealthy persons in those days, Desparre had brought -with him, so that the often enough bare and scanty lodgings to be -found at such resorts as Eaux St. Fer might be rendered pleasant and -agreeable to the eyes. This he too regarded, remembering as well the -costly suits his master had with him; the wigs, each costing over a -thousand livres, the lace for sleeves and breast and for the -steinkirks and other cravats, and the ivory-hilted Court sword in -which was a great diamond. He recalled all the costly things -the room contained. - -"If he should die to-night," he muttered inwardly--"to-night. None -would know what he brought with him and what he left behind. None, but -I. No other living soul knows what he possessed. He hated all his -kinsmen and kinswomen. None know. I will go seek the doctors; yet, ere -I do so--I will--will place these things out of sight. They must not -see too much." - -Then the knave began moving about the room, "arranging" things, while, -even as he did so, he recalled a cabaret in Paris where heavy gambling -went on as well as eating and drinking, which was for sale for two -thousand crowns. If he had but that sum! And--and--Desparre might die -to-night! Wherefore, his eyes stole sideways towards the spectral -figure seated there--powerless, or almost so. - -He might die to-night! Might die to-night! Well! Why not? Why might he -not die to-night? The doctor--the leading one from Paris--should visit -him. Yes, he should do that. He knew that doctor; he had seen him -called in before to gouty, or paralysed, or dropsical men and women -whose servant he himself had once been. And he knew the fashionable -physician's formula--the cheering words, accompanied, however, by a -slightly doubting phrase; the safe-guarding of his own reputation by a -hint to others that--"all the same"--"nevertheless"--"it might be--he -could not say. If there were any relatives they should be warned--not -alarmed, oh, no! only warned," and so forth. Well! the doctor should -come to see the Duke. Doubtless he would say some such thing before -himself and the landlord, who, he would take care, should also be in -the room. That would be sufficient. If the Duke did die to-night -suddenly, as he might very well do--as he would do--why then he, -Lolive, was safe. The doctor's words would have saved him. - -He was sure now that Monsieur would die to-night. Quite sure. So sure -that he knew nothing could save the Duke. He would die to-night; he -even knew the time it would happen; between one and two of the clock, -when every soul in Eaux St. Fer would be wrapped in sleep, even to the -servants. Then, about that hour--perhaps nearer two than one--the Duke -would die. And the cabaret, the disguised gambling hell, would be his -in a month's---- - -"Lolive," uttered a voice from behind him. "Lolive!" - -The man started; stopped in what he was doing; then dropped a dressing -case with almost a crash on to the shelf of a wardrobe, in which he -was placing the box and its contents, and withdrew his own head from -the inside of the great bureau. He scarcely dared, however, to turn -that head round to the spot whence the voice issued, since he knew -that he was white to the lips; since he felt that he was trembling a -little. Yet--he must do it--it had to be done--it was his master's -voice. - -Therefore he turned, gazing with startled eyes at Desparre who was now -sitting up more firmly in his chair, and saw that some change had come -to him, that he had regained speech as well as sense, that he would -not die, could not by any chance be made to die, that night. The -possession of the cabaret was as far off as ever now! - -"Ah, Monsieur, the Virgin be praised," he exclaimed fawningly and with -a smile of satisfaction, as he ran forward to where Desparre sat, -still rigid, though not so rigid as before. "Monsieur is better. What -happiness! Monsieur will go to bed now." - -While, even as he spoke, he regained courage; confidence. Sick men had -died before now in their beds, in their sleep. Such things had been -often heard of: they might--would, doubtless--be heard of again. - -His master spoke once more, the voice, harsh, bitter, raucous, yet -distinct. - -"_Malotru!_" Desparre said, while, as he did so, his eyes gleamed -dully at the other, "you thought I was dead, or dying. Eh, dog? Well! -it is not so. Go--descend at once. Order my travelling carriage. We -depart to-night, in an hour--for--Marseilles." - -"For Marseilles?" - -"Ask no questions. Go. Hangdog I Go, I say. And come not back until -you bring me news that the carriage is prepared. Go, beast!" - -"The horses, Monsieur; the coachman! He sleeps----" - -But there the valet stopped. Desparre's eyes were on him. He was -afraid. Therefore he went, murmuring that Monsieur should be obeyed. - -Left alone, Desparre still sat on for some moments in his chair, -listless and motionless. Then, slowly, he raised himself by using his -hands upon the arms of the chair as levers; he stood erect upon his -feet. He tried his legs, too, and found he could walk, though heavily -and with a feeling as if he had two senseless columns of lead beneath -him instead of limbs. Still, he could walk. - -"The second time," he muttered to himself, as he did so. "The second -time. What--what did the physician tell me? What? That, if the first -stroke did not kill neither would the second, but that--that the third -was certain, unfailing. If that could not be avoided, all was lost. -All! No longer any hope. This is the second, when will the third come? -When? Perhaps--when I stand face to face with her again. With -Cidalise! My God! When she blasts me to death with one look. Cidalise! -Laure!" - -He resumed his seat, resumed, too, his dejected musings. - -"It was well done. Fool that I am never to have remembered that Diane -was implacable. Cidalise! Ha! I recollect. It was my pet name for the -woman I left behind in Paris when hastily summoned away. I loved that -woman. She--she--Diane must have known--have taken the child, have -reared it. And I should have married her--my own child! Oh, God! that -such awful, impious vengeance could be conceived. That, having found -out how, all unknowing, I loved the girl, she--she--she--that -merciless devil--would have stood by and let me marry her--my child. -My own child. The child of Cidalise." - -Again he sat back in his chair. To an onlooker it would have seemed as -though it was still a statue sitting there before him. Yet he was -musing always and revolving horrible matter in his mind. - -"Baulked thus," he reflected; "she evolved this scheme of revenge to -expose me to all. To tell me, too, that I have consigned my own child -to a living death, to exile in a savage land, to the chain gang. And, -I have gloated over it, not knowing. Not knowing! I have pictured the -woman whom I deemed to have outraged me as trudging those weary -leagues with the carcan round her neck, the chains about her limbs. -And she was my own child! My own child! My own child!" - -Again he paused, thinking now of what lay before him. Of what he had -to do. What was it? Yes, he remembered his orders for the carriage to -be prepared. He had to hasten to Marseilles at once, as fast as that -coach (known as a "berceuse"), as that luxurious sleeping carriage -could be got there, and then to intercept the cordon of women who were -to be deported; to find her, to save her. And--and--and, if they had -already reached that city and left for New France--if they had -sailed--what to do next? What? Why, to follow in the first vessel that -went. To save her! To save her! To save her if she had not fallen dead -by the roadside, as he knew, as all France knew, the women and the men -did often enough fall dead on those awful journeys. - -But if he found her; if God had spared her; if she still lived! What -then? What had he then to do? To stand before her whom he had most -unrighteously sent to so cruel a doom, to acknowledge himself so vile, -so deep a villain that life was too good for such as he; yet, also, to -purge himself in her eyes of one, of two, crimes. To prove to her that -he knew not that her mother, ere dying, had ever borne him a child; to -prove to her that he had never dreamt, when he proposed to marry her, -that he was so near committing the most hideous crime that could be -perpetrated. And afterwards--afterwards--then--well, then, she might -curse him as he stood before her, or the third stroke that he knew -would--must come--might come then. What mattered; nothing could matter -then. He would have saved her. That was enough. - -Why did not the menial come to tell him the berceuse was ready--the -great cumbersome form of carriage which Guise had invented fifty years -before, so that one might sleep in their beds even while they -travelled on and on through day and night, and also take their meals -therein--the commodious carriage which had been built for himself in -exact imitation of that possessed by the present young Duc de -Richelieu et Fronsac. - -Young Richelieu! What a scoundrelly ruffian he was, he found himself -meditating; what a villain, what a seducer; how he would have revelled -in the idea of a man marrying his own daughter after leaving the -mother to starve, how----. He broke off in these musings to curse -Lolive and all his pack of pampered servants, coachmen and footmen, -who were snoring still in their beds, and to curse himself; to wonder -when the third stroke would come and how: to wonder also if it would -be when he stood before his wronged daughter. To muse if he would fall -dead, writhing at her feet--to---- - -Lolive re-entered the room. The berceuse was ready, the horses got out -of the stables. Would Monsieur have all his goods packed and taken -with him, also his jewellery, or--or should he wake the landlord and -confide everything to him until--until Monsieur's return? Only, Lolive -thought to himself, Monsieur might, in truth, never return. He was -ill, very ill; he might die on the road to Marseilles. He hoped that, -at least (though he did not say so), the Duke would not take the money -and the jewellery with him. Thus, he could find it later! - -"Take," said Desparre, his eyes glinting hideously, as Lolive thought, -"take all that is of small compass and of value. Give it to me, I will -bestow the money and jewellery where it will be safe in the carriage. -Give it to me." - -With a smothered oath, the valet did as he was bidden, Desparre -placing the jewellery in the pockets of his vast travelling cloak, and -the money about him, and bidding Lolive pack the clothes, the wigs and -the swords at once, and swiftly. And the pistols; they, too, should -go. - -"There are highwaymen, brigands, upon the road, Lolive," he muttered, -fixing the valet with his eye. "Thieves everywhere. It may befall that -I shall have to shoot a thief on the way. I had best be armed--ready." - -Wherefore he took the box containing his silver-hilted pistols upon -his knee, and, with the lid up, sat regarding the man as he hastily -packed all that was to accompany them on the journey to Marseilles. - -"My God!" the fellow muttered, "he makes me tremble. Can this man, -half alive, half dead, divine my thoughts?" - -The boxes were packed at last with their changes of linen and clothes; -once more Desparre was left alone. Lolive was despatched to arouse the -landlord and to inform him that Monsieur had to depart at once for -Marseilles on important matters, but that his room was to be retained -for him and his furniture and other things taken proper care of. And -the valet was also bidden to say that the Duke did not require the -presence of the landlord to see him depart. The reason whereof being -that Desparre felt sure that the man knew as well as all in Eaux St. -Fer knew what had befallen him that day; and how a play had been -produced by a vengeful woman for the sole purpose of holding him up to -the derision, the execration, of all who were in the little -watering-place, nobility and others, as well as the "refuse" who had -not been admitted to the representation but were aware of what had -happened. - -Everyone knew! He could never return here, nor to Paris. If he found -his child, if he saved her, then--then he must go away somewhere, -or--or, perhaps, then the third stroke would fall. Well, so best. He -would be better dead. He could not live long; he understood by the -doctor's manner that his doom was pronounced, assured. Better dead! - -Upon the night air, up from the street below, he could hear the rumble -of the berceuse on the stones as it approached the door of the house -where he lodged; he could also hear the horses shaking their harness, -and the mutterings of the coachman and the footman at being thus -dragged forth from their beds at night. - -It was time to go--time for Lolive and the footman to come up with the -carrying chair, which he used now when stairs had to be either -ascended or descended, not so much because he could not walk as -because he did not care to do so. He could have got down those stairs -to-night, he knew, even after this second shock, this further and last -warning of his impending end--only he would not. These menials, these -dogs of his, would have heard from Lolive of that stroke--they would -be peering curiously at him out of their low, cunning eyes to see -whether he were worse or not. - -Therefore, he let them carry him down and place him on his bed in the -sleeping carriage, while all the time but one thought occupied his -mind. - -That thought--what he would find at the end of his journey, and -whether he would find his child alive or dead? - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A NIGHT RIDE - - -The berceuse had passed through Aix and was nearing Gardanne-le-Pin, -leaving to its right the dead lake known as l'Etang de Berre, while, -rising up on its left, were the last and most southern spurs of the -Lower Alps. - -It was drawing very near to Marseilles. Inside that travelling -carriage, which comprised, as has been said, a sleeping apartment and -sitting-room combined, as well as a cooking place and a bed for the -servant, all was very quiet now except for the snores of the knavish -valet, Lolive, which occasionally reached the ears of the white-faced, -stricken man in the inner compartment; the man who, in spite of the -softness of the couch on which he lay, never closed his eyes, but -instead, whispered, muttered, continually to himself: "If I should be -too late. God! if the transports should have sailed!" - -Behind, and just above where his head lay upon the pillow of that -couch, there was let into the panel of the carriage a small glass -window covered by a little curtain, or pad of leather, a convenience -as common in those days as in far later ones, and, through this, -Desparre, lifting himself at frequent intervals upon one elbow, would -glance now and again as a man might do who was desirous of noting--by -the objects which he passed on the road--how far he had got upon his -journey. Yet, hardly could this be the case with him now, since the -route the berceuse was following was one over which he had never -travelled before. In the many journeys he had made, either with the -regiment in which he had served so long or when riding swiftly to -rejoin it after leave of absence, this road had, by chance, never been -previously used by him. What, therefore, could this terror-haunted man -be in dread of seeing, when, lifting the leather pad, he placed his -white face against the glass and peered out; what did he see but the -foliage of the warm southern land lying steeped in the rays of the -moon, while no breeze rustled the leaves that hung lifelessly on the -branches in the unstirred, murky heat of an almost tropical summer's -night; or the white, gleaming, dusty road that stretched behind him -like a thread as far as his eyes could follow it? - -In truth, he expected to see nothing; he knew that there was nothing -to come behind him which he need fear, unless it were some mounted -robber whom he could shoot, and would shoot, from the interior of his -carriage--from out that window--with his silver-mounted pistols--as he -would shoot a mad dog or a wolf that might attack him; he knew that -there was no human creature on earth who could molest him or bar his -way. He had made that safe, at least, he told himself, though, even in -the telling, in the recalling how he had done it, he shuddered. Still, -it was done! The Englishman who had thwarted him, as he then -considered, but for whose interference he now thanked the Being whom, -even in his evil heart, he acknowledged as God, was dead; had been -left lying dead upon the stones of Paris months ago. Dead, after -saving him from another infamy which he would have added to all the -horrors of his past life, though, in this case, unknowingly. And -Vandecque--ay, Vandecque--the man who could have told so much, who -could have told how that Englishman had been hacked and done to death -so that his patron's vengeance might be glutted both on him and the -woman he had once meant to marry. Well! Vandecque was safe. Neither -could that gambler rise up to denounce him, nor could he ever stand -before the world and point to Desparre as the murderer of the man who -had married his adopted niece. He, too, was disposed of. Yet, still, -the traveller glanced ever and anon through that window as the -berceuse rolled on, not knowing why he did so nor what he feared, nor -what he expected to see. - -"Laure, his own child! His daughter!" he mused again, as he had now -mused for so long. The child of the one woman he had ever really -loved--of a woman who had fondly loved him, who had believed and -trusted in him. And he, called away suddenly to join his regiment to -take active service, had never even known what had befallen her, had -never even dreamt that she was about to become a mother. He had not -known that she had been cast forth into the streets by her parents to -die, but had, instead, deemed that she was false to him from the -moment he left Paris, and had, therefore, hidden herself away from him -ever afterwards. - -Well! he was innocent of all this--innocent of all that had befallen -her and their child, innocent of what a hideous, hateful crime his -marriage would have been: yet guilty, blood-guilty in his vengeance on -that child after she had escaped from marrying him. Guilty of sending -her to the prison under a false charge of attempted murder--of -banishing her to a savage, almost unknown land. Guilty of murder in -yet another form than that which he had meted out to her husband--of -the cruel, wicked murder of an innocent woman. And now he had learnt -that this woman was his own child, his own flesh and blood! - -And he might be too late to save her. The transports had probably -sailed, or--and again he shuddered--she might have fallen dead on the -road in that long, dreary march from Paris to the South. He knew well -enough what the horrors were that the chain-gangs experienced in -their journeys towards the sea-coast towns--nay, all France knew. They -had heard and talked for years of how the convict men and women -dropped dead day by day; of how, each morning, the cordon resumed its -march with some numbers short of what it had been on the previous -morning--of how bodies were left lying by the wayside to bake in the -sun and to have the eyes picked out by the crows until the communes -found and buried them. - -Awful enough would have been his vengeance had she been an ordinary -woman who had despised and scorned him. But, as it was, she was his -own daughter! - -Would he be in time to save her? Or, if not, would he still find her -alive if he should follow her to New France? And if so, if he could -save her either at Marseilles or in that town now rising at the mouth -of the Mississippi, then--then--well then, instead of hating Diane -Grignan de Poissy for the revenge she had taken on him, he would bless -her, worship her for at last revealing the secret she had so cherished -as an instrument of future vengeance. - -In that night, as he thought all these things, a revolution took place -in the soul of Armand Desparre; he was no longer all bad. Vile as he -had been and execrable, a man who had trifled with women's hearts, who -had received benefits from at least one woman under the pretence of -becoming her husband eventually; a man who had been a very tiger in -his rage and hate against those who had thwarted him, and a shedder of -blood, yet now--now that his evil life stood revealed clearly before -him, he shuddered at it. On this night he registered a vow that, if he -lived, he would make amends. His child should be rescued if it were -possible, even though he, with paralysis staring him threateningly in -the face, should have to voyage to the other side of the world to save -her. That, at least, should be done. As for the Englishman murdered at -his instigation who was that child's husband, nothing could call him -back to life from the Paris graveyard in which he had doubtless been -lying for months; while for Vandecque--but of Vandecque he could not -dare to allow himself to think. His fate, as an accomplice removed, -was too terrible, even more terrible than his vengeance on Laure -Vauxcelles, as she had come to be called. - -Unknowingly, Diane Grignan de Poissy had gone far by what she had -done--by the vengeance she had been nursing warm for years to use -against him if he proved faithless to her--towards enabling him to -whiten and purify his soul at last. - -Again, as it had become customary for him to do since he had lain in -the travelling carriage, and from the time of quitting Eaux St. Fer, -he lifted the cover of the little window and glanced out. And it -seemed to him that the night was passing away, that soon the -day-spring would have come. The stars were paling and already the moon -sank towards the northwest; he saw birds moving in the trees and -pluming themselves and heard them twittering; also it had grown very -cold. Sounding his repeating clock it struck four. The August dawn was -near at hand. A little later and a grey light had come--daybreak. - -The route stretched far behind him; for half a league he could see the -white thread tapering to a point, then disappearing sharply and -suddenly round a bend of the road which he remembered having passed. -And as he gazed, recalling this and recollecting that at that bend he -had noticed a lightning-blasted fir tree growing out of a sandy -hillock, he saw a black speck emerge from behind the point, with, -beneath it, a continual smoke of white dust. Then the speck grew and -grew, while the smoke of dust became larger and larger and also -whiter, until at last he knew that it was a horseman coming on at a -swift rate, a horseman who loomed larger and larger as each moment -passed and brought him rapidly nearer to the lumbering berceuse in -which the watcher sat. - -"He rides apace," Desparre muttered; "hot and swiftly. He presses his -hat down upon his head as the morning breeze catches it and hurries -forward. It is some courrier du Roi who posts rapidly. One who rides -with orders." - -Observing how well the man sat his horse, his body appearing as though -part of the animal's own, and how, thereby, the creature skimmed -easily along the road and overtook the berceuse more and more every -moment, he decided that this was some cavalry soldier, young and well -trained, whose skill had been acquired first in the schools and then, -mayhap, on many a battlefield. Whereon he sighed, recalling how he -himself, in other days, had ridden fast through summer nights and dewy -dawns, with no thought in his mind but his duty and--his future! And -now--now!--he was a broken-down invalid; a man whose soul was black -and withered with an evil past. Would he ever----? - -He paused in his reflections, scarcely knowing why he did so or what -had caused their sudden termination. Yet he realised that something -quite different from those reflections had come to his mind to drive -them forth--some idea totally removed from them. What was it? What was -he thinking of? That--he comprehended at last, after still further -meditation--that this form following behind, enshrouded in its long -riding-cloak, was not strange to him; that he had seen those square -shoulders, which that cloak covered but did not conceal, somewhere -before. Yet, what a fantasy must this be! There were thousands of men -in France with as good a figure as this man's, as well-knit a frame, -as broad and shapely shoulders. - -Perhaps he was going mad to imagine such things; perhaps madness -sometimes preceded that paralysis with which he was threatened and -which he feared so much! Yet, at this moment, when now the sun rose up -bright and warm from beyond where the Rhone lay, and threw a long -horizontal ray across the road that both he and the horseman were -travelling at a rapidly decreasing distance apart, the rider put up -his hand, unfastened the hook of his cloak, and, taking the latter -off, rolled it up and placed it before him on the saddle. Whereby he -revealed a well-shaped, manly form, clad in a dark riding suit -passemented with silver galloon. Yet, still, his face was not quite -visible since the laced three-cornered hat was now tilted well over it -to keep the rays of the bright morning sun from out his eyes, into -which they now streamed as the road made another turn. - -"I am not mad," Desparre whispered to himself. "I have seen that form -before. Yet where? Where?" - -This he could not answer. He could not even resolve in his own mind -whether the knowledge that he was acquainted with that on-coming -figure disturbed him or not, yet he turned his glance away from the -eyehole of the carriage and cast it on a shelf above the couch. A -shelf on which lay the box wherein reposed his silver-hilted pistols. - -Then he returned to the little window, holding the leathern flap so -lowered with a finger raised above his head, that he could gaze forth -while exposing to view little more of his features than his eyes. - -The horseman was overtaking him rapidly, he would be close to him -directly, so close that his face must then be plainly discernible; he -would be able to discover whether he had been deceived into that -quaint supposition that the figure was actually known to him, or -whether, instead, he was cherishing some strange delusion. Doubtless -the latter was the case! Yet, all the same, the finger let down the -flap a little more, so that there was now only a slit wide enough to -enable his eyes to peer through the glass. - -At this moment the road took still another turn and, in an instant, -the rider was lost to his view. Then, next, that road rose -considerably, whereby the berceuse was forced to creep up the incline -at a pace which was less than a walk. The man behind him must, -therefore, come up in a few minutes; even his horse would, at a -walking pace alone, overtake his own animals as they struggled and -dragged at the heavy lumbering carriage behind them. - -But still he kept the flap open with his upraised hand, and still he -peered forth from the window, it being darkened and blurred by the -moisture from his nostrils. Then, suddenly, the carriage stopped, the -horses were doubtless obliged to rest for an instant from their -labours, and, a moment or so later, the horseman had come round the -corner and up the inclined road at a trot, he reaching almost the back -of the berceuse ere pulling up. At which Desparre dropped the flap as -though it had been molten steel which seared his hand; dropped it and -staggered back on to the couch close by, whiter than before, shaking, -too, as if palsied! For he had not been deceived in his surmise as to -recognising the horseman's figure; he knew now that he had not. He had -seen the man's face at last! And it was the face of the man whom -Desparre thought to be long since lying buried in some Paris -graveyard, the face of the man who had married Laure; the husband of -the woman he had caused to be sent out an exile to the New World. That -man, alive--strong--well! - -"What should he do? What? What? What?" he asked himself, as he -recognised this rider's presence and its nearness to him and observed -that he could hear the horse's blowings, as well as the great gusts -emitted from its nostrils and the way it shook itself on slackening -its pace on the other side of the back panel of his carriage. What? He -could not get out and fight him in his diseased, enfeebled state, -brought on by a year of hot and fiery debauch in Paris following on -years of coarser debauches when he had been a poor man; he would have -no chance--one thrust and he would be disarmed, a second and he would -be dead, run through and through. Yet he knew that, if the man outside -but caught a glimpse of his face, death must be his portion. They had -met often at Vandecque's and at the demoiselle's Montjoie; almost he -thought that the Englishman had recognised him as he concealed himself -in the porch of the house in the Rue des Saints Apostoliques--if he -saw his features now, he would drag him forth from the carriage, -throttle him, stab him to the heart. Doubtless he would do that at -once--these English were implacable when wronged!--doubtless, too, he -was in pursuit of him, had sought him in Paris, followed him to Eaux -St. Fer, was following him to Marseilles. For, that he should be here -endeavouring to find his wife he deemed impossible. She had been -almost spirited away to the prison of St. Martin-des-Champs and there -were but one or two knew what had become of her; while those who did -so know had been--had been--well--made secure. - -He had followed him, and--now--he had found him! Now! and there was -but an inch, a half inch of carriage panel between them; at any moment -he might hear the man's summons to him to come forth and meet his -doom. And he would be powerless to resist--he was ill, he repeated to -himself again, and his servants were poltroons; they could not assist -him. - -Thinking thus--glancing round the confined spot in which he was cooped -up--wondering what he should do, his eyes lighted on the pistol box -upon the shelf. - -The pistol box! The pistol box! Whereon, seeing it, he began to muse -as to whether a shot well directed through that small window--not now, -in full daylight, but later, in some gloomy copse they might pass -through--would not be the shortest way to end all and free himself -from the enemy whom he had already so bitterly wronged. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE STRICKEN CITY - - -Whatever effect such musings might have brought forth, even to -bloodshed, had Walter Clarges continued to ride close behind the -carriage containing his enemy--of which fact he was, in actual truth, -profoundly unconscious--cannot be told, since, scarcely had Desparre -given way to those musings, than events shaped themselves into so -different a form that the idea with regard to the pistols was at once -abandoned. - -For, ere the summit of the ascent, which was in itself a trifling one, -had been reached by both the berceuse and the rider following it, -Desparre was surprised--nay, startled--to discover that the man he -dreaded so much was not by any possibility tracking him; that the -pursuit of him was not his object. - -Clarges had ridden past the carriage almost immediately after -coming up with it; he had gone on ahead of it--and that rapidly, -too--directly after reaching level ground once more. - -"Startled" is, indeed, the word most fitting to express the -feelings of the man who had but a moment before been quivering with -excitement--with nervous fear--within his carriage, not knowing -whether his end was close at hand or not. He had felt so sure that the -presence of that other, in this region so remote from where they had -ever met before, could only be due to the fact that Clarges was in -search of and in pursuit of him, that, when he discovered such was not -the case, his amazement was extreme. Since, if Clarges sought not him, -for whom did he look? Was it the woman who had become his wife? Yet, -if so, how did he know that she was, had been, near this spot, even -if, by now, already gone far away across the sea whose nearest waters -sparkled by this time in the morning sun. For Marseilles was close at -hand; another league or so, and Desparre would have reached that -city--would know the worst. He would know whether his child had -departed to that distant, remote colony, or had died on the roadside -ere reaching the city. But his freedom from the presence of that man, -of that avenger--even though it might be only momentary--even though -the Englishman might only have taken a place in front of the horses -instead of riding behind the carriage--enabled him to reflect more -calmly now on what the future would probably bring forth when he came -into contact with his enemy--as come he must. In those reflections he -began to understand that vengeance could scarcely be taken upon him, -sinner though he was. Clarges had married the daughter--he could not -slay the father. No! not although that father had plotted to slay -him--had in truth, nearly slain him by the hands of others. Not -although he had himself taken such hideous vengeance on that daughter, -not knowing who she was. - -But, did the Englishman know all, or, if he were told of what was -absolutely the case, would he believe, would----? - -A cry, a commotion ahead, broke in upon his meditations, his hopes of -personal salvation from a violent death. The carriage stopped with a -jerk and he heard sudden and excited talking. What was the reason? Had -Clarges suddenly faced round and ordered the coachman to halt ere he -proceeded to exercise his vengeance on the master--had he? What could -have happened? A moment later, the valet, aroused from his heavy, -perhaps guilty, slumbers, had thrust aside the curtain which separated -the bed-chamber (for so it was termed) from the fore part of the -berceuse, and was standing half in, half out, of the little room, -undressed as yet and with a look of agony; almost, indeed, a look of -horror, on his features. - -"Oh! Monsieur, Monsieur le Duc," he gasped, "there is terrible news. -Terrible. We cannot go forward." - -"Cannot go forward!" Desparre ejaculated. "Why not? Has that man--that -man who passed us endeavoured to stop the carriage?" - -"No, Monsieur. No. But--but they flee from the city; in hundreds they -flee. There are some outside already, Marseilles is----" - -"What?" - -"Stricken with the pest. They die like flies; they lie in thousands -unburied in the streets. It is death to enter it. Nay, more," and the -man shook all over, "it is death to be here." - -"My God! Marseilles stricken again. Yet we must go on. We must, I say. -Where is that--that cavalier who overtook--rode past us?" - -"He has gone on, Monsieur le Duc. He would not be stayed, though -warned also. The people, the fugitives--there are a score at the inn a -few yards ahead of where we are--warned him to turn back ere too late, -and told him it was death to approach the city; that, here even, so -near to it, the air is infected, tainted, poisonous! He heeded them -not but said his mission was itself one of life or death, and that -this news made that mission--his reaching the city at once--even more -imperative. Oh! Monsieur le Duc, for God's sake give the orders to -turn back." - -"Fool, poltroon, be silent So, also, by this news, if it be true, is -my reaching the city become more imperative. Where is this crowd, this -inn you speak of?" - -It was natural he should ask the question, since the bed-chamber of -the berceuse had no other window but the little one at the back out of -which its occupant could gaze. - -"Where," he repeated, "is the crowd--the inn?" - -"Close outside, Monsieur; but, oh! in the name of all the Saints, go -not forth. It is death! It is death!" - -"It is death if I do aught but go on," the Duke muttered to himself; -"death to her if she is there and cannot be saved." And, at that -moment, Desparre was at his best. Even this man of vile record was -dominated by some good angel now. - -As he spoke, he pushed the valet aside and, shambling through the -still smaller compartment outside the curtain in which the fellow -slept and cooked, he appeared on the little platform beneath where the -coachman and a footman sat, and from which it was easy by a step to -reach the ground. - -"What is this I hear of the pestilence at Marseilles?" he asked, as, -seeing in front of him an inn before which his carriage was drawn up, -as well as a number of strange, sickly-looking beings huddled about in -front of it--some lying on wooden benches running alongside tables and -some upon the ground--he addressed them. "What? Answer me." - -Yet he knew that no answer was required. One glance at those beings -told all, especially to him who had once known the pest raging in -Catalonia and had seen the ravages it made, and once also at Bordeaux. -Those chalk-white faces, those yellow eyes and the great blotches -beneath them, were enough. These people might not be absolutely -stricken with the pestilence, yet they had almost been so ere they -fled. - -"We have escaped," one answered, "though it may be only for a time. It -is in us. We burn with thirst, shiver with cold. On such a morn as -this! Marseilles is lost! Already forty thousand lie dead in her; they -pile quicklime on them in the streets to burn them up. At Aix ten -thousand are dead--at Toulon ten thousand; thousands more at a hundred -other places. Turn back. Turn back, whosoever you are; be warned in -time." - -"Man," Desparre answered, "we have passed by Aix, yet we are not -stricken. I must go on," and his white face blanched even whiter while -his eyes rested on those unhappy people. Yet all the same, he did not, -would not, falter. He had vowed that his attempt to save his child -should act as his redemption if such might be the case; he would never -turn back! No, not though the pest awaited him with its fiery -poisonous breath at the gates; not even though the Englishman stood -before him with his drawn sword ready to be thrust through his heart. -He would go on. - -He felt positive, something within warned him, that his hour was not -far off. And also some strange presentiment seemed to tell him that -by, or through, the pest his death was to come--not by the man whom he -had himself striven to slay. - -Partly he was wrong, partly he was right. An awful penalty awaited him -for his misdeeds as well as through his misdeeds, though how the blow -was to be struck he had not truly divined. - -"Who," he asked, still standing on the platform of his carriage with -his richly-embroidered sleeping gown around him, "are there besides -the Marseillais? Are--there--any--strangers?" - -"Strangers. Nay, nay! Strangers. Bon Dieu! Does Monsieur think -strangers seek Marseilles now, when even we, the Marseillais, flee -from it? When we leave our houses, our goods, sometimes our own flesh -and blood, behind? Who should be there?" - -"The commerce is great," he replied. "To all parts of the world go -forth ships laden with merchandise. All traffic, all commerce cannot -be stopped, even by such a scourge as this!" - -"Not stopped!" the man replied. "Monsieur, you do not know. It is -impossible that monsieur should understand. There are no ships; they -lie out at sea. They will not approach. None, except the galleys. -Their cargo counts not." - -For a moment the Duke made no reply, while his eyes wandered from that -group of fugitives to the people gazing forth from the inn window; to, -also, his own servants looking paralysed with fear as they stood -about, all having left the berceuse temporarily and crossed to the -other side of the road so as not to be too near to the infected ones; -then he said: - -"There left Paris some weeks ago--many weeks now--two gangs of--of -emigrant convicts for--for the New World. One cordon was of men, the -other of--of women. Have they, are--are they there in that great pest -house?" And he drew in his breath as he awaited the reply. - -"The men are there." - -"My God!" he whispered. - -"They arrived yesterday." - -"Have they sailed--put to sea? For New France?" - -"I know not. There are, I tell monsieur, no ships. Those which were to -transport those gallows' birds would not perhaps come in. They may -have gone elsewhere." - -"And the women?" - -"I know not. If they are there, they will work in the streets--the men -at burning and burying. The women at nursing." - -"Have many persons there succumbed?" - -"Many! Of those in the town almost half; at least a half." - -Desparre asked no more questions but turned away, shaking at that last -reply. Yet a moment later he returned to where the fugitives were (he -was so white now that one whispered to another that already he was -"struck"), took from his pocket a purse, and, shaking from it several -gold pieces into his hand, held them out towards the poor creatures. -Yet, even as he did so, he paused a moment, saying: - -"Nay, do not come for them--there!" And he threw the coins towards -where the people were huddled together. - -For a moment they seemed astonished, even though he muttered, -"Doubtless they will be of assistance," and he noticed that only one -man in the small crowd picked them up--he with whom he had first -conversed. But he saw a man whose head was out of the window smile, if -the look upon his wretched face could be called by that name, whereby -he was led to believe that the man who had last spoken was some rich -merchant flying from the stricken city, even as the poorest and most -humble fled. He understood that wealth made no difference in such a -case as this. - -He gave now the orders to proceed towards Marseilles, bidding his -coachman and footman resume their places on the box, and his valet -re-enter the berceuse. Instead, however, of doing so, they remained -standing stolidly upon the farther side of the road muttering to -themselves, shaking their heads, and looking into each other's eyes, -as though seeking for support in their disobedience. - -At last the coachman spoke, saying: - -"Monsieur le Duc, we cannot go on. We--we dare not. This is no duty of -ours--to risk our lives in this manner. No wages could repay us for -doing that." - -"You must go on," Desparre said; "you must conduct me to the gates of -Marseilles. Beyond that, I demand no more. It is but two leagues. If I -were not sick and ailing I would dismiss you here and walk into the -city by myself. As it is, you must finish the journey. If not----" - -"If not--what?" demanded the footman, speaking in an almost insolent -tone. "What, Monsieur le Duc? These are not feudal days; there is no -law here. All law is at an end, it seems; and--and, if it were not, no -law ever made can compel us to meet death in this manner." - -For a moment Desparre looked at the man, his eyes glistening from his -pallid, sickly face; then he turned and slowly entered the berceuse. A -moment later he reappeared upon the platform, and now he held within -his hands his pistols. He was, however, too late. Whether the men had -divined what he had intended to do and how he meant to coerce them, or -whether they recognised that here was their chance--which might be -their last one--of escaping from the horrible prospect of death that -lay before them, at least they were gone, They had fled away the -moment his back was turned, and had disappeared into a copse lying -some distance from the road. - -There remained, however, as Desparre supposed, Lolive; yet he -recollected that he had been in neither of the compartments as he -entered them. In an instant he understood that the man was gone too. -The fellow had slid into the inn while his master had been inside the -berceuse, and, passing swiftly through it to the back, had thereby -made his own escape also. - -Desparre would, in days not so long since past, have given way to some -tempestuous gust of rage at this abandonment of him by his domestics, -creatures who had been well paid and fed, even pampered, since they -had been in his service and since he had come to affluence--he would -have endeavoured to find them, and, had he done so, have shot them -there and then. Yet now, either because he was a changed man in his -disposition, or because his physical infirmities were so great, he did -nothing beyond letting his glance rest upon the people standing about -who had been witnesses of the desertion. Then, at last, he addressed -them, haltingly--as he ever spoke now--his words coming with labour -from between his lips. - -"I am," he said, "a rich man. And--and--there is one in Marseilles -dear to me, one whom I must save if I can. She is," the pause was very -long here, "my daughter, and--heretofore--I have treated her evilly. -I--must--see her if she be still alive; I must see her. If any here -will drive my carriage to Marseilles he may demand of me what he will. -Otherwise, I, feeble, sick, as I am, must do it myself. Even though I -fall dead from the box to the ground in the attempt." - -For a moment none spoke. None! not even those who, a short time back, -would have performed so slight a task for a crown and have been glad -to do it. Not one, though now, doubtless, a hundred pistoles would be -forthcoming if asked from a man who travelled in so luxurious a -manner. They knew what was in that city; they had had awful experience -of the poisonous, infected breath that was mowing down thousands -weekly, and, though some in the little crowd were of the poorest of -the population, they did not stir to earn a golden reward. Gold, -precious as it was, fell to insignificance before the preservation of -their lives, squalid though such lives were even at the best of times. - -A silence fell upon all; there was not one volunteer, not one who, -meeting Desparre's imploring glance as it roved over them, responded -to that glance. Then, suddenly, the man who had conversed with -Desparre when last he appeared on the platform, the one who had taken -no notice of the coins the latter tossed out in his sudden fit of -charity, came forward and took in his hands the reins lying on the -backs of the horses, and began to mount to the deserted box. - -"I will drive you to the gates," he said quietly, "since your misery -is so extreme. Yet, in God's grace, it must be less than mine. You may -find this daughter of whom you speak alive even now--but for me--God -two of mine are gone. I shall never see them again. As for your money, -I need it not. I would have given a whole fleet of ships, a hundred -thousand louis--I could have done it very well and not felt the -loss--to have saved my children's lives. Oh! my children! My children! -My children!" and, as he shook the reins, he wept piteously. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -WITHIN THE WALLS - - -Midnight sounded from the tower of the ancient cathedral of -Marseilles--the deep tones of the bell, in unison with all the bells -of the other churches in the stricken city, being borne across the -upland by the soft breeze from off the Mediterranean to where the -women of the cordon stood--and those women were free at last from one -awful form of suffering. The hateful collar was gone from off their -necks; the chains that looped and bound them together had fallen from -their wrists under the blows of the convicts, and lay in a mass upon -the ground. They could hold up their heads and straighten the backs -which had been bowed so long by the weight of the collar; they could -stretch their limbs and rejoice--if such women could ever rejoice -again at aught!--that they might raise their arms unencumbered by -either steel or iron shackles. Yet, around their necks, around their -arms, were impressed livid marks that, if they should live, it would -take months to efface. More months than it had taken to produce the -impression which the things had stamped into their flesh. - -Then the order was given by the Sheriff, that broken-hearted man, that -they should descend into the city; the very tones in which it was -uttered--so different from the harsh, cruel commands of the men who -had escorted the forlorn women from Paris!--being almost enough to -make compliance with that order easy. - -"Come," said Marion Lascelles to Laure, "come, dear one. Even though -we march into the jaws of death, at least we go no longer as slaves, -but as freed women. Let be. Things might be worse. Had those cowardly -dogs, our warders, stayed by our side we should have been whipped or -cursed into this nest of pestilence." - -So they went on, following their sorrowful guide; the men of the -galleys marching near them and relating the awful ravages of the -plague which had stricken the city. Yet not without some exclamations -of satisfaction issuing from the lips of those outcasts and mingling -with their story, since they dilated on the freedom which was now -theirs--except at nights when they were re-conducted to the galleys -moored by the Quai de Riveneuve; and on, also, the better class of -food which--at present! but at present only--they were able to obtain. -Upon, too, the almost certain fact of their being entirely pardoned -and released when the pestilence should at last be over. - -"Will that come to us--if we live?" murmured Laure to the man who -walked by the side of her and of Marion. "Will anything we do here, -and any dangers to life we encounter, give us our pardon; save us from -voyaging to that unknown land?" - -"Will it, _ma belle!_" answered the convict--a brawny, muscular, -fellow, who would have been a splendid specimen of humanity but for -the fact that he was gaunt and yellow and hideously disfigured by the -white cloth steeped in vinegar which he wore swathed round his lower -jaw, so that he might continuously inhale the aromatic flavour with -each breath he drew. "Will it! Who can doubt it! And, if not, -why--name, of a dog!--are we not free already?" - -"Free! How?" - -"In a manner we are so. What control is there over us--over you, -especially? You will live in the streets--or, if you prefer it, in any -house you choose to enter; have a care, though, that it is one from -which the healthy have fled in fear, not one in which the dead lie -poisoning the air. At any moment you can hide yourselves away. While -for us--well, there will come a night when we shall not return to the -galleys. That is all." - -"Has," asked Marion, "a chain of male emigrants entered Marseilles but -a few hours before us? They should have done so, seeing that they were -not more than a day in advance." - -"Yes, yes. They have come. Yet their fortune was different; better or -worse than yours, according to how one regards it. One of the merchant -ships was still in the port--off the port--a league out to sea, and, -well, they risked it. They took the human cargo; they are gone for New -France. Had you a man amongst them whom you loved, my black beauty?" -he asked, gazing into the dark eyes of Marion, those eyes whose -splendour not all she had gone through could dull. - -"My husband was amongst them," she replied quietly; while, to herself, -she added: "Poor wretch! He did little enough good in marrying me. Yet -this leaves me free to devote myself to her." - -"Your husband," the convict exclaimed with a laugh. "Your husband? -Good! he will never claim you. You can take another if you desire--the -first one who falls in love with those superb glances." - -"Vagabond! be still," she answered, with such a look from the very -eyes he had been praising that the man was silent. - -They were by now close to the northern gate of Marseilles; and here -for a little while they halted, the Sheriff, whose name was Le -Vieux--and who is still remembered there for his acts of mercy and -goodness to all--addressing some archers who formed a group outside -the gate, and bidding them produce food and wine, as well as some -vinegar-steeped cloths for the neck of each woman. - -"Who are they?" asked another Sheriff, who came up at this moment, -while he scanned the worn and emaciated women and ran his eyes over -their dusty and weather-stained clothes. "Surely you are not bringing -to our charnel house the refugees from other stricken towns? Not from -Toulon and Arles?" - -"Nay," replied Le Vieux, "not so. But women who may, by God's grace, -be yet of some service to those left alive. If there are any!" he -added ominously. Then he asked: "What is the count to-day?" - -The other shrugged his shoulders ere he replied: - -"There is no count. It is abandoned. Who shall count? The tellers -die themselves ere the record is made. Poublanc made a list -yesterday--now----" - -"He is not dead? My God I he is not dead?" The other nodded his head -solemnly. After which he said: - -"He lies on his doorstep--dead. He was struck this morning--now----!" - - -* * * * * * - - -It was a charnel-house to which the Cordon entered! The second Sheriff -had spoken truly! - -Yet, at this time, but half of the ninety thousand[4] who were to die -in Marseilles of this pestilence had achieved their doom. Still, all -was bad enough--awful, heart-rending! Not since ten thousand people -died daily in Rome, in the first century of the Christian era, had so -horrible a blight fallen upon any city. Nor had any city presented so -terrible a sight as did Marseilles now when the women entered it, -while glancing shudderingly to right and left as they passed along. - -The dead lay unburied in the streets where they had fallen--men, -women, and children being huddled together in heaps; it seemed even as -if, after one heap had lain there for some hours, another had fallen -on top of it, so that one might suppose that these second layers of -dead represented those who, coming forth to search for their kindred -and friends, had in their turn been stricken and fallen over them. -There were also the bodies of many dogs lying stretched by the sides -of the human victims, it being thought afterwards that they had taken -the infection through sniffing at and caressing those who were dear to -them. Yet--heart-rending as such a sight as this was to see, and -doubly so as the women regarded it, partly under the rays of the moon -and partly by aid of the flames of the fires which had been lit to -destroy the contagion if possible--there was still worse to be -witnessed. - -This was the sight of those still left alive. - -The women who had once formed the chain of female emigrants, and who, -unfettered at last, marched along in company towards a spot where the -Sheriff had said they would be able to sleep in peace for the -remainder of the night, were now passing down a public promenade which -ran for some three hundred yards through the principal part of the -city. This promenade was known as Le Cours, and was bordered on each -side by trees, mostly acacias and limes, which in summer threw a -pleasant shade over the sitters and strollers during the day time, -and, in the evening of the same season, had often served as a place -for summer evening fetes to be held in, for open-air balmasqués, and -as a rendezvous for lovers. Now the picture it presented was -frightful! - -In its midst there was a fountain with water gushing from the lips of -fauns, nymphs, and satyrs into a basin beneath, and at that fountain -the moon showed poor stricken men drinking copiously to cool their -burning thirst, or leaning over the smooth sides of the basin and -holding their extended tongues in the water. Or they lay gasping with -their heads against the stone-work, in their endeavours to cool the -heat of their throbbing brains, and to still, if might be, the -splitting headaches which racked them. For clothes, many had nothing -about them but a counterpane snatched hastily from off a bed ere they -had rushed forth in agony unspeakable; often, too, when they had left -their houses fully dressed, they had torn off their apparel in their -inability to bear the warmth imparted by the garments. Yet numbers of -them were not poor--if outward signs were sure testimony of wealth. -One woman--young, perhaps beautiful, ere stricken by the disfiguring -signs of the pest--was resplendent on breast and neck and hands with -jewels that glittered in the moonbeams. Doubtless she had seized all -she owned ere rushing from her house in misery! - -If death levels all, so, too, had the pest in this desolated city -plunged into strange companionship persons who, in other days, would -never have been brought together. Hard by this bedizened woman was -another, a woman of the people--perhaps a beggar, or a work girl, or a -washer-woman at the best--who screamed and wailed over a dead babe -lying in her lap. At her side was an old man, well clad and handsomely -belaced, who shrieked forth offers of pistoles and louis' to any who -would ease him of his pain, and then suddenly paused to call to him a -dog hard by, to utter endearing words to it, and to endeavour to -persuade it to draw near to him and quit the spot on which it lay -writhing. A beggar, too! an awful thing of rags and patches! sat -gibbering near them, and held out a can into which a monk passing by -poured some soup, as he did into many others--yet, no sooner had the -man put the stuff to his mouth than he hurled away the can, shrieking -that the broth burned him to the vitals. - -"This is the end," muttered Marion to herself, her dark eyes roving -over all and seeing all as the women passed along--themselves now -hideous in their vinegar-steeped wrappings--"the end of our journey!" -Then she glanced down, frightened, at Laure, to see if she had heard -her words. And she observed that this woman of gentler nature was -walking by her side with her eyes closed, while supported and guided -only by her own tender arm. The sight was too awful for Laure to gaze -upon. - -The alley led into a street called La Rue de la Bourse, a broad and -stately one, full of large commodious houses such as the merchants of -Marseilles had been accustomed to inhabit for some centuries. Now, it -was deserted by all living things, while, at the same time, the dead -lay in the streets as thick as autumn leaves. Huddled together they -lay; some with their faces horribly distorted, some almost placid as -though they had died in their sleep, some with their heads broken in! -These were the people who had leapt from their windows in a frenzy of -delirium or in an agony of pain; or, being dead, had been flung forth -from those windows by the convicts and galley-slaves who had been sent -into the houses to free them from the poisonous bodies of those who -had expired. - -Marion noticed, too, that the still living were driven off the -thresholds of some houses to which they clung--one man, who looked -like the master of the abode, was pouring cold water from a bucket -down the steps, so that none would be likely to lie there. And, next, -she heard a piteous dialogue between two others. - -"It is my own house--my own house!" a man, writhing in a porch close -to where she was, gasped to another who parleyed with him from a door -open about half a foot. "Oh, my son! my son! let me die here on my own -doorstep, if I may not enter." - -Then the son answered, his tones being muffled by the aromatic -bandages around his face: - -"My father, it cannot be. Not because I am cruel to you, but because I -must be kind to others still unstruck. Your wife and mine, also myself -and my babes, are still free from the fever. Would you slay all, yet -with no avail to yourself? My father, think of us," and he shut the -door gently on the man while beseeching him once again to begone and -to carry the contagion he bore about him far away from the house which -contained all that should be dear to him. - -"Brute!" cried Marion, hearing all this. "Brute! Animal!" - -Then, because of her warm, impetuous Southern nature, she hurled more -than one curse up at the window from which she saw the son's white -face looking forth by now. - -"Nay, nay," murmured the dying old man, while understanding. "Nay, -curse him not, good woman. He speaks well. Why should I poison them? -And--I am old, very old. I must have died soon in any hap. It matters -not." - -"There are houses here," whispered the convict, who still walked by -Marion's and Laure's side, "at the end of the street, which are, by -some marvel, unaffected. Yet, also, they are deserted, because they -are so near to the poisoned ones. Seek shelter in one for the night, I -counsel you." - -"Show me one of such," said Marion. "If there is room enough for all -of us," and she indicated with her eyes that she referred to the other -women who had marched in company from Paris. - -"Follow me, then. There is a house at the end, the mansion of one of -our richest merchants. Yet he and all are gone; they have escaped -safely in one of his ships to sea. He will not return for months; not -until the city is free and purged. 'Twould hold a regiment," he added. -Then he led the way down towards the house he spoke of. - -"To-morrow," he continued, "the Sheriffs will ask me where you are -disposed of, and I must say, since you will be required to lend aid. -Meanwhile, sleep well, all you women. Above all, when you are in, shut -fast every window so that no air enters the house to infect it. Forget -not." - -"Be sure I will remember," Marion replied. "As well as to shut the -doors," she added, not liking too much the looks of this stalwart, -though gaunt ruffian, and mistrusting his familiarity, in spite of the -services he had more or less rendered them. - -But the man only laughed, yet with some slight confusion apparent in -his manner, and said: - -"Oh! you are too much of my own kind to have any fear. You women have -nothing to be robbed of--nothing to lose. And--Marseilles is full of -everything which any can desire, except food and health. Here is the -house. If you like it not, there are many others." - -Casting her eyes up at what was in truth a mansion, Marion answered -that it would do very well. Then she advanced up the steps towards it, -still leading and supporting Laure, and bidding all the other women -follow her. - -"My sisters," she cried, "here is rest and shelter from the poisoned -air of the city. And there should be good beds and couches within. Ah! -we have none of us known a bed for so long. We should sleep well -here." - -Whereupon one and all filed in after her, uttering prayers that the -pestilence might not be lurking within the place and making it even -more dangerous than the open air. - -"Fear not," the man replied. "Fear not. The owner fled at the first -outbreak. Not one has died here unless--unless some have crawled in to -do so. It is untainted." - -"Now," said Marion to him, "begone and leave us. To-morrow we will do -aught that we are bidden. You will find us here," and as he stood upon -the steps of the house, she closed the door. - -The place echoed gloomily with the reverberation. It appeared to be a -vast, mournful building as they cast their eyes around the great hall -into which the moonlight streamed through a window above the stairs. -Mournful now all deserted as it was, yet a building in which many a -festival and much gaiety had, for sure, taken place in vanished years. -The stairs were richly carpeted; so, too, the hall. Upon the walls -hung pictures and quaint curiosities, brought, doubtless, by the -owner's ships from far-off ports; bronzes and silken banners, great -jars of Eastern workmanship, savage weapons and shields and tokens; -also statues and statuettes in niches and corners. - -"The mansion of a rich, wealthy merchant," Marion thought to herself, -seeing all these things plainly in the pure moonlight streaming from -the untainted heavens above. "The home of gentle women and bright, -happy men. Now, the refuge of such as we are--lepers, outcasts, -gaol-birds." - -And even as she so thought, Marion pushed open a door on the right of -the hall, when, seeing that it led to a rich, handsome salon, she bade -her companions follow her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -A DISCOVERY - - -Aided by the light of the moon which now soared high in the -heavens, she being in her second quarter, the women--of whom -there still remained many out of the original number that quitted -Paris--distributed themselves about this vast and sumptuous abode of -gloom. Some, and these were the women who felt the most worn out and -prostrate of all, flung themselves at once upon the rich Segoda -ottomans and lounges which were in the saloon they had entered; one or -two even cast themselves down upon the soft, thick Smyrna carpets, -protesting they could go no further, no, not so much as up a flight of -stairs even to find a bed; while others did what these would not, and -so proceeded to the first floor. Amongst them went Marion and Laure. - -Yet this, they soon found, was also full of reception rooms and with -none of the sleeping apartments upon it; there being a vast saloon -stretching the whole length of the front of the house with smaller -rooms at the back, and in the former the two women cast themselves -down, lying close together upon a lounge so big that two more besides -themselves might easily have reposed thereon. - -"Sleep," said Marion, "sleep for some hours at least. To-morrow they -will come for us; yet, heart up! the work cannot be hard. 'Tis but to -nurse the sick; and, remember, if we survive--if we escape -contagion--we shall doubtless be free. That Sheriff, that unhappy, -bereaved man promised as much; he will not go back upon his word." - -"Can he undo the law?" muttered her companion, as now she prepared to -find rest by Marion's side. "Are we not condemned to be deported to -the other side of the world? How then can he set us free? And, even -though free, what use the freedom? We have not the wherewithal to -live." - -"Bah!" exclaimed Marion, ruthlessly thrusting aside every doubt that -might rise in Laure's, or her own, mind as to the possibility of a -brighter future ahead: "Bah! we are outside the law's grip now. We can -set ourselves free at any moment. Can we not escape from out this city -as inhabitants who are fugitives? Or get away----" - -"In these prison rags!" Laure exclaimed, recalling to the other's -memory how the garb they wore--the coarse black dress and the equally -coarse prison linen--was known and would be recognised from one side -of France to the other. "Marked, branded as we are Even with the -impress of the carcan still on our necks! It is impossible!" - -"Is it? Child, you do not understand. Do you not think that in this -great, rich house there are countless handsome dresses and vast -quantities of women's clothing? We can go forth decked as we -choose--even as rich women fleeing from the scourge. Have no fear," -the brave, sturdy creature added; "that we cannot depart when we -desire. And--leave all--trust all--to me." - -"How to live though we should escape? I am fit for nothing. I can do -no work: even though I were strong. I know nothing. My uncle reared me -too delicately." - -"I can do all, I am strong. I will work for both of us. Now sleep." - -And they did sleep, lying side by side. Side by side as they had done -before when chained together, and as they had trudged along the awful -road which led to still more awful horrors than even the route could -produce. In the morning Marion arose as the first rays of dawn stole -in through the windows of the great room, while thinking at first, ere -she was thoroughly awake, that the guardians would come in a moment to -curse into consciousness all who still slept, and half dreaming that -she was again on the road. Then, she remembered that these men would -never trouble her more; that, in a manner of speaking, she and Laure -were free. Yet she remembered that their freedom was a ghastly one, -and that death was all around them; that the pestilence was slaying a -thousand people a day (as she had heard one galley slave say to -another); and that, ere they had been in Marseilles many hours, it -might lay its hot, poisonous hands on her and her companions. - -Laure still slept, and, gazing down upon her, Marion saw how white and -worn she was--yet how beautiful still! Upon that beauty nothing which -she had yet undergone had had full power of destruction. Neither sun -nor rain nor wind, nor the long dreary tramp and the rough, coarse -food--not even the sleeping in outhouses and barns, and, sometimes, of -necessity, beneath the open heavens and in the cold night wind--could -spoil the soft graceful curves of chin or cheek, or alter the -features. Burnt black almost, worn to skin and bone, and with, on -those features, that look which toil almost ever, and sorrow always, -brings, she lay there as beautiful still in all the absolute -originality of her beauty as on the day she was supposed to be about -to marry one man and had married another. - -Looking down upon her, that other woman, that woman whose own life had -been so turbulent--and who, like Laure, had been reared among the -people but who had, doubtless, never known the refining influences -which even such a man as Vandecque could offer to one whom he loved -for herself, as well as valued for her loveliness--wept. She wept hot, -scalding tears, such as only those amongst us whose lives have been -fierce and tempestuous (almost always, alas! because of those fiery -passions which Nature has implanted in our hearts, and which, could we -but have the arbitrament of them, we would hurl away for ever from -us), can weep. Then, slowly, she did that which she could not remember -having once done for long past years--not since she was a tiny, -innocent child. She sunk first on one knee and then on the other, and -so knelt at the side of the sleeping girl, murmuring: - -"If I may dare to pray--I--I--who have so outraged Him and all His -laws. Yet, what to say--how to frame a prayer? 'Tis years since she -who taught me my first one at her knee--since she--ah! pity me, God," -Marion broke off, "I know not how to pray." - -Yet, all the same, she prayed (if, in truth, "prayer is the soul's -sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed") that this stricken, forlorn -woman might live through all the dangers that now encompassed her; -that once more she might see the noble, chivalrous man who had married -her, and be at last folded to his heart. While, even as she bent over -Laure, the latter's lips parted, and it seemed as though she muttered -the name "Walter." - -"Ay", Marion muttered, "that is it. But where is he? Where? Oh! if he -were but near to save her." Then she sighed deeply, as she would not -have sighed could she have known that, already, the man whose name was -in the sleeping and waking thoughts of each woman had reached the -city, intent upon finding and rescuing his wife. His wife, whom he had -loved since first his eyes fell on her fresh, pure beauty in the -f[oe]tid, sickly air of a Paris gambling hell. - -For Walter Clarges knew all now. He knew of the deadly, damnable -vengeance that Desparre had taken on the woman whom he would have -married if she had not cast him off for another. Himself! - -The knowledge had come to Clarges in that strange way, by one of those -improbable incidents which are the jest of the ignorant scoffers who, -in their self-importance and self-sufficient conceit, are unaware that -actual life is more full of strange coincidences than the most subtle -of plot-weavers has ever been able to devise. It had come to him when -least to be expected--in such a manner and at such an opportune moment -as to make the knowledge vouchsafed to him appear to be the work of -Providence alone. - -He had been passing one night at dusk down the street which led to -that in which he dwelt, while musing, as ever, on whether she had been -false to him--so bitterly, cruelly false as to make her memory and all -regrets worthless--when his attention was attracted by an altercation -going on between two men. One, a middle-aged, powerful-looking -individual; the other, a beggar and almost old. - -"Fie! Fie! Shame on you!" he said to the former, as he saw him strike -the second with his cane. "For shame! The man is older than you, and -apparently feeble. Put up your stick, bully, or seek a more suitable -adversary." - -"Monsieur's self to wit, perhaps," the aggressor sneered, yet ceasing -his blows all the same. "Pray, does Monsieur regulate the laws by -which gentlemen are to be molested by whining mendicants in the public -places of Paris? This fellow has followed me with his petition for -alms through a whole street." - -"I will see that he does so no more," Walter Clarges said, quietly yet -effectively. "At least, you shall beat him no further. You had best -begone now," and there was something in his tone, as well as in his -stalwart appearance, which induced the other to draw off and proceed -on his way. Not, of course, without the usual protestations of -"another time," and "when the opportunity should serve," and so forth. -But, still, he went. - -"What ails you?" asked Walter, gazing down now on the man whom he had -saved from further drubbing. "Answer," he continued, seeing that the -beggar turned his face away from him, and seemed, indeed, inclined to -shuffle off after mumbling some thanks in his throat which were almost -inaudible and entirely indistinct. "Answer me. And here is something -to heal your aches from that fellow's cane." Whereon he held out a -small silver coin to him. - -But still the man made off, walking as swiftly as two lame feet would -allow, and keeping at the same time his face turned from the other, as -well as not seeing, or pretending not to see, the proffered coin. - -"A strange beggar!" exclaimed Walter, now. "You pester a man until he -beats you, yet refuse alms when cheerfully offered. By heavens perhaps -he was not so wrong. At least, you are an ungrateful churl." - -"I am not ungrateful," the fellow answered, turning suddenly upon -Walter, and showing a blotched, liquor-stained face. "No; yet I will -not take your money. It would blister me." - -"In heaven's name, who are you?" Walter exclaimed, utterly amazed. - -"Look at me and see!" And now the man thrust his blotchy visage close -up to the other's, as though inviting the most open inspection. - -"I protest I never set eyes on you before. My friend, you have injured -someone else--evidently you must have injured him!--and mistake me for -that person." - -"I do not mistake. You are the man who was set upon and done to death, -left for dead--as all supposed--on the night when Law's bubble was -nearly pricked; the man whose newly-married wife was flung into the -prison----" - -"Ah! My God! What?" - -"Of St. Martin des Champs, and thence deported to America. Nay, nay," -the fellow shrieked suddenly, seeing the effect of his words; "do not -swoon, nor faint. Heavens!" he added to himself, "he is about to drop -dead at my feet." - -He might well have thought so! The man before him had become as rigid -as a corpse that had been placed upright on its dead feet and left to -topple over to the earth as soon as all support was withdrawn. - -Clarges' eyes were open, it was true--better, the appalled man -thought, they should have been shut than look at him as they did!--yet -they were glassy, staring, dreadful. His face was not white now with -the whiteness of human flesh--it was marble--alabaster--ghastly as the -dead! So, too, with his lips--they being but a thin, grey, livid line -upon that face. And he spoke not, no muscle twitched, no limb moved. -Only--one thing happened; one sign was given by the statue standing -before the shaking outcast. That sign consisted of a clink upon the -stones at his feet--the coin which that outcast had refused to take -had dropped from the other's nerveless, relaxed hand. - -At last the man knew that he who was before him had not been turned to -stone, had not died standing there erect. From that livid line formed -of two compressed lips, a voice issued and said:-- - -"The prison of St. Martin des Champs! And--deported--to--America! Is -this true? You swear it?" - -"Before Heaven and all the angels." - -There was another pause, another moment of statuelike calm. Then, -again, that voice asked:-- - -"Whose doing was it? Who sent her--there?" - -"The noble--the man they termed a Duke. The man she had jilted for -you." - -"Come with me. I--I--can walk, move, now." - -* * * * * * - -They were seated opposite to each other in Walter Clarges' room half -an hour later, and the fellow, who had by such a strange chance been -brought into contact with him, had told his tale, or partly told it. -He had described how he had been one of those employed by another who -worked under "the man they termed a Duke," to assist in falling on him -who was now before him; how they, the attackers, had left him for -dead, and how they had been bidden to follow to this very house to -assist in another matter. - -"She lay there--there," he said, "when we came in," and he pointed to -a spot at the side of the table; "dead, too, as we all thought. He and -his creature, the man who gave you your _coup de grâce_, as we -imagined.--I--I cannot remember his name----" - -"I can," Walter said. "It was Vandecque. Go on." - -"That is the name. Vandecque bade us lift her up and convey her to the -prison. To St. Martin des Champs, because it was the nearest. And we -did so, Heaven pardon us! Yet, ere we set forth, that man, that -noble--that rat--he did one thing that even such ruffians as we were -shuddered at. - -"What did he do?" Walter asked, dreading to know what awful outrage -might have been offered to his insensible wife as she lay before her -ruffian captor. "What? Tell me all." - -"He tore from his lace cravat, where it hung down over his breast, a -piece of it; tore it roughly, raggedly and--and--he placed it in her -right hand, clenching the fingers on it. Then he whispered in his -lieutenant's ears, 'the evidence against her, mon ami. Yes. Yes. The -damning evidence, Vandecque.' Yes--Vandecque. That was the name." - -Again the man was startled--at the look upon the face of the other. As -well as at the words he heard him mutter; the words:--"It shall be thy -evidence, too, blackest of devils. The passport to thy master." - -Aloud he said:-- - -"Do you know more? Is--is--oh! my wife--my wife!--is--has she set -out?" - -"La Châine went to Marseilles a month ago." - -"How fast do they--does la Châine, as you term it--travel?" - -"But slowly. Especially the chain-gang of women. They must needs go -slowly." - -Again Walter Clarges said nothing for some moments; he was calculating -how long, if mounted on relay after relay of swift horses, it would -take him to catch up with that chain--to reach Marseilles as soon as -it--to rescue her. For he knew he could do it--he who was now an -English peer could save her who was an English peer's--who was -his--wife. He had but to yield on one point, to proclaim himself an -adherent of the King who sat on England's throne, and the ambassador -would obtain an order from the French Government to the prison -authorities to at once hand over his wife to him. And politics were -nothing now! They vanished for ever from his thoughts! Then he again -addressed the creature before him. "You should have been well paid for -your foul work," he said. "So paid that never again ought you to have -known want. How is it I find you a beggar?" - -"Ah!" the man cried. "It was our ruin. We were blown upon somehow -to the ministry of police a day or two later for some little -errors--Heaven only knows how there were any who could do so, but thus -it was. We were imprisoned, ruined. I but escaped the galleys by a -chance. Yet, I, too, was ill-treated. I was cast into prison for two -months. God help me! I am ruined. There was some private enemy." - -"Doubtless, your previous employer." - -"I have thought so." - -"And that other vagabond. That villain, Vandecque! What of him? He is -missing." The man cast his bloodshot eyes round the room as though -fearing that, even here, he might be overheard, or that the one whom -they called a duke might be somewhere near and able to wreak further -condign vengeance on him; then he whispered huskily: - -"Ay--he is missing. Some of us--I have met them in the -wineshops--think he is dead. He knew too much. He--all of us--have -paid for our knowledge of that night's work. Yes, dead! we think." - -"'Tis very possible. Desparre would leave no witness--none to call him -to account. Yet," muttered Walter to himself, "that account has soon -to be made. I am alive, at least. But first--first--for her. For -Laure!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -FACE TO FACE - - -It was during the day preceding the night on which those unhappy, -forlorn women were conducted down to the north gates of the -pest-ridden city that Walter Clarges himself entered Marseilles. - -He had passed those women on the previous night, unseen in the -darkness and himself unseeing, while they, worn out and inert, lay in -some barns and outhouses belonging to a farm some miles off the city. -He had ridden by within two hundred yards of where the woman he loved -so much was enfolded in the arms of Marion Lascelles, half dead with -fatigue and misery. He had ridden by, not dreaming how near they were -to each other! - -On the morning following he had also passed, not knowing whom it -contained, the travelling carriage of the man who had wrought so much -evil in his own and his wife's life; he had gone on fast and swiftly -towards Marseilles, impelled to even greater speed by the first news -of the horror which had fallen on the city, as well as by the hope -that he might be in time to rescue her from that horror and the danger -of an awful death. And, if not that--if happily, for so he must deem -it now, she, with the other female prisoners, should have been sent on -board the transports for New France and already departed--then he was -still full of the determination to follow her across the ocean, and -so, ultimately, effect her freedom. - -Only an hour or two later, and after he and the villain Desparre had -passed the spot where the first news of the pest was heard by them, La -Châine went by too. Yet, by that time all around and within the inn -was desolate, while the place itself was abandoned and shut up, the -landlord and his family having closed the house and joined the other -refugees in their flight. The spot was too near to Marseilles to make -it safe to remain there; it was too much visited by the stricken -inhabitants as they fled to the open country to continue long -unattacked by the poisonous germs brought with them by those -inhabitants. - -Walter entered the city, therefore, on the midday preceding the -arrival of those unhappy, forlorn women; he entered it at last after -having made what was, perhaps, one of the fastest journeys ever yet -effected from Paris to the great city in the South, so often spoken of -in happier days, by those who dwelt therein, as the Queen of the -Mediterranean. - -How he had done it, how compassed all those leagues, he hardly knew. -Indeed, he could scarcely have given a description of how that long -journey had been made, and seemed, in truth, to remember nothing -beyond the fact that it had been accomplished more by the lavish use -of money than aught else. He had (he could recall, as he looked back -to what appeared almost an indistinct dream) bought more than one -horse and ridden it to a standstill; and had, next, hired as swift a -travelling carriage as it was possible to obtain, so that, thereby, he -might snatch some hour or so of rest. Then he remembered that he had -also left that in its turn, had bought another horse--and--and -had--nay, he could scarcely recollect what it was he had done next, -how progressed, where slept, and how taken food and nourishment. Yet, -what mattered? He had done it. He was here at last. That was enough. -But now that he was in the great seething plague spot, now that he was -here and riding his horse down Le Cours amidst heaps of decaying dead, -both human and canine (with, also, some crows poisoned and lying dead -from pecking at those who were stricken), all of whom tainted the air -and spread fresh poison and disease around, how was he to find her? -And if he found her, in _what_ condition would it be? Would she be -there, and his eyes glanced stealthily, nervously towards those -heaps--or--or--would he never find her at all! Some--he had been told -at the gate, where they handed him the repulsive cloth steeped in -vinegar which he was bidden to wrap round his neck--were destroyed by -quicklime as they died; while there was an awful whisper going about -that the thousands of dead now lying in the streets were to be burnt -in one vast holocaust, and that, likewise, the houses in which more -than a certain number had died were to be closed up for a long -space of time with what was termed "walled up doors and windows." -Suppose--suppose, therefore, she had died, or should die, in any of -these circumstances, and he should never find her--never hear of her -again! Never, although he had reached the very place in which she was! -Suppose he should never know what had been her actual fate! - -"I must find her," he muttered; "I must find her!" And he prayed God -that he might do so ere long; that he might discover her alive and -well, so that he could rescue her from this loathsome place and take -her away with him to safety and health. He could make her so happy now -that he was rich. He must find her! - -At the gate where he had been given the disinfectants, the man in -charge stared at him as one stares at a madman or some foolhardy -creature who insists on doing the very thing which all people -possessed of sanity are intent upon not doing at any cost. He stared -at the well-dressed stranger, who, flinging himself off his horse, had -battered at the gate to be let in--much the same as, on the other side -of it, people battered against it in their desire to be let out. - -"Admit you!" exclaimed the galley slave who now filled the post of the -dead and gone gate-keepers (with, for reward, a prospect of freedom -before him when the pest should be finally over, if he should be alive -by that time). "Admit you! Name of Heaven one does not often hear that -request! Are you sick of life? It must be so!" - -"Nay; instead, I seek to preserve life, even though I lose my own in -doing so. To preserve the life of one I love." Then, observing the -man's strange appearance, his red cap and convict's garb, he asked: -"Are you the warder of the gate?" - -"For want of better! When one has not a snipe they take a blackbird. I -am the substitute of the warders. They lie in the outhouse now. I may -lie there, too, ere long." - -"Has--has any cordon of women--female convicts--emigrants--passed in -lately? From Paris? Speak, I beseech you," and he had again recourse -to that which had not failed him yet, a gift of money. - -The man pocketed the double piece in an instant. Then he said: "I -cannot say. I was sent here but yesterday--the warders would have -known." - -"Go and ask them." - -"Ask them. _Ciel!_ they would return a strange answer. Man, they are -dead! Do you not understand?" - -"Is everybody dead in this unhappy place?" Walter asked, despairingly. - -"Not yet. But as like as not they will soon be. You see, _mon ami_, we -die gaily. Of us, of us others--gentlemen condemned for crimes we -never committed--forty were sent into the city from our galleys two -days ago. Four remain alive. I am one." Then, changing the subject, he -said: "Is the life you love that of a woman who comes--or has come--in -the cordon of which you speak?" - -"God pity me! yes. She is my wife. Yet an innocent." - -"Ha! An innocent. So! so! We are all innocent--all the convicts and -convict emigrants. Also, our woman-kind. Well! enter, go find her if -she is here. Then, away at once. Escape is easy, for the sufficient -reason there will be none to stop you." - -"Why not, therefore, flee yourself?" - -"Oh I as for that, we have our reasons. We may grow rich by remaining, -and we are paid eight livres a day to encourage us. There is much -hidden treasure. And our costume is a little pronounced. We should not -get far. Moreover," with a look of incredible cunning, "we shall get -our yellow paper, our 'passport,' if we do well and survive! We shall -be gentlemen at large once more. If we survive!" - -Sickened by the sordid calculations of this criminal, Walter Clarges -turned away, then, addressing the man once more, he said: - -"I will go seek through the city for my wife. If I find her not I will -return to you. You will tell me if the cordon I have spoken of -arrives. Will you not?" and again he had recourse to the usual mode of -obtaining favours. - -"Ay! never fear. If they come in you shall know of it." - -Whereon Walter Clarges took his way down Le Cours and traversed the -rows of dead and dying who lay all around him at his horse's feet, -seeing as he went along the same horrors that, in the coming midnight, -his wife and her companions in misery were also to gaze upon. The -daylight showed him more than the dark of twelve hours later was to -show to them, yet robbed, perhaps, the surroundings of some of those -tragic shadows and black suggestions which night ever brings, or, at -least, hints at. - -It was almost incredible that the ravages of an all devouring plague, -accompanied in human minds by the most terrible fear that can haunt -them--the fear of a swift-approaching, loathsome death--could have so -transformed an always gay, and generally brilliant, city into such a -place as it had now become. Incredible, also, that those who still -lived while dreading a death that might creep stealthily on them at -any moment, could act towards those already dead with the callous -indifference which they actually exhibited. - -He saw some convicts flinging bodies from windows, high up in the -houses, down into the streets, where they would lie till some steps -could be taken for gathering and removing them--and he shuddered while -seeing that now and again the wretches laughed, even though the very -work that they were about might be at the moment impregnating them -with the disease itself. He saw a pretty woman--a once pretty -woman--flung forth in a sheet; an old man hurled naked from a window; -while a little babe would sometimes excite their derision, if, in the -flight to earth, anything happened that might be considered sufficient -to arouse it. He saw, too, lost children shrieking for their -parents--long afterwards it came to his knowledge that, in this time -of trouble and disorder, some strange mistakes had been made with -these little creatures. He learnt that beggars' offspring had -undoubtedly become confused with the children of rich merchants who -had died from the pest, and that the reverse had also happened. In one -case, many years afterwards (the account of which reached England and -was much discussed) a merchant's child had been mistaken for that of -an outcast woman, and had eventually earned its living as a domestic -servant working for the very pauper child who had, by another mistake, -been put in possession of the wealth the other should have inherited. - -Still, he went on; nerved, steeled to endure such sights; determined -that neither regiments of dead, nor battalions of dying, nor scores of -frightened, trembling inhabitants fleeing to what they hoped might be -safety in some distant, untouched village, should prevent him from -seeking for the woman he had loved madly since first his eyes rested -on her. The woman he had won for his wife only to lose a few hours -later! - -Through terrible spectacles he went, scanning every female form and -face, looking for women who might be clad in the coarse sacking of the -convict _emigrée_; peering at dying women and at dead. And he knew, he -could not fail to recognise, how awful a grip this pest had got on the -city, not only by the forms he saw lying about, but by the action of -the living. Monks and priests were passing to and fro, one holding a -can of broth, another administering the liquid to the stricken; yet -all, he observed, pressing hard to their own nostrils the -aromatically-steeped cloths with which they endeavoured to preserve -their own lives. He saw, too, an old and reverend bishop passing -across a market place, attended by some of his priests, who gave -benedictions to all around him and wept even as he did so. A bishop, -who, calm with that holy calm which he was surely fitted to be the -possessor of, disdained to do more than wear around his neck the -bandage which might preserve him from contagion. He pressed nothing to -his lips, but, instead, used those lips to utter prayers and to bestow -blessings all around him. This was, although Walter knew it not, the -saintly Belsunce de Castelmoron, the Reverend Bishop of Marseilles, of -whom Pope afterwards wrote: - - - "Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath, - When nature sickened, and each gate was Death?" - - -Of convicts, galley slaves, there were many everywhere, since, as soon -as one batch sent from the vessels lying at the Quai de Riveneuve was -decimated, or more than decimated, another was turned into the city to -assist in removing the dead, and, where possible, burying them within -the city ramparts and port-walls, which had been discovered to be not -entirely solid but to possess large vacant spaces within them that -might serve as catacombs. And, also, they were removing many to the -churches, the vaults of which were opened, and, when stuffed full of -the dead, were filled with quicklime and closed up again, it -remaining doubtful, however, if the churches themselves could be used -for worship for many years to come. - -In that dreadful ride he saw and heard such things that he wondered he -did not, himself, fall dead off his horse from horror. He saw men and -their wives afraid to approach each other for fear of contracting -contagion; he observed many people running about the streets who had -gone mad from fright; once, in the midst of all these shocking -surroundings, he perceived a wedding party--the bride and bridegroom -laughing and shrieking, while the man, who was either overcome with -drink or frenzy, called out boisterously, "Thy uncle can thwart us no -more, Julie. The pest has done us this service at least." - -Next, he passed through a street at which a little trading was taking -place, some provisions being sold there. Yet he noticed what -precautions prevailed over even such transactions as these. He saw a -great cauldron of boiling water with a fire burning fiercely beneath -it, and into this cauldron was plunged every coin that changed hands, -pincers being used for the purpose. It was feared that even the pieces -of metal might convey the disease! And he observed that those who -brought fish to sell were driven away with shouts and execrations, and -made to retire with their bundles. It was rumoured, he heard one man -say, that all the fish near land were poisoned and infected by the -bodies that had been cast into the sea. - -The night drew near as still he paced the city streets and open -places, and he knew that both he and his horse must rest -somewhere--either out in the open or in some deserted house or stable. -Food, too, must be obtained for both. Only--where? - -Then he determined he would make his way back to the gate and discover -if, by any chance, the chain-gang of women had yet arrived. If it had -not, it must, he felt sure, be very near, or--perhaps--already lying -outside the city. To-morrow at daybreak he would begin his search -again. - -Remembering the way he had come, guided by terrible signs, by shocking -sights which he recollected having passed on his way to the spot he -was now returning from; guided, also, by the glow left by the sun as -it began to sink, he went on his road back towards the gate, observing -the names of the streets at the corners as he did so. One, which now -he was passing through, and which he noticed was called _La Rue des -Carmes Déchaussés_, seemed to have, for some reason, been more -deserted by its inhabitants than several others he had traversed. -Perhaps, he thought, because the fever had developed itself more -pronouncedly here than elsewhere; perhaps because the inhabitants were -wealthy enough to take themselves off at the first sign of the -approach of the pestilence. That might be so. Now, the doors and, in -many cases, the windows stood open; he could see through these -windows--even in the fast falling dusk--that the rooms were -sumptuously furnished, yet how desolate and neglected all seemed! How -fearful must have been the terror of their owners when they could flee -while leaving behind them all their treasures and belongings, leaving -even their doors open behind them to the midnight prowlers or thieves -who must surely be about after dark. Or, had those prowlers and -thieves themselves burst open those doors, while neglecting to shut -them again after they had glutted themselves with the treasures -within? - -Musing thus he halted, regarding one particularly open house--it was -number 77--then started to see he was not alone in the street. - -Coming slowly up it was a man who walked as though with difficulty; a -man who, seeing a solitary woman's body lying on the footpath, crossed -over to her, turned over the body, and regarded the face. Then he -seemed to shake his head and walk on again towards where Walter -Clarges sat his horse observing him. And, far down the street, he saw -also another figure, indistinct as to features, distinct as to dress. -A man arrayed in the garb of a convict; a man who, as he crept along, -gave to the watcher the idea that he was tracking him who was ahead. - -Ahead and near Clarges now, so near that he could see his features. -And, as he saw and recognised them, he gave a gasp, while exclaiming -hastily, "My God!" - -For the first man of the two, the one who now drew close to him, was -Desparre! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -"REVENGE-BITTER! ERE LONG BACK ON ITSELF RECOILS!" - - -The night was close at hand as those two men came together, they being -brought so by the slow, heavy approach of Desparre towards where the -other sat his horse watching him. The dark had almost come. But, -still, there was a sufficiency of dusky light left beneath the stars -which began to twinkle above in the deep, sapphire sky for the -features of each to be recognised by the other. - -"Yet," Clarges asked himself, as he dismounted and left his tired -horse standing unheld in the deserted street, "did Desparre recognise -his features?" He could hardly decide. - -The man had stopped in that halting, dragging walk up the long, -deserted street which rose slightly on a hill; he had stopped and was -looking--yes, looking--staring--at him, yet saying nothing either with -his lips or by the expression of those glassy eyes. He was standing -still before him, mute and rigid. - -And Clarges noted, all unimportant as it was, that far down the -street, a hundred yards away, the galley slave who was the only other -living creature about besides themselves, had halted too--had halted -and was looking up towards them as though wondering curiously what -these men might have to do with one another. - -"Desparre!" exclaimed Walter Clarges now, abandoning all title, all -form of ceremony. "Desparre, how it is that you have been delivered -into my hands here to-night in this loathsome, plague-stricken spot, I -know not. Yet I know one thing. We have met. Met for me to kill you, -or for you to kill me!" - -To his astonishment, to his utter amazement, the other was -silent--silent as if stricken dumb, as if turned to stone. But still -the glassy eyes regarded him and seemed to glisten in the light that -was almost darkness now. - -Clarges paused a moment while observing that figure before him and -wondering if this might be some devilish ruse, some scheme concocted -in Desparre's mind for either saving himself or perpetrating some act -of treachery. The villain might, he thought, have a pistol in his -breast or pocket which he would suddenly draw forth and discharge full -at him. Then, seeing that the other still remained mute and -motionless, he said: - -"No silence on your part can save you. Be dumb if you will, but act. -Draw your sword at once or stand there to be slain, to be righteously -executed. I have to avenge to-night the wrongs of myself and of my -wife--your daughter. Ha! you know that!" - -As he mentioned "my wife--your daughter," he saw that he had moved the -man. His face became contorted with a horrible spasm; one part of it -seemed to be drawn down suddenly, the mouth, by the process, assuming -a hideous, one-sided grin. - -Desparre was now awful to gaze upon. - -Unsheathing his own sword, Clarges advanced towards him, uttering only -one word, the word "Draw." Then he stood before the other, waiting, -watching what he would do, while determined that, if he did not draw -as he bade him, he would thrust his weapon through his craven breast -and so put an end to his vile life. - -At first Desparre did nothing, but stood stock and motionless before -him with always that drawn-down look upon one side of his face, though -now his lower jaw seemed, as seen through the dusk, to be working -horribly, and his teeth, one or two of which were discoloured, showing -like fangs. - -Then he put his hand to his sword--it appeared as though that hand -would never reach the hilt, as though it were numbed or dead--and with -what looked like extreme effort, drew forth the blade. Yet only to let -it drop listlessly by his side directly afterwards, the point clicking -metallically against the cobble stones of the street as he did so. - -Was the coward struck lifeless with fear? Almost, it seemed so. Yet -but a moment later, Clarges knew that it was something worse than fear -that possessed him. For now the sword he had held so languidly fell -altogether from his hand and clattered upon the stones as it did so, -while Desparre stood shaking before the man who was about to slay him, -his arms quivering helplessly, his face appalling in its distortions, -his body swaying. Then he, too, fell heavily, and lay, as it seemed, -lifeless before the other, his arms stretched out wide. - -And Clarges, bending over him, regarding him as though he still -doubted whether this were a ruse or not, yet knowing, feeling certain, -that it was not so--did not perceive that the skulking form of the -galley-slave had drawn nearer to them--that the man was now crouching -in a stooping posture on the other side of the street regarding him -and Desparre, while his starting, eager eyes observed all that was -happening. - -"Has he died of fright?" Clarges whispered to himself, while he bent -over the prostrate man. "Died of fright or by God's visitation? Or is -he dead? Anyway, he has escaped me for the present. So be it. We shall -meet again, unless this scourge which is over all the place takes him -or me, or both of us, before we can do so." - -Whereupon, he left Desparre lying there. He could not stab him now, -helpless as he was and dead or dying? Yet, as he remounted his tired -steed which had stood tranquilly in the road where he had left it, he -remembered that, during the many weeks he had lain in the Paris -Hospital, and while the wounds administered at that craven's -instigation were healing, he had seen men brought into it who had -fallen almost lifeless in the street from paralysis and apoplexy. From -paralysis! Yes, that must be what had now stricken this man; he felt -sure it must. He remembered that there was one so brought in who had -dropped in the street suddenly--the doctors said from a great shock he -had received--whose face had been drawn down as Desparre's was, whose -jaws had twitched, even in his insensibility, in much the same way. - -Yes, he reflected, it was that, it must be that which had stricken -this man thus at the moment when he had meant to slay him. One death -had saved him from another, since now he must surely be near his end. -If he did not perish of the stroke, the fever would doubtless lay hold -upon him. His account was made. And musing thus, thanking God, too, -that he had been spared from taking the life of even so great a -villain as Desparre, and from having for ever the burden of the man's -execution upon his head, he slowly rode off from the street of the -Barefooted Carmelites, to learn, if possible, whether the cordon of -women from Paris had yet arrived. But scarcely had his horse's hoofs -ceased to echo down that mournful, deserted place in which now lay two -bodies stretched upon their backs--the one, that of the poor dead -woman at the lower end of it, the other, that of the wealthy and -highly descended Armand, Duc Desparre--than forth from the porch -across the street there stole the form of the skulking convict,--the -convict who had been tracking Desparre from long before he entered the -street, the galley-slave who had stood, or crouched aside, to see what -should be the result of the meeting with the man who had dismounted -from his horse to parley with him. - -With almost the sinuous crawl of the panther, this convict--old, and -with his close cropped hair flecked with grey--stole across the wide -street to where the form of Desparre lay; then, reaching that form, he -went down on one knee beside it, and, in the dark, felt all over it, -lifting up his own hands now and again and peering at them in the -night as though to see if they glistened with anything they might have -come against, while feeling also one palm with the fingers of the -other hand to discover if it was wet. Yet such was not the case. - -"Almost I could have sworn," the _galérien_ muttered, "that I heard -his sword fall from him. That he was disarmed and therefore run -through a moment later. Yet he is not wounded; there is no blood. What -does it mean? That man was Walter Clarges--alive! Alive Alive! He whom -I have deemed dead for months. Her husband--and alive! He must have -slain him. He must. He must. He would be more than human, more than -man, to spare him after all that he and she have suffered. He must -have run that black treacherous heart through and through. Yet, there -is no wound that I can find; no blood!" - -Again and again--feeling the body all over, feeling, too, that the -heart was beating beneath his hand and that there was no sign of cold -or stiffness coming into that form as it lay motionless there--he was -forced at last to the conclusion that, for some strange reason, -Clarges had spared his bitterest foe. - -"Spared him," he hissed. "Spared him. Why, why, why!" and he rose to -his feet cursing Clarges for his weakness or folly. Cursing him even -as he looked down and meditated on throttling the man lying there -before him. - -"He may spare him," he said. "I will not. My wrongs are as great, as -bitter as theirs. I will have his life. Here--to-night." - -He had touched with his foot, some moments before, the sword which -Desparre had let fall from his nerveless hand, and the clatter of -which had led him to imagine that the duke had been disarmed. Now, he -picked up the weapon, tried it once against the stones, then bent over -the miserable man with his arm shortened so as to drive the blade a -moment later through throat and breast. - -"Hellhound!" he muttered, "your hour is truly come. Devil! go to your -master. You swore she should go unharmed if I would but assist you in -your vengeance on him; that--that knowing I loved her--God, how I had -learnt to love her! in spite of my trying to force her to marry such -as you so that she might be great and powerful--she should be given -back to me. Whereby we could yet have lived happy, prosperous, -unmolested, together. Together! Together! And you sent her to exile -and death, and me--your tool--to the galleys. Die!" - -And now, he drew back his arm so as to drive the blade home. Yet, even -as he did so, even before he thrust it through neck and chest, he -whispered savagely. "It is too good a death, it is too easy. He is -insensible from fear, he will die without pain. If there were any -other way--any method----" - -He paused with his eyes roaming round the street from side to -side--then started. A moment afterwards he went up the steps of the -house with the sword still in his hand, and peered at the numbers -painted in great white figures on the door. In the dark of the summer -night, in the faint light given by the blazing southern stars, he -could decipher them. - -"Seventy-seven," he muttered, "seventy-seven." Then paused again as -though thinking deeply, his empty hand fingering his grisly, unshaven -chin. "Seventy-seven. Ay! I do remember. This house was one of them. -One of the first. One of the worst. 'Twill serve." - -He leant the sword against the side of the porch, muttering: "He would -not stab you to the heart--so--neither will I," then went slowly down -the steps again, and back to where Desparre lay unmoved. After which -he took both of the other's hands in his, drew them above the -shoulder, and stretched the arms out to their full length, and thus -hoisted the burden on his own gaunt shoulders--while bending--almost -staggering at first--under the weight. Yet he kept his feet; at last -he was able to straighten his back, and to stagger up the steps into -the house. Here, when once in it, he let the body down to the floor of -the passage and stood gasping and breathing heavily for some moments, -what time he muttered to himself: - -"This will not do. Not here on the first floor. It is too near the -street. He must go higher. Higher yet. Otherwise he may be found--and -saved!" - -Whereupon, having regained his breath, he lifted Desparre on to his -shoulders again and slowly mounted to the first floor of the house. -Then he rested there, and afterwards went on to the second. Here, as -was ever the case in the houses of the well-to-do in the city, the -sleeping apartments began; the principal bedroom of the master of the -house being in this instance on the front, or street side, while that -reserved for guests was on the back, and looked over a small plot of -ground, or garden. The moon, now peeping up, showed that both rooms -were in a state of great confusion--rooms to which, by this time, the -man had crept laboriously with his heavy, horrid burden on his back. -The bed, he could see, as still the rays stole in more fully to the -front apartment, was in disorder, the upper sheet and coverlet being -flung back as though some one had leapt hastily from them; the doors -of wardrobes and cupboards stood open; so, too, did the lid of a huge -strong-box bound and clasped with iron bands. Easy enough was it for -Vandecque to see that, from this room a hurried flight had been made, -and with only sufficient time allowed before the departure for the -more precious and smaller objects of value to be hastily gathered up. -For, upon the floor there lay--as he felt as well as saw, since his -feet struck against them--the larger articles of importance, the -silverware, the coffee pots and tea-pots, the salvers, and other -things. It had been a hurried flight! - -"If," said Vandecque to himself, even as his eye glanced round on all -these things which he would once have deemed a rich booty had they -fallen into his hands, but which now he scorned, since, if he could -but gain his freedom by his conduct here and return to Paris a -liberated man, he would want for nothing, having at last grown rich -through the gambling house; "if I leave him in this house and he -recovers consciousness--strength--he may be able to attract attention; -to call for assistance from the window. He shall have no chance of -that. Come, murderer, come," and again he lifted the insensible man -upon his shoulders and bore him into the back, or spare, room. - -This was not in a disordered condition. There would be no guests in -Marseilles at this time; no visitors from a healthy place to such an -unhealthy, stricken one as this. The bed was made and arranged, and on -to it Vandecque flung the body of his victim. His victim! Yes, yet how -long was it since he himself had been the victim? And, even as he -thought of how he had suffered at this man's hand, any compunctions he -might have had during the last hour--and, hardened as he was, he had -had them!--vanished for ever. - -"Arrested by your orders," he muttered, glancing down upon Desparre as -he lay senseless on the bed; glaring down, indeed, though only able to -see the dim outline of his enemy's form, since, as yet, the moonbeams -had scarcely penetrated to this room. "By your orders, though not -knowing, never dreaming that it was so; not dreaming that my betrayal -came from you. Then the prison of La Tournelle--oh, God! for the third -time in my life--the condemnation to the galleys, this time in -perpetuity. I--I who had grown well-to-do, who had no need to be a -criminal again, who might have finished my life in ease. And -Laure--Laure--poor Laure!--whom I had hoped to see a Duchess, and -great--happy--or, at least, not unhappy! Cut-throat!" he almost -shrieked at the senseless man; "when I learnt, as we gaol birds do -learn from one another, all that you had done, I swore to escape from -these galleys somehow, to make my way back to Paris, to slay you. Yet, -it is better thus; far better. Lie there and die." - -Then he went forth from the room, finding the key in the door and -turning it upon Desparre. - -But, as he descended the stairs and returned to the street, taking no -precaution to deaden his footfall in the empty corridors, since he -knew well enough that there were none to hear them, he muttered to -himself, "Clarges spoke of her to him as 'his wife.' Also he said -'Your daughter.' Mon Dieu! was she that? Was she that? And if so, how -should the Englishman know it, how have found out what I spent years -in fruitlessly trying to discover?" - -Musing thus, he caught up the sword which still stood in the porch, -flung it down a drain, and went slowly through the deserted streets -towards the Quai de Riveneuve where the galleys were, and to which the -convicts returned nightly to sleep--if they had not succumbed during -the day to the pestilence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -"I LOVE HER!-SHE IS MY WIFE" - - -Down the Rue de la Bourse, wherein the women of la Châine had passed -the latter part of the night, the rays of the sun began to stream -horizontally as it rose far away over the Mediterranean and lit up the -side of the street in which stood the house where the weary creatures -lay. - -A month before this period daybreak would have dawned upon a vastly -different scene from the one of lifeless desolation to which it now -brought light and warmth. The great warehouses at the back of the -merchants' residences--in which position most of those buildings in -Marseilles were situated--would have already begun to teem with human -life; with bands of sailors coming up from the harbour, either -bringing, or with the intention of carrying away, bales of goods and -merchandise; workmen, mechanics, clerks, and _employés_ of every kind -would have been passing up the street to their early work. Now, the -Rue de la Bourse, like scores of other streets in the City, was -absolutely deserted or only tenanted at various spots by the -dead--human and animal!--who lay about where they had fallen--on -doorsteps, in porches and stoops, sometimes even in the very middle -of the road. - -On such a scene as this Marion gazed as she looked forth from -the room she and Laure had slept in; her mind full of sorrow and -perplexity--not for herself nor on her own account, but on that -of the other unhappy one over whom she watched. For herself she cared -not--she knew that her past, and the consequences resulting from the -actions of that past, had shut the door for ever against any sweetness -of existence for her in the future, nor was she much concerned as to -whether the pestilence slew her or not. Only--she had sworn to stand -by Laure until the end; therefore she knew that now, at this present -time and for some weeks or months at least, she must live, she must -take care of her own health if she would do what she had vowed to -perform. Afterwards, if she should see Laure spared by the hideous -scourge which now ravaged the place they had arrived at, spared to be -in some manner restored to the husband she had come at last to -love--then it mattered little what became of her. But she must live to -see that! - -Marion went over to the girl now and once more gazed at her, observing -that she was sleeping calmly and easily; then she returned to the -window and continued her glances up and down the street. She was -watching for those who, as the convict had said, would come for them -soon after daybreak to lead them away to where their services would be -needed as nurses and helpers, and she wished to be on the alert to -prevent them from troubling Laure. She meant at once to tell them--her -teeming brain never being at a loss for an expedient!--that the girl -was ill or, at least, too weak to take any part in the proceedings for -which they might all be required on that day, and to beg her off. She -determined also that, whether the request was granted cheerfully or -not, Laure should rest for the next twenty-four hours. Her confidence -in her own powers and strength failed her no more now than they had -ever failed her in the most violent crises of her life--she was -resolved that what she desired should be accomplished. - -Presently she saw them coming--or, rather, saw coming up the street a -band of men and women who, she could not doubt, were a party of nurses -and "crows," as the males were termed who attended to the work of -removing the dead and, if possible, to the disposing of them -elsewhere, namely, in the vaults of churches, the hollow walls of the -ramparts, and, in some cases, in old boats and decayed vessels which -were taken out to sea and there sunk. Whereon she went swiftly down -the stairs to the door to meet them. - -Among this body of persons which now drew near she saw her -acquaintance of last night, the convict, who at once greeted her in -his strong Breton accent, he being, as he had told her at their first -meeting, a native of that province. - -"Bon jour, Madame," he now cried with an attempt at -cheerfulness,--poor wretch! he had made some sort of compact with -himself that nothing should depress him, nor any horrors by which he -was surrounded frighten him, while forcing himself to regard his -impending liberty as a certainty which no pestilence must be allowed -to deprive him of. "Bon jour, Madame. And how is the young one?" - -"She is not well," Marion answered, while glad, in a way, that she so -soon had an opportunity given her of declaring that Laure could not go -nursing that day; "also, she must rest." Then she regarded the members -of the group accompanying the man, while observing who and what they -were. - -Two were monks; good, holy men, who, working cheerfully under the -orders of the bishop (as dozens of their brethren were doing in other -parts of Marseilles) were now acting as doctors, since--horrible to -relate--there was not one physician or surgeon now left either alive -or unstricken. In the beginning of the pestilence, the doctors of -Marseilles had scoffed at the disease being the plague; they had -called it nothing but a trifling malady, and, unhappily both for them -and all in the city, they had suffered for their obstinacy or, rather, -incredulity. They had been amongst the very first to break down under -the attacks of the loathsome fever which they had refused to -recognise. Consequently, the work which they should still have been -able to do had to be done by amateurs--such as these monks--or the -surgeons of the galleys, or any stranger in the city who understood -medicine and its uses, and was willing to risk his life in -administering it. - -Of the others who formed the group some were "crows," as has been -said, while there were five women, three of them being under sentence -for life at the travaux forcés, yet now with a fair prospect of -freedom before them should they perform faithfully all that was -demanded of them at this awful crisis, and--also--preserve their -lives! Of the other two, one was an elderly lady whose whole existence -had been devoted to good works, she even having voyaged as far as Siam -with the missionaries sent out there; the second was a young and -beautiful woman of high position among the merchant families of the -place, who had broken her father's heart by her loose conduct and was -now endeavouring to soothe her own remorse by self-sacrifice. - -There was also a Sheriff--not the same as he who had accosted La -Châine overnight--but another one, older than the former, and seeming -also much grief-stricken. - -"If," said this man, addressing Marion, "the young woman of whom you -speak is indeed ill, let her rest; later, she may be able to be of -assistance. God forbid we should do aught to add to the sickness here. -She is not attacked with the pestilence?" he asked. - -"Nay," said Marion. "Nay. But she is young and delicate. She is a -lady. Think, monsieur, of what she must have gone through in the past -few months. We others are mostly rough creatures, especially those who -have survived, since the loose women, the dissolute ones who set out -with us have--well--been left behind. But--but----" - -"What was her crime? That of your friend? For what was she condemned?" - -"She was an innocent woman!" cried Marion; and as she spoke her -lustrous eyes blazed into the man's before her. "God crush for ever -the scoundrel who bore false witness against her." - -"There are other women in the house," the Sheriff said, almost -unheeding Marion's tempestuous outburst. "They at least can work, can -they not?" - -"Oh! as for that," Marion answered, "I imagine so. I will go in and -see. Yes," she exclaimed, glancing up at a window in the house above -the room in which she and Laure had slept, she being now in the street -and amidst the group, "it would seem so. Behold, they look forth." - -It was true that they did so, since, when all eyes were directed -upwards, the unkempt heads of the other surviving members of the -gang--heads covered in some cases with black hair, in some with -yellow, and, in one, with grey--were seen peering down into the -street. - -"_Hola!_" cried Marion, "come down all of you. Come down and assist -at the good work. You have slept well, have you not?" - -"Ay, we have slept. But now we are hungry. We want food. We cannot -work on empty stomachs; if we do the pest will seize on us." - -"Descend," cried the Sheriff, "we bring food with us. For to-day," he -muttered to himself, turning aside his head. "To-morrow there may be -none. Already the country people will not enter the city nor take what -they deem to be our poisoned money. God help all!" - -As he so muttered to himself he made a sign to one of the men who -carried a great copper pot, and to one of the condemned women who bore -in her hands a tin box, and bade them prepare some food, the man -lighting at his bidding a little brazier at the bottom of the big pot. -At the same time the female produced from her box some hard ship's -biscuits, and began, with a stone she picked up, to break them into -pieces. - -By this time the other women had come down into the street, and, -inhaling the odour of the soup which was warming in the utensil, -betrayed intense desire to be at once supplied with some nourishment. - -"A half cup to each," said the Sheriff, "and some biscuits. Later, you -shall have more. A warehouse is to be broken open at midday; it is -that of a merchant who supplies vessels with necessaries for long -voyages. God grant that we shall find enough for many days. Otherwise, -starvation will soon be added to our other miseries. Already seventy -such warehouses have been ransacked." - -Obtaining a portion of soup and another of biscuit, Marion went back -to the house to Laure, though not before she had filled up the other -cup with her own share of soup, reserving only a scrap of the food for -herself; and, when there, she found the girl sitting up upon the couch -listening to the voices of those in the street. - -"Have they come for us?" Laure asked wearily. "Must we now begin to -work? Well, so be it! I am ready." - -"Nay, dearest," exclaimed the other. "You need not go forth to-day. I -have begged you off, because you are so worn and delicate. And see, -sweet, they are serving out food. Here is some good broth and biscuit. -Take it; it will nourish you." - -"But it is not right," Laure exclaimed, "that I should stay behind. -They--you, too, Marion, my guide and comforter--are all as weary as I. -I will go also." - -"No; no. Rest here till we come back. Then, to-morrow, if you are -stronger, you shall assist. Nay, you must do so if you can; thereby -the better to entitle you to your freedom. Oh! Laure, we must work for -that freedom. Then--at last--we can go away and live together, and I -can earn subsistence for both. Until we find your husband." - -"You are in truth an angel, Marion," the girl exclaimed, flinging her -arms around the other's dark swarthy neck. "Oh! how--how could one as -good as you have ever come within the law's clutches. How----" - -"Hush! Hush! I have been an awful sinner; I have deserved my fate, I -have been swayed and mastered by one passion after another--by love, -jealousy, hate, revenge. God forgive me! We southern women are all -like that! Yet--if I should live----" - -"If you live! You shall, you must live! Oh! Marion, my guide, my -sister----" - -"Ah, your sister! Yes! Say that again. Yet," she cried, springing to -her feet, "not now! Now we have to earn the freedom we long so for. I -must go; I must do my best and work for both of us. Ah, God! how good -it is, how peaceful, to be doing something at last, no matter if -danger lurks in it, that is not evil. Let me go, sweet. I shall come -back to you at night; therefore sleep well all day. And, see, I will -lock you in the house so that no harm may come anigh you. You will not -fear?" - -"Never; knowing you are coming back to me." - -Then they tore themselves apart, Marion taking every opportunity of -leaving Laure as comfortable as was possible, which opportunity was -not lacking since the room was, as has been said, furnished -luxuriously, and nothing was wanting that might make the couch of the -wearied girl an easy one. And so, after more embraces between them, -Marion went forth once more, falling in with the rest of the women and -following the Sheriff and the convict and the "crows," to do the work -they might be appointed to perform. - -The bravest heart that ever beat--even her own, since there was none -braver!--might well be turned almost to stone by that which they had -to do; the sights they were forced to witness. And the daylight made -those sights even more terrible and more appalling than the night had -done, which, if it produced a weird and wizard air of solemnity that -spread itself around all the terrors of the pestilence, had; at least, -served also as a cloak to much. For now they saw the dead lying in -heaps upon each other--with, among them, the dying; they saw the awful -chalk-like faces turned up to the bright morning sun in the last -agonised glare of a hideous death, and the still whiter eye-balls -gleaming hideously. They saw, too--but description of these horrors -must cease. Suffice it that these women stood among a hecatomb of -victims such as other stricken cities had shown in earlier days, but -which none, not even London with its plague, had equalled for more -than a hundred years. - -Gradually the women of the gang were distributed about in various -spots where it was thought they might be of service; to some fell the -task of holding cups of broth or of water to the lips of the dying; to -some the casting of disinfectants over the already dead; to others the -removal of newborn babes from the pestiferous atmosphere in which -their mothers lay. And Marion's task, because she was strong and -feared nothing, was to assist in the removal of the dead to the carts -that were to transport the bodies to the ramparts, in the hollows of -which many scores were to be interred in quicklime. - -Engaged thus, she observed near her a gentleman--a man clad in black, -as one who wore mourning for a relative; a man young, handsome and -grave. One, too, whose face was white and careworn as though it had -become so through some poignant grief. He was talking to one of the -"crows" as her eyes fell on him, and--with an astonishment in her -mind which, she noticed, was not all an astonishment, but rather an -indistinct feeling that gradually merged itself into something that -she seemed to feel, did not partake altogether of the unexpected--she -observed that both men were regarding her. They were doing so, she -understood, by the glances cast at her by the "crow," and followed by -others from the stranger talking of her. Why, she asked herself, why? -Yet even as she did so, something within again apprised her, whispered -to her, that it was not strange they should be doing so. Then, with -the habit of years strong upon her, she cast one penetrating glance at -the new-comer from out of her dark eyes, and went on with the -loathsome work she was engaged upon. - -Presently, however, she felt that the man clad in mourning had drawn -near to her--she knew it though she had looked round no more: a moment -later she heard him addressing her. - -"You will pardon me," he whispered, "for what I have to say. -But--but--that unhappy creature with whom I have been conversing has -told me that--you--alas! that I must say it--have recently made a -journey from Paris. That you are----" - -"A convicted woman," Marion replied swiftly, facing round on him, her -eyes ablaze; "a criminal! One of the women condemned to deportation to -the colonies. Well, he has spoken the truth. What then?" - -"Forgive me. I speak not with a view to wound you, or to be offensive. -But, God help me, I seek one dear to me. An innocent woman condemned -to the same penance as you, and by one who is a double damned -scoundrel. She was of your chain. And--heaven pity us both, I love -her--she is my--wife." - -"Your wife!" Marion repeated, standing before him, gazing full into -his eyes, holding still in her hand the white leprous-looking hand of -a dead woman whose body she had been helping to place in the cart. -"Your wife." And now her voice had sunk to as deep a murmur as it had -ever assumed, even in the softest moments of her bygone days of love -and passion. "Your wife. Amongst us?" - -"It is so. Oh, speak; answer me. Is--is--yet almost I fear to ask. -Still--still I must do it. Is she still alive?" - -"What?"--mastering herself, speaking firmly, though hoarsely--"What is -your name?" - -"Walter Clarges. I am an Englishman." - -"Laure's husband! Laure's husband!" - -"You know her! You know--ah! does she live?" - -"Yes. She lives." - -"God! I thank thee!" the other murmured. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE WALLED-UP DOORS - - -Marion Lascelles had hoped, had prayed that this moment would come at -last; that at some future day Laure's husband would stand face to face -with his wife again; that he would seek her out and find her even -though, to do so, he had to follow La Châine to the New World. - -But now--now that what she had hoped for had come to pass, there -almost swept a revulsion of feeling over her. Standing before that -husband of the woman whom she had tended and nurtured, she smothered -within her bosom something that was akin to a groan. For his coming -brought, would bring, in an hour, in half-an-hour, in a few moments, -the joy unspeakable to Laure for which she had so much craved, while -to her--to Marion--the outcast, it brought also separation from the -only thing in all the wide world that she loved or could ever love -again. She had been racked by her love for men who had treated her -badly and on whom she had taken swift, unerring vengeance for their -infidelity; yet that was passed. Her heart had died, or, if not dead, -had steeled itself against all other love of a like nature (since the -condemned man whom she had married in the prison had been only -accepted as a husband because, in the distant land to which they had -been going together, such a union would be a matter of convenience and -profit, as well as, perhaps, safety). Yet into that heart had crept -another love, pure, unselfish, almost holy. Her love for Laure. And -now--now it would be worthless, valueless, of no esteem. At what price -would her fostering, her sister's love be valued when set off against -the love of husband? - -Had she been a bad woman instead of an erring one only, a woman -resolved to attach to her for ever the one creature with whose -existence her own was, as she had vainly dreamed, inseparably bound -up; had she been the Marion Lascelles of ten, five, perhaps one year -ago, it may be--she feared it must have been--that she would have lied -to Walter Clarges standing there before her, his sad face irradiated -now, since she had not lied, with joy extreme. She would perhaps have -denied Laure's existence, have said that she had long since fallen -dead upon one of the roads along which she and the other women had -plodded weary and footsore; she would have done anything to have kept -the girl to herself. But not now. Not now. Not even though her heart -broke within her. Never! She loved Laure. Perish, therefore, all her -own feelings, her hopes of happy days to come and to be passed by the -other's side. She loved her; it was not by falsehood and treachery and -selfishness that that love must be testified. - -"I cannot leave this work to which I am put," she said, speaking to -him as these thoughts continued to flow through her mind. "I have to -earn remission of the remainder of my sentence. Pardon for--for -myself. Yet, if you would see her now, she is to be found in the Rue -de la Bourse. The number is 3. Upon the first floor in the front room -you will find her." - -She spoke calmly, almost hardly, Walter Clarges thought, and, thus -thinking, deemed her a cold-hearted, selfish woman, studying nought -but her own release and the swiftest method of obtaining it. Wherefore -he said: - -"You know her. You must have marched in the same cordon with her." - -"Yes, I know her." - -"How can she have borne the terrors of the journey? How? How?" - -"All had to bear it," Marion Lascelles answered, glancing up at him, -"or die." - -"This house?" he asked, while almost shuddering at the cold, -indifferent tones in which the woman spoke, even while reflecting -that, since she had borne as much as Laure had done, it was not to be -expected that she should show any particular sympathy for a companion -in misfortune. "This house? Can admission be obtained to it? And why -is she there, when--when her companions in misery and unhappiness are -here?" - -"This key," Marion said, drawing it from her pocket, "will admit you. -She is alone, sleeping. She is not as strong as some of us--us, the -outcasts, who are the rightful prey of the galleys and the scaffold. -Mercy has been shown her. She has been relieved from her work in these -streets to-day." - -He took the key from her as she held it out to him, glancing at her -wonderingly as he did so, though understanding nothing of the cause -which produced her bitterness of tone--her self-contempt, as testified -by her speech. Then, thanking her, he repeated: - -"No. 3, of the Rue de la Bourse. That is it?" - -"That is it. You will find her there." After which she turned away and -slowly followed after the cart proceeding up the street with its -terrible burdens. - -If Marion Lascelles had never before wrestled with all the strong -emotions which were born of her fiery nature day by day, and month by -month, she had done so this morning, was doing so now. And at last--at -last--she thanked God the better had overcome the worse--she had -conquered. None knew but herself, none should ever know, what hopes -she had formed in her bosom of happy days to come when she and the -delicate girl, whom she had supported all through the hideous journey -from Paris, and during their still more hideous entry into this -stricken city of death, should have escaped away to some spot where -they might at last be at peace. She had pictured to herself how she -would work and slave for Laure so that she should be at ease; how work -her fingers to the bone, bear any toil, so that--only that--she might -have the sweet companionship of the girl as recompense. And -now--now--the dream had vanished, the hope was past; they could never -be aught to each other. The husband was there, he had come to claim -his wife, as she herself had told Laure he would come; now he would be -all in all to her and she would be nothing. Yet she must not repine; -the prayers that she had forced herself to utter, almost without -knowing how to frame them, had been heard and answered. The God -against whom her life had been so long an outrage had granted her the -first request she had ever made to Him. Was it for her now to rebel -against the granting of it? Nay, nay, she answered to herself, never. -And, even in her misery and her awful sense of desolation, in her -appreciation of the solitude that must be hers for ever now, she found -a consolation. She had done that which she should do; she had sent the -husband straight to his wife's arms when she might so easily have -prevented him from even discovering that wife's existence. One lie, -one false hint, one word uttered to the effect that Laure had -succumbed upon the road and had been left behind for the communes to -bury her, and it would have been enough. She would have remained to -Marion; the husband could never have found her--he could never find -her. No, no! God be praised! she had been true and faithful; she had -not yielded to her own selfish hopes and desires. - -"Take," said a soft and gentle voice in her ear at this moment; the -voice of the unhappy Sheriff who accompanied the carts that were -removing the dead, "take, good woman, more heed of yourself and your -own life. See, the cloth with the disinfectants has fallen from your -neck--it is lost. Beware of what you do. Otherwise you will be -stricken ere long yourself." - -Turning, she glanced up at the speaker, then shrugged her shoulders -and went on with the loathsome task she was engaged upon--that of -bending over prostrate bodies to see if their owners were, indeed, -dead or not, and, if the latter, of assisting in their removal to the -carts. But that was all, she uttered no word in answer to the warning. - -"You do not value your life?" the man continued, while thinking how -fine a woman this was; one so darkly handsome too, that, surely, she -must have some who loved her, criminal though she must undoubtedly be -since she had formed one of the chain-gang. - -"No," she answered, looking up at him now. "I do not value it. Yet, -they say, 'tis to such as I am that death never comes." - -"But, ere long, if you survive this visitation, you may--you shall--be -free. I will charge myself with your freedom." - -"Free!" she answered, her eyes fixed on him with so sad a look that, -instinctively, he turned away. There was something in this woman's -life, he understood, which it was not for him to attempt to probe. - -Left in peace by the Sheriff, Marion continued her work, following -close by the cart; yet bidding the man who led the horse to halt at -intervals wherever she found some poor body with distorted features -which told only too plainly that the last agony had been experienced; -halting herself sometimes to be of assistance to those who were still -alive. But always saying over and over again the words, "Free! Free!" - -Free! Of what use was freedom now to her? What! Supposing she were -free to-night, to-morrow, what should she do with that freedom? Laure -wanted her no more, she would not miss her if she never went back to -the Rue de la Bourse; she had her husband now, the man whom, she -acknowledged, she had learned to love. Therefore, Marion resolved that -she would never go back. Never! Of that she was determined. She would -but be an incubus, be only in the way of their love. She would never -go back. Not even if the pestilence spared her, which, she hoped, it -might not do. - -They had come by now to the street of the Barefooted Carmelites--a -street in which she perceived that there were no dead--or, only one, a -woman lying on one side of it. And here, strong as she was, she felt -that she must rest. Her limbs trembled beneath her--from fatigue and -want of sufficient nourishment, she thought, not daring to hope that -already the fever had stolen into her veins and that a better, surer -freedom than the one the Sheriff had suggested might be near at hand. -He, that Sheriff, had left them by now to attend to other duties in -the city, therefore there was at this time no living person with her -but the carman, who, with his ghastly burdens in his cart, walked -ahead of her. - -"I must rest here," she said to him, "a little while. See, there is a -fountain in the street. We will drink," and she went towards the -fountain, which was represented by a statue of Cybele, from out of -whose bunch of keys the water gushed in half a dozen streams. - -"Drink not," the carman exclaimed, warningly. "They say the source is -impregnated. All the water of Marseilles is poisonous now. Beware!" - -"Bah! It must come from the bowels of the earth. There are no infected -bodies there. And," she muttered to herself, "even though there were I -still would drink." Whereon she drank, then sat down on the base of -the statue, which was large and spacious and would have furnished a -dozen persons with seats. - -Presently, still sitting there--she saw come down the street a number -of men, some of them galley slaves, two of them officers. Then, when -all had advanced almost to where Marion sat observing them, one of the -latter drew from his pocket a list and began to read out several -names, while giving the convicts instructions as to what each had to -do. But what truly surprised Marion was that, behind all these men -there came some others leading the horses which drew two carts--carts -not filled with dead, but the one with mortar and the other with -bricks. - -Gazing at these, and almost with interest for one whose mind was as -troubled as hers, she perceived that, of the galley slaves, one had -drawn away from the group, and, approaching the base of the fountain, -had sat down upon it near her and on the other side from that on which -the carman whom she had accompanied was sitting. An old criminal this; -a man of nearly sixty, grey and grizzled, and with a frosty bristling -on his unshaven chin and cheeks and upper lip. A man who sat with his -elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, staring in front of -him--at a house numbered 77. - -"What do they do?" Marion asked of this staring man, while looking -round at him and noticing how worn and white he was, "and why are -these carts piled with bricks and mortar? What is it?" - -"They brick up the houses that are infected; those in which the dead -lie. Those that are the worst." - -"But--but--supposing there should be any living left in them. See, -they have commenced there, at 76, and without entering to make -inspection. That would be even more terrible than all else." - -"The inspection has been made. The houses are marked already. Observe, -there is a chalk mark. Regard No. 76, at which the masons work." - -"By whom has the inspection been made?" - -"By me and another," the convict answered, turning his white and -ghastly face on her. "Three hours ago, this morning. At daybreak." - -"All are not marked." - -"No, all are not marked. Not--yet!" Ere she could, however, ask more, -one of the officers strode towards where they sat near together, and, -addressing the convict, who sprang respectfully to his feet, said: - -"Have you thought, remembered yet, which is the house you had -forgotten. Idiot that you are! to have thus forgotten. Reflect again. -Recall the house. Otherwise we shall brick up one in which there are -no dead to be left to decay in it." - -"I think--I think," the other answered--white and almost shivering, as -Marion, who was watching him curiously, observed, "it is that," and he -pointed to No. 77. - -"You think! Yet are not positive? Go in again and see. Make sure this -time. Go." - -Slowly the man obeyed him, walking over to the door of No. 77, and -then, after turning the handle, entering. And, while he was gone, the -masons went on with the bricking up of one or other of the houses -which bore the chalk-marked cross beneath their numbers. - -Five minutes later the convict appeared again at the door and said, -loud enough for his voice to reach the officer's ears and also to -reach Marion's: - -"This, Monsieur, is the house," while, as he spoke, his left hand went -to the pocket of his filthy galley's dress. - -"You are sure?" - -"I am--sure!" - -"Mark it." - -Therefore, in obedience to the order, the man drew forth a piece of -chalk from his pocket, and slowly marked the cross beneath the number -77. "Now," said the officer, seeing that the masons were ready to -begin upon that house, "fall in and lend assistance." Half-an-hour -later it was done, finished. Not for a year would that house be opened -again. By which time those who were in it--if any--would be skeletons. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - Oh! let me be awake, - Or let me sleep alway. - - -Left alone by Marion's departure, Laure endeavoured to sleep once more -and to obtain some return of the strength that she had lost in that -long, horrible march which she, in common with all the other women, -had been forced to make from Paris. - -"If I could only sleep again," she murmured to herself, "sleep and -forget everything. Everything!" - -Yet, because, perhaps, the early morning sun streamed so brightly -through the handsome curtains of the windows in spite of their having -been drawn carefully together by Marion ere she went forth, or because -the sparrows twittered so continuously from the eaves--the pestilence -brought neither death nor misery to them!--she could sleep no more. -Instead, she could only toss and turn upon the luxurious couch on -which she had lain all night, wondering, as she did so, if the -unhappy owner and his family who had fled affrighted from all their -wealth and sumptuous surroundings had now as soft a one whereon to -rest--wondering, too, what was to be the end of it all. - -"As for him," she murmured, for her thoughts dwelt always, hour by -hour and day after day, upon the man who had sacrificed his -existence--his life for her, perhaps--if Desparre had spoken truly; -"as for him--oh, God!" she broke off, "if I could only see him once -again. Only once! To tell him how soon I had surrendered, how he had -conquered, even as he stood before me sad and unhappy on his own -hearth. To see him only once!" - -Again she turned upon her pillows and cushions, again attempted to -sleep; but it was in vain. She was neither nervous nor alarmed at -being alone in the great, desolate house; since what had she, this -worn, emaciated outcast to fear!--therefore she thought that it must -be owing to her heavy slumber of the past night that she was now wide -awake. Or owing, perhaps, to her thoughts of him. - -"If he were not slain," she pondered now while lying there, her eyes -open and staring at the richly painted and moulded ceiling of the vast -saloon, "he may be by this time in that land to which he was going. -And he will think, must think, that I fled from him the moment he had -left his house. Even though I should go on in the transports to the -same place wherein he is, and we might meet, he would cast me off, -discard me as one who is worthless." - -Why had she not spoken on that night, she mused? Why? Why? Had she -said but one word, had she but held out some promise that, in time, -her love would grow, he would have stayed by her side, would never -have left the house. And, thus, there would have been no danger of his -being slain, if slain he was; nor could that crawling snake, Desparre, -have made his way to the house to which Walter had taken her, nor, -having done so, would he have been able to effect any harm. - -"Slain! Slain!" she continued, musing, "slain! Yet some voice -whispers in my ears that it was not so, that Marion is right. That he -is alive. Still, even so, what can that profit me; how help me to put -aside my misery and despair? Alive! he would deem himself lawfully -free of me by my desertion, free to become another woman's lover--or -husband--free to whisper the words in her ears that he whispered once -in mine, to see his and her children grow up at his knee." - -Excitedly she sprang from the couch and paced the floor, her thoughts -beyond endurance. - -"No! no no!" she gasped again and again. A dozen times she cried out, -"No," in her despair. "Not that, not that! I loved you, Walter," she -murmured, "I loved you. If never before, then, at least, on the -morning when you risked everything in the world to obtain my freedom -from that fiend incarnate, when you led me through the garden, stood -at the altar by my side, made me your wife. Then, then, I loved you, -worshipped you. I cannot bear these thoughts, I cannot bear to deem -you another's. Oh, Walter! Walter!" - -Soon, however, she became more calm; she recalled what she was now. An -outcast, a woman condemned to deportation; in truth, a convict, and -none the less so because, through one strange and awful circumstance, -it was almost certain that the exile to which she had been doomed -would never now be borne by her or her companion. - -She became sufficiently calm now to speculate, while she paced the -floor of the vast room, as to what her and Marion's future would be if -spent together as both hoped; as to what poverty and struggles both -would have to contend with. Of how, too, they would grow older and -older together, until at last the parting came--that awful moment -when, of two who love each other dearly, one has to go while leaving -the other behind, stricken and prostrate. - -But, suddenly, these meditations were broken in upon; to them -succeeded a more bodily fear, a terror of some tangible danger near at -hand. - -She had heard a grating sound in the passage beneath, a sound that she -recognised at once in the hollow emptiness of the house to be that of -a large key turning in a lock; she heard next the hall door pushed -opened and a man's step below. What was it? Who could be coming? -Perhaps the _galérien_ of the night before who had escorted them to -this place, the man whose familiarities had been sternly repressed by -Marion. If so, what could he want? How could he have become possessed -of the key which Marion had at the last moment said should never quit -her possession until she returned in the evening? Yet, as she heard -the man's footfall below, while recognising as she did so that he was -entering each of the rooms on the lower floor one after the other, she -was able to calm her trepidation by reflecting that, whatever purpose -he might be there for, it could scarcely bode harm to her. What had -she--a beggar, clad in the rags of the galleys, with no remnants of -beauty, scarcely any of womanhood, left in her sunbaked, emaciated -face--to fear? What had she to tempt any man with, even if he were the -most ferocious and hardened of his sex. Then she heard the steps of -the intruder coming up the stairs. To this floor on which she was! -Well, she feared nothing; she would go forth and encounter him, -whosoever he might be, instead of locking herself in the saloon as a -moment ago she had thought of doing. - -He might be bringing some message from Marion, some news she ought to -know. But, suddenly, her heart almost stopped beating. What if her one -friend in all the wide world, her one support and comfort, should be -stricken already! She must go forth on to the landing and learn what -the entry of this man into the house might portend. Reaching the head -of the stairs, looking down at him who was ascending, she knew that, -at least, this was no knavish galley-slave who mounted slowly towards -where she was; no thief, nor, did it seem likely, anyone who had been -sent with a message to her from Marion. More like, she thought, it was -the owner of this great, luxurious house. She could not see the man's -face as he ascended, since it was hidden by his three-cornered hat, -yet she observed that the rich mourning he wore--doubtless for some of -his family who had fallen victims to the pest--was, although smirched -and travel-stained, of the best. The black satin coat, the lace of his -cravat and ruffles, the costly sword, were those of one such as the -master of this house might be. - -Then the man looked up, and their eyes met. - -And, even as they did so, even as she clasped her breast with both her -hands, drawing back with a gasp, she knew, she understood, that her -husband had not recognised her! If, in her aching heart, there had -ever arisen any doubt of the ravages which her sufferings and -tribulation had caused to her beauty, that doubt was dispelled now; it -existed no longer. She was so changed that her own husband did not -know her! - -But still he came on, step by step, up those stairs. On and up until -they stood face to face. - -Then he knew her! - -And, with a loud cry, he strode forward. A moment later his arms were -around her, her head was upon his breast. - -"My wife! My wife!" he cried, "ah, my wife! Thank God, I have found -you." - -* * * * * * - -Whatever havoc those sufferings and tribulations might have wrought -upon Laure no sign was given by her husband that he perceived them. -Instead, as hour after hour went by and still she lay in his arms -sobbing in her happiness, she learnt that to him she was as beautiful -as in the first hour he had cast his eyes upon her; that, always, even -though never more the fair rose and white should return to her -complexion, nor the mark left by the hateful carcan become effaced, -she would be to him the one woman in all the world. That he had -observed that devilish mark, and understood the story it told, she -perceived at once, as again and again he kissed the ring upon her neck -which the iron had stamped in, while murmuring words of love and deep -affection as he did so. But he heeded it no more than he did the -sunburn upon her face and throat and breast, the hollowness of her -eyes or the emaciation of her frame. All, all of her beauty would come -back amidst the pine-scented breezes and mountain air of the land to -which he would bear her, while she was surrounded, as she should be, -by everything that wealth and happiness could offer. - -Wherefore she could only murmur again and again: - -"What I feared most of all was that you deemed me heartless and -intriguing, that I had used you only as a means to my own end. Walter, -my love, my husband, I feared that I was banished from your heart. I -feared it even as I recognised that I had loved you from the first." - -"That will be," he whispered back, "only when my heart has ceased to -beat." - -So the day drew on and the sun had left the front of the house; -over the street, up which none came, and in which no footfall was -heard--over which, indeed, there reigned a silence as of death--the -shadows of the evening began to creep, ere they had told each other -all. Laure had narrated Desparre's visit to the Rue de la Dauphine, -far away in northern Paris, as well as everything that had befallen -her since she was cast into prison as a would-be murderess. Walter, -too, had told the tale of his misery when he returned to his -apartments, his discovery of what had been her fate, his instant -departure for this stricken city, and the encounter with Desparre. - -"He here!" she had exclaimed, almost affrighted at the thought, in -spite of her husband's statement that, even though Desparre should not -be struck for death, he still was harmless for further injury, "what -could have brought him here? What!" - -That Walter could not answer this question is certain; but that he -could divine how, in some way, Desparre must have learnt who and what -the woman was whom he had condemned to such fiendish punishment, he -felt assured. But he had vowed to himself that this fact should never -be made known to Laure; she must never learn that it was from her own -father's hand that the blow had fallen which consigned her to the -horrors of the past months. There was only one man who, if he were -still alive, could tell her now--since he was resolved that Desparre -should never again stand in her presence, nor be face to face with -her--only one, Vandecque. But it was not likely that Laure and he -would ever meet again. Had not the beggar, the miserable, shrinking -wretch whom he had saved from a beating in Paris, and who had informed -him of all, told him, too, that Desparre had made sure of Vandecque -and had silenced him for ever? No more was it likely that she and that -scoundrel would meet again than that she and Desparre would do so. - -In the now swift-coming twilight of the summer evening they heard the -voices of women in the street below, and he, looking out inquiringly, -learned that they proceeded from her fellow-sufferers who were -returning to this house for the night. It was the time at which Marion -had told her that, according to what the man who had brought them to -this house had said, they would be released from their duties in the -streets. - -Of Marion herself they had long since spoken when Walter came to that -part of his narrative wherein he narrated how he had found Laure out, -and had been able to reach her through this woman's assistance; while -his wife had described the other as one who had been her saviour and -guardian, one to whom she owed the fact that she was still alive. - -And again they spoke of her, wondering how soon it would be ere she -returned. - -"She is an angel of goodness," Laure said, "turbulent as her life has -been. Oh, Walter, Walter, I can never part from her. She must stay -with me always." - -"Always," he answered; "always. If her life can be made happy, I will -make it so out of my deep gratitude for all that she has done for you. -If she will come with us her happiness shall be for ever assured." - -"You will tell her so when she comes back to me? Now, at once, when -next she enters this room? You will not let her think, Walter--not for -one moment--that--that my new-found happiness shall bring misery in -its train for her?" - -"At once I will tell her." - -As he spoke, the women were coming up the stairs, heavily, dully, -gripping the balustrades as they did so; thanking God that, as yet, -not one of them seemed to be affected by the horrible contagion they -had been amongst. Thanking God, also, that there was another long -night of rest before them in which they could sleep soundly. - -"Where?" asked Laure, leaving her husband alone in the vast saloon, -and going out on the landing as she heard the footsteps of the last -woman receding as she mounted to the floor on which the others had -slept the night before, "where is Marion? Has she not returned with -you all?" - -"Nay, I know not," said one, who had also received much help from the -strong Southern woman whom they had come to regard as their leader. "I -know not. We have all been together, excepting her alone. Is she not -back?" - -But as she asked the question and before Laure could answer it, -another woman who had mounted higher than the other looked over the -balustrade rail, and calling down, said: - -"She is attending a convict who has been struck; who is, a monk said, -doomed. He fell in the Flower Market, writhing. One who was engaged in -walling up the doors of the infected houses. I saw her half-an-hour -ago." - -Then descending a few steps of the stairs, so that now she stood but -little above where Laure was, she continued: - -"The man wanders in his mind. He told Marion that your husband had -come here to seek for you in Marseilles; that he knew him; that he had -seen and recognised him." - -"My husband has come here!--it is true--and has found me God be -praised," while, as she spoke, there was a look of such supreme -happiness in her eyes, on her whole face, that the other women could -not withdraw their gaze from her. "He has found me. Yet, how can this -stricken man, this galley slave, know him?" - -"He says he does; and avers that it is so. He says, too, he must see -him ere he dies." - -Then, because the woman was one who was more righteously sentenced to -deportation than most who had toiled in her company from Paris to -Marseilles, she having been a thief and a receiver of stolen goods for -many years in the Capital, she lowered her voice as she said: - -"If he is here, best bid him go see the dying man. He may know of -hidden goods, of appropriated treasure securely put away, of wealth -easily to be acquired. Tell your husband, if he is in truth his -friend, if he has any such a friend----" - -"My husband the friend of such as that!" Laure exclaimed. "God forbid! -He is an honest man! A gentleman!" - -"All our husbands are!" the woman exclaimed with a grimace. "We can -all say that! Yet they cannot preserve us from such a fate as this!" -and she turned and recommenced the ascent of the stairs. - -Relating this to Walter when she returned to the saloon, Laure -perceived that the information the woman had given her was surprising -to him. - -"A dying convict!" he exclaimed, "who knows and recognises me! -Impossible. I know none. Yet," he continued, "it may be some man whom -I have met in the past. My own countrymen have found their way to the -galleys ere now. I will go." - -"For God's sake beware of what you do," Laure whispered. "Put yourself -in no danger of this infection. Oh! Walter, if--if I lost you now that -you have come back to me, my heart would break." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -"IF AFTER EVERY TEMPEST COME SUCH CALMS!" - - -The darkness of the night was over the city as Walter Clarges went -forth; a darkness that was almost weird and unearthly in that gloomy -street--far down at the other end of which could be seen the lurid -flames of the braziers burning. A weird and ghastly blending of sullen -flames, of gloaming and of night, through which no living creature -passed and in which one dead woman lay huddled up against the kerb, -neglected, unheeded. And, from above, the southern stars looked down -from their sapphire vault, they twinkling as clear and white as though -the city slumbered peacefully beneath them and all was well with it. - -Meditating upon whom the unhappy man might be who had asked for him -while adding that he knew him, that he desired to see him ere he died, -Walter went on to where the braziers flared; went on, yet with his -thoughts also occupied with many other things besides this dying -galley slave. He went on with his heart beating with happiness. - -He had found her--his life! his soul! the woman of his heart! Found -her! Found her alive! Thank God! Now--now--so soon as any vessel could -be discovered that would take them away from this stricken spot--no -matter though he paid half of his newly-inherited fortune to obtain -the use of it--now, they would be happy and always together. He would -bear her to England--his peace was made with the Government, -henceforth he was a subject of the new dynasty. He had paid that much -for the right to retrieve his wife if she should be still alive; -there, in England, health should come back to her body, beauty to her -face. In the pure, cool breezes of the northern home which had been -that of the Westovers for so long, she would gain strength, recover -fast. When he entered George's throne-room to personally testify his -adherence to a House which, for years, he and his had opposed with all -their power, one thing should at least be beyond denial. All should -acknowledge that the woman who leant upon his arm was fair enough to -excuse a thousand apostacies and that the determination to save the -life of one so beautiful as she, and this beautiful one his wife, -justified him in what he had done. - -The braziers still burned and flared fiercely as he drew near them; -through the night air the aromatic odours of pine and thyme, of -vinegar and pitch, were diffused: around those braziers the sufferers -lay--some dead, some dying. - -Asking his way to the Flower Market, and being directed thereto, -Walter went on until at last he reached the place; a little open -Square surrounded on all sides by tall, grey houses, from the windows -of which no light from candle or taper gleamed forth. Like all others -in the stricken city these houses were deserted, the inhabitants -either having fled or, if remaining, being dead within their own -walls. - -But there was light in the close, stuffy Square itself. Placed on the -lumber of the stalls around the open market were pots and pans of -burning disinfectants that cast flickering shadows upon everything -near them; upon, too, a little group of persons gathered in the -middle of the spot where once the Provence roses and the great -luscious-scented lilies of the south, and the crimson fuchsias, had -been sold in handfuls by the flower-girls. Now, in their place, there -lay a man dying, Not in agony, as many had died who had been stricken -by the pest, but, instead calmly, insensibly. - -A man old and grizzly; yet, looking, perhaps, older than he actually -was; white as marble, his lips grey, and, upon his chin and cheeks, a -white rim of unshaven beard of three or four days' growth. By his side -stood a monk muttering prayers and heedless as to whether the plague -struck him or not; at his other side knelt the dark woman who had -directed Walter to where he should find his wife--the woman whom he -had thought cold and dead of heart, yet whom he now knew to have been -Laure's friend and comforter. She was engaged in moistening the dying -man's lips with spirits, and in wiping the dank dews of death from off -his face, as Walter drew near. - -"God bless you," he said, touching her brown hand with his as he came -to her side. "God bless you. She has told me; I know all. God bless -you." - -Yet, even as he spoke to her, he wondered why she drew her hand -hurriedly away from his, and why, in the flicker of the flames around, -her dark eyes seemed to cast an almost baleful glance at him. - -"My son," the monk said, gazing at the stranger while thinking, -perhaps, how good it was to see one so strong and healthy-looking -amidst all the surrounding disease. "My son, is it you for whom he -waits? But now, ten minutes past, he was sensible and averred he could -not die until he saw him for whom he looked. Knowing him to be here, -in Marseilles. Is it you?" - -"It is I, holy father," Walter answered. "Yet, how should he know me? -Let me come nearer and observe him." He passed thereupon to the front -of the dying man, so that thus he might regard his face, while heeding -however, the monk's injunction not to put his own face too near the -other's, and to envelope his nostrils and mouth with a cloth which he -handed him. Then, this done--Walter remembering his new-found wife at -the moment, and how he must preserve his life for her sake--he bent -over a little nearer and gazed at the livid features beneath him. - -At first he did not know the man. How should he? The now bristling -face had, when he last saw it, been ever scrupulously shaved; upon the -head, where now was only close-cropped grey hair, there had been a -tye-wig of irreproachable neatness; dark clothes of the best material -and cut had been the adornment of this dying man who, to-night, lay -prostrate in the hideous garments of the galleys. How should he know -him! Hardly might he have known his own father had he met him thus -similarly transformed. - -Then, suddenly, the man opened his eyes--and he recognised him! - -"Merciful God!" he exclaimed. "It is Vandecque." - -"Vandecque!" a voice hissed close to his ear, a voice he would -scarcely have recognised as that of the southern woman, he had not -seen her lips move. "Vandecque! the betrayer of Laure! Heaven destroy -him!" while, as she spoke, her hand stole to her breast, opening her -dress as it did so. - -"Be still," he said sternly; "be still. What! Is not the heaven you -have invoked about to punish him? Let go whatever your hand holds." - -Yet, as he spoke, he recognised how great and strong had been this -woman's love for Laure when it could prompt her even now, at the man's -last hour, to desire to slay him. - -Then Vandecque began to mutter; his eyes being fixed upon Walter with -the dull and filmy look which the dying ever have. - -"I," he whispered, "I--loved her. The little child--that--that--wound -itself around my heart. She had been--wronged--by those of his--that -devil's own order. I would have made her prosperous--rich--one of that -order. A patrician instead of an outcast. I loved her. You thwarted -me. Therefore I helped him--to--slay you, as I thought." - -He closed his eyes now and those around him thought that he was gone, -while the monk began the prayers for the dying. Yet, in a moment, he -spoke again. - -"Save her--save--her. If she still lives." - -"She lives," Walter said. "She is saved. By the woman at your side." - -"All--is--therefore--well." Vandecque gasped. "All--all. -And--listen--listen. You spared that monster--Desparre--last night. -Fool! Yet--I was there to--finish the work." - -"To finish the work! You! You slew him! He is dead!" - -"Ay. Dead! Dead! And--" writhing as he spoke and with his agony upon -him, his last moment at hand. His lips were white now, not grey; his -eyelids were but two slits through which the glazed eyes peered. -"Dead--and _buried!_" Then the monk's voice alone uprose, reciting the -prayers for a passing soul. - -* * * * * * - -The Mediterranean sparkling beneath the warm sun of the early autumn -sky; the blue waves lapping gently the sides of a French bilander -which, with all sail set on both her masts, is running swiftly before -a northern breeze past Cape de Gata towards Gibraltar. A northern -breeze with a touch of the west in it, that comes cool and fresh from -off the Sierra Nevada mountains and brings life and health and -strength in its breath. Towards Gibraltar the vessel goes on, its -course to be set later due north for the tumbling Bay, and then, at -last, to England--to happiness and content. - -To obtain that bilander, to find seamen fit to work it, and to assure -the owner of his payment when once she should reach our shores (a -payment of a thousand louis d'ors being made for the voyage!) had been -no easy task for Walter Clarges, who now took his title openly; yet, -at last, it had been done. In Marseilles it was impossible; there was -no sailor to be discovered fit and strong enough to do so much as to -haul upon a halliard, while, in Toulon it was no better; but, at last, -at Istres in the mouth of the Rhone, to which they proceeded in an -open boat, the ship had been found and their escape from all the -tainted neighbourhood around assured. They were free! Free of the -poisoned South, free at last. - -And now Lord Westover walked the deck of the rolling, pitching craft, -saying a word here and there to the rough sailor from Aude, who was -the master; another, now and again, to the dark-eyed woman who sat by -the taffrail beneath the swing of the after-sheet; and going next to a -cabin upon the deck and peering in through the window while speaking -to his wife within. - -At first it had been hard to persuade that dark-eyed woman to -accompany them, to induce her to throw in her lot with theirs and bid -farewell to the land in which she had sinned and suffered. For she -was, indeed, almost distraught at the thought that never more would -she struggle and toil for the woman she had come to love so dearly; -that, henceforth, no sacrifice on her part was needed. - -"Go back to her," she said to Walter after Vandecque had breathed his -last, while, since there was nothing else that could be done in a -place so encumbered with the dead as Marseilles was, they had left the -dead man lying where he died. "Go back to her. She needs you now. Not -me. Return to her," and, as she spoke, she cast herself down near the -market place as though about to sleep there. - -"And you--Marion?" Walter said softly. "You! What of you? You will -come with me?" - -"She wants me no longer. She has you." - -"She needs you ever. You must never part. What shall become of her -without you; what will your life be in the future if you have no -longer her to tend and care for?" - -"My life! My life!" she cried with an upward glance at him from where -she had thrown herself down. "What matters that! Every wreck is broken -to pieces at last. So shall I be." - -Yet still he pleaded, repeating all that Laure had that day said of -her and telling of how she had declared that she could never go away -unless Marion came too; and, finally, he won. He won so far that, at -last, she consented to return to Laure, even though it were but to say -farewell to her and then go forth into oblivion for ever. - -Yet now she was in the bilander with them, on her way to England -to pass the rest of her life in peace. How could she have -refused--how!--when the girl wept tears of joy in her arms and -murmured that, since she had her husband and Marion by her side, she -asked for nothing else? And so the ship went on and on, bearing those -in her to freedom and to peace. To a peace and contentment that Laure -had never dreamed could come to her again; to a happiness which once -Walter Clarges had never dared to hope should at last be his. - - - -FOOTNOTES - -[Footnote 1: This street served as the Bourse of the period.] - -[Footnote 2: "Archers" were servants of the Provost Marshals and of a -position between gendarmes and policemen, but in the service of the -prisons. "Exempts" were a kind of Sheriff's officer.] - -[Footnote 3: A slang name for the scaffold.] - -[Footnote 4: The total number of deaths in Provence was finally -estimated to be 148,000. Aix and Toulon suffered the worst after -Marseilles.] - - - -THE END - - - -PRINTED BY -TURNBULL AND SPEARS, -EDINBURGH - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Servants of Sin, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SERVANTS OF SIN *** - -***** This file should be named 52970-8.txt or 52970-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/9/7/52970/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Illinois) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/52970-8.zip b/old/52970-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f2b96c4..0000000 --- a/old/52970-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52970-h.zip b/old/52970-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d2472f0..0000000 --- a/old/52970-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52970-h/52970-h.htm b/old/52970-h/52970-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1163205..0000000 --- a/old/52970-h/52970-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9320 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<title>Servants of Sin: A Romance.</title> -<meta name="Author" content="John Bloundelle-Burton"> - -<meta name="Publisher" content="Methuen & Co."> -<meta name="Date" content="1900"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - - -p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} - -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} -span.sc2 {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} - -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} - -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} -p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Servants of Sin, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Servants of Sin - A Romance - -Author: John Bloundelle-Burton - -Release Date: September 2, 2016 [EBook #52970] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SERVANTS OF SIN *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Illinois) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> -1. Page scan source: Google Books<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=8YtBAQAAMAAJ<br> -(Library of the University of Illinois)</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>SERVANTS OF SIN</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h4> - -<h5>ROMANCES</h5> -<div style="margin-left:20%"> -<p><b>IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY<br> -ACROSS THE SALT SEAS<br> -THE CLASH OF ARMS<br> -DENOUNCED<br> -THE SCOURGE OF GOD<br> -THE HISPANIOLA PLATE<br> -FORTUNE'S MY FOE<br> -A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER<br> -THE DESERT SHIP</b></p> -</div> -<br> - -<h5>NOVELS OF TO-DAY</h5> -<div style="margin-left:20%"> -<p><b>A BITTER HERITAGE<br> -HIS OWN ENEMY<br> -THE SILENT SHORE<br> -THE SEAFARERS</b></p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>SERVANTS OF SIN</h3> -<h4>A ROMANCE</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>BY</h5> -<h4>JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p style="margin-left:25%; font-size:10pt"> -"HOW DOTH THE CITY SIT SOLITARY THAT WAS<br> -FULL OF PEOPLE! NOW IS SHE BECOME AS A<br> -WIDOW! SHE THAT WAS GREAT AMONG THE<br> -NATIONS AND PRINCESS AMONG THE PROVINCES."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>METHUEN & CO.<br> -36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br> -LONDON<br> -1900</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="center"><i>Dramatised and produced for copyright purposes in London, -May 1st</i>, 1900. <i>Licensed for production by the Lord Chamberlain, and -entered at Stationers' Hall as a Drama in IV. Acts</i>.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>TO</h4> -<h5>MY FRIEND</h5> -<h4>ERNEST FOSTER</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<table cellpadding="10" style="width:80%; margin-left:20%; font-weight:bold"> -<colgroup><col style="width:10%; text-align:right"><col style="width:90%; text-align:right"></colgroup> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><h4>CONTENTS</h4></td> -</tr><tr> -<td>CHAP.</td> -<td></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Monsieur le Duc.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Les Demoiselles Montjoie at Home.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Romance of Monsieur Vandecque.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Sister of Mercy.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Duke's Desire</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Duke's Bride.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Man And Wife.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Street Of The Holy Apostles.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Alone.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Prison of St. Martin des Champs.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Condemned.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Marseilles.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"My Wife! What Wife? I have no Wife."</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Where is the Man?</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">XV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Pest.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">XVI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"I had not Lived till now, could sorrow kill."</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">XVII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">An Aristocratic Resort.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_18" href="#div1_18">XVIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"The Abandoned Orphan"--Prologue</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_19" href="#div1_19">XIX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"The Abandoned Orphan"--Drama</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_20" href="#div1_20">XX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"The Way to Dusty Death"</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_21" href="#div1_21">XXI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Night Ride.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_22" href="#div1_22">XXII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Stricken City.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_23" href="#div1_23">XXIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Within the Walls.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_24" href="#div1_24">XXIV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Discovery.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_25" href="#div1_25">XXV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Face to Face.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_26" href="#div1_26">XXVI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"Revenge--Bitter! Ere Long Back on Itself Recoils!"</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_27" href="#div1_27">XXVII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"I Love Her!--She is my Wife."</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_28" href="#div1_28">XXVIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Walled-up Doors.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_29" href="#div1_29">XXIX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Asleep or Awake.</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_30" href="#div1_30">XXX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"If after Every Tempest come such Calms!"</span></td> -</tr></table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>SERVANTS OF SIN</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<h5>MONSIEUR LE DUC</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Lifting aside the heavy tapestry that hung down in front of -the window of the tourelle which formed an angle of the room--a window from -which the Bastille might be seen frowning over the Quartier St. Antoine, a third -of a mile away--the man shrugged his shoulders, uttered a peevish exclamation, -and muttered, next:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Snow! Snow! Snow! Always snow! Curse the snow!" Then he -turned back into the room, letting the curtain fall behind him, and seated -himself once more in a heavy fauteuil opposite the great fireplace, up the -chimney of which the logs roared in a cheerful blaze.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hard winters, now," he muttered once more, still thinking of -the weather outside; "always hard winters in Paris now. 'Twas so when I rode -back here after the campaign in Spain was over. When I rode back," he repeated, -"a year ago." He paused, reflecting; then continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, a year ago. Why! so it was. A year ago to-day. A year -this very day. The last day of December. Ay, the bells were ringing from Notre -Dame, St. Roch--the Tour St. Jacques. To welcome in the New Year. Almost, it -seemed, judging by the events of the next few weeks, to welcome me to my -inheritance. To my inheritance! Yet, how far off that inheritance seemed once! -As far off as the love of those curs, my relatives, was then."</p> - -<p class="normal">He let himself sink farther and farther into the deep recesses -of the huge fauteuil as thus he mused, stretched out his long legs towards the -fire, stretched out, too, a long arm and a long, slim brown hand towards where a -flask of tokay stood, with a goblet by its side; poured out a draught and drank -it down.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A far-off love, then," he said again, "now near, and warm, -and generous. Bah!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Looking at the man as he lay stretched in the chair and -revelling in the luxury and comfort by which he was surrounded, one might have -thought there was some incongruity between him and those surroundings. The -room--the furniture and hangings--the latter a pale blue, bordered with -fawn-coloured lace--the dainty ornaments, the picture let in the wall above the -chimney-piece, with others above the doorway and windows--did not match with the -occupant. No more than it and they matched with a bundle of swords in one corner -of it; swords of all kinds. One, a heavy, straight, cut-and-thrust weapon; -another an English rapier with flamboyant blade and straight quillon; a third of -the Colichemarde pattern; a fourth a viperish-looking spadroon; a fifth a German -Flamberg with deadly grooved blade and long-curled quillons.</p> - -<p class="normal">Surely a finished swordsman this, or a man who had been one!</p> - -<p class="normal">Looking at him one might judge that he was so still--or could -be so upon occasion.</p> - -<p class="normal">His wig was off--it hung upon the edge of an old praying-chair -that was pushed into a corner as though of no further use; certainly of none to -the present occupant of this room--and his black-cropped hair, his small black -moustache, which looked like a dab stuck on his upper lip--since it extended no -further on either side of his face than beneath each nostril--added to his black -eyes, gave him a saturnine expression, not to say a menacing one. For the rest, -he was a thick-set, brawny man of perhaps five-and-forty, with a deeply-tanned -complexion that looked as though it had been exposed to many a pitiless storm -and many a fierce-beating sun; a complexion that, were it not for a whiteness -beneath the eyes, which seemed to tell of late hours and too much wine, and -other things that often enough go with wine and wassail, would have been a -healthy one.</p> - -<p class="normal">Also, it was to be noted that, in some way, his apparel -scarcely seemed suited to him. The satin coat of russet brown; the deep -waistcoat of white satin, flowered with red roses and pink daisies and little -sprays of green leaves; the white knee-breeches also of satin, the gold-buckled -shoes, matched not with the sturdy form and fierce face. Instead of this costume <i> -à la Régence</i> one would have more expected to see the buff jerkin of a -soldier, the brass spurs at the heels of long brown riding-boots, and, likewise, -one of the great swords now reclining in the corner buckled close to his thigh. -Or else to have seen the man sitting in some barrack guardroom with, beneath his -feet, an uncarpeted floor, and, to his hand, a pint stoop, instead of finding -him here in this highly-ornamented saloon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The plague seize me!" he exclaimed, using one of his -favourite oaths, "but there is no going out to-night. Nor any likelihood of -anyone coming in. I cannot go forth to gaze upon my adorable Laure; neither -Morlaix nor Sainte Foix are likely to get here."</p> - -<p class="normal">And, after glancing out at the fast falling snow, he abandoned -himself once more to his reflections. Though, now, those reflections were aided -by the perusal of a packet of letters which he drew forth from an escritoire -standing by the side of the fireplace. A bundle of letters all written in a -woman's hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">He knew them well enough--by heart almost; he had read them -over and over again in the past year; it was perhaps, therefore, because of this -that he now glanced at them as they came to his hand; it happening, -consequently, that the one he had commenced to peruse was the last he had -received.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was dated not more than a week back--the night before -Christmas, of the year 1719.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mon ami," it commenced, "I am desolated with grief that you -cannot be with me this Christmastide. I had hoped so much that we should have -spent the last New Year's Day together before our marriage."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah!" exclaimed the man, impatiently. "Before our marriage. -Bah!" and he rattled the sheet in his hand as he went on with its perusal. "I -imagine that," the letter continued, "after all which has gone before and has -been between us it will ere long take place----."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah!" he broke off once more, exclaiming, "Ah! you imagine -that, dear Marquise. You imagine that. Ha! you imagine that. So be it. Yet, on -my part, I imagine something quite the contrary. I dare to imagine it will never -take place. I think not. There are others--there is one other. -Laure--Laure--Laure Vauxcelles. My beautiful Laure! Yet--yet--I know not. Am I -wise? Does she love me? Love me! No matter about that! She will be my wife; the -mother of future Desparres. However, let us see. To the Marquise." And again he -regarded his letters--flinging this one aside as though not worth the trouble of -further re-reading--and took up another. Yet it, also, seemed scarcely to demand -more consideration than that which he had accorded its forerunner in his hands, -and was also discarded; then another and another, until he had come to the last -of the little packet--that which bore the earliest date. This commenced, -however, with a vastly different form of address than did the one of which we -have seen a portion. It opened with the pretty greeting, "My hero." And it -opened, too, with a very feminine form of rejoicing--a pæan of delight.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At last, at last, at last, my soldier," the writer said, "at -last, thou hast come to thine own. The unhappy boy is dead; my hero, my Alcides, -is no longer the poor captain following the wars for hard knocks; his position -is assured; he is rich, the inheritor, nay, the possessor of his great family -title. I salute you, monsieur le----."</p> - -<p class="normal">As his eyes reached those words, there came to his ears the -noise of the great bell pealing in the courtyard as though rung by one seeking -immediate entrance. Then, a moment later, the noise of lackeys addressing one -another; in another instant, the sound of a footfall in the corridor -outside--drawing nearer to the room where the man was. Wherefore he came out of -the tower with the window in it, to which he had vainly gone, as though to -observe what might be happening in the street--knowing even as he did so that he -could see nothing, since, whoever his visitor might be, that visitor and his -carriage, or sedan-chair, had already entered the courtyard with his menials.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, in answer to the soft knock at the door, he bade the -person come in.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who is below?" he asked of the footman, thinking some friend -had kindly ventured forth on this inclement night to visit him--perhaps to take -a hand at pharaon or piquet.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur, it is Madame la Marquise----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"La Marquise?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Grignan de Poissy."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment the man addressed stood still, facing his -servant; his eyes a little closed, his upper eyelids lowered somewhat; then he -said quietly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Show Madame la Marquise to this apartment. Or, rather, I will -come with you to welcome Madame la Marquise." While, suiting his action to his -words, he preceded the footman to the head of the great staircase and warmly -welcomed the lady who, by this time, was almost at the head of it. Doubtless, -she knew she would not be denied.</p> - -<p class="normal">That this man had been (as the letter, which he had a few -moments ago but glanced at, said) "a poor captain following the wars" was no -doubt the fact; now, however, he was becoming a perfect courtier, and testified -that such was the case by his demeanour. With easy grace he removed from her -shoulders the great furred houppelande, or cloak, which the ladies of the period -of the Regency wore on such a night as this, and carried it over his own arm; -with equal grace he led her into the room he had but now quitted, placed her in -the great fauteuil before the fire, and put before her feet a footstool, while -he, with great courtesy, even removed her shoes, and thus left her -silk-stockinged feet to benefit by the genial warmth thrown out by the logs.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I protest it is too good of you, Diane," he whispered, as he -paid her all these attentions, "too good of you to visit thus so idle an admirer -as I am. See, I, a soldier, a man used to all weathers, have not dared to quit -my own hearth on such a night as this. Yet Diane, adorable Diane, -why--why--expose yourself to the inclemency of the night--even, almost, I might -say, to the gossip of your--and of my--menials."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The gossip of your menials!" the lady exclaimed. "The gossip -of your menials? Will this fresh incident expose us to any further gossip, do -you suppose? It is a long while since our names have been coupled together, -Monsieur le Duc."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur le Duc!" he repeated. "What a form of address! -Monsieur le Duc! My name to you is--has ever been--Armand."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, 'tis so," she answered, while, even as she continued -speaking a little bitterly to him, she shifted her feet upon the footstool, so -that they should get their full share of the luxurious warmth of the fire. "'Tis -so. Has been so for more years now than a woman cares to count. Desparre," she -said, addressing him shortly, "how long have we known each other--how old am I?"</p> - -<p class="normal">For answer he gave her a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders, -as though it were impossible such a question should be asked, or, being asked, -could possibly be answered by him; while she, her blue eyes fixed upon his face, -herself replied to the question. "It is twenty years," she said, "since we first -met."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas!" with another shrug, meant this time to express a wince -of emotion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, twenty years," she continued. "A long while, is it not? -I, a young widow then; you, Armand Desparre, a penniless porte-drapeau in the -Regiment de Bellebrune. Yet not so penniless either, if I remember aright"--and -the blue eyes looked steely now, as they gazed from beneath their thick auburn -fringe at him--"not penniless. You lived well for an ensign absolutely without -private means--rode a good horse, could throw a main with the richest man in the -regiment."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Diane," he interrupted, "these suggestions, these -reminiscences are unseemly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Unseemly! Heavens! Yes, they are unseemly. However, no matter -for that. You are no longer a poor man. Armand Desparre is rich, he is no more -the poor marching soldier, he is Monsieur le Duc Desparre."</p> - -<p class="normal">"More recollections," he said, with still another shrug. -"Diane, we know all this. The world, our world, knows who and what I am."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Also our world knows, expects, that there is to be a Duchess -Desparre."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he answered, "it knows, it expects, that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Expects! My God!" she exclaimed vehemently, "if it knew all -it would not only expect but insist that that duchesse should be the woman who -now bears the title of the Marquise Grignan de Poissy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It does not know all. Meanwhile," and his eye glanced towards -the heap of swords in the corner of the room, "who is there to insist on what my -conduct shall be--to order it to be otherwise than I choose it shall be? -Frankly, Diane, who is there to insist and make the insistence good?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are men of the De Poissy family," she replied, and her -glance, too, rested on those swords. "Desparre is not the only master of fence -in Paris."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Chut! They are your kinsmen. I do not desire to slay them, -nor, I presume, will they desire to slay me. And, desiring, what could they do? -De Poissy himself is only a boy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is the head of the house. He will not see the wife of the -late head slighted." Then, before he could make any answer to this remark, she -turned round suddenly on him and exclaimed, while again the blue eyes looked -steely through their heavy lashes:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who is Laure Vauxcelles?"</p> - -<p class="normal">This question, asked with such unexpectedness, startled even -the man's cynical superciliousness, as he showed by the way in which he -stammered forth an answer that was no answer at all.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Laure--Vauxcelles! What--what--do you know of her? She is not -of your--our--class."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pardon. Every woman who is well favoured is--of your class."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you know of her?" he repeated, unheeding the taunt, -though with a look that might have been regarded as a menacing one.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Only," she answered, "that which most of those who are of -your--our--class know. The gossip of the salon, the court, the Palais Royal. -Armand Desparre, I have been in Paris two days and was bidden to the Regent's -supper last night--otherwise I should have been still at the Abbaye de Grignan -dispensing New Year hospitality with the boy, De Poissy. Instead, therefore, I -was at supper in the oval room. And de Parabére, de Sabran, de Noailles, le Duc -de Richelieu--a dozen, were there. One hears gossip in the oval room, 'specially -when the Regent has drunk sufficient of that stuff," and she nodded towards -Monsieur's still unfinished flask of tokay. "When he is asleep at the head of -his table endeavouring to--well--sleep off--shake off its fumes ere going to his -box close by to hear La Gautier sing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What did you hear?" Desparre asked now.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Gossip," the Marquise answered. "Gossip. Perhaps -true--perhaps idle. God knows. The story of a man," she continued, with a shrug -of her shoulders, "no longer young, once very poor, yet always with pistoles in -his pocket, since he did not disdain to take gifts from a foolish woman whom he -had wronged and who loved him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Was that mentioned?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was hinted at. It was known, too, by one listener, at -least--myself--to be true. A man," she continued, "now well to do, able to -gratify almost every desire he possesses. Of high position. The story of a man," -she went on with machine-like insistence, "who, finding at last, however, one -desire he is not able to gratify--the desire of adding one more woman to his -victims, and that a woman young enough to be his daughter--is about to change -his character. To abandon that of knave, to adopt that of fool."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Also," interrupted Monsieur le Duc, "a man who will demand -from Madame la Marquise Grignan de Poissy the name of her gossip. It is to be -desired that that gossip should be a man. Otherwise, her nephew the Marquis -Grignan de Poissy will perhaps consent to be Madame's representative."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To adopt the rôle of a fool," she continued, unheeding his -words. "To marry the woman--the niece of a broken-down gamester--who refuses to -become his victim. A creature bred up in the gutter!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame will allow that this--fool--is subject to no control -or criticism?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame will allow anything that Monsieur le Duc desires. -Even, if he pleases, that he is a coward and contemptible."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<h5>LES DEMOISELLES MONTJOIE AT HOME</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Outside the snow had ceased to fall; in its place had come the -clear, crisp, and biting stillness of an intense frost, accompanied by that -penetrating cold which gives those who are subjected to it the feeling that they -are themselves gradually freezing, that the blood within them is turning to ice -itself. A cold, hard night; with the half-foot long icicles cracking from the -increasing density of the frost, and falling, with a little clatter and a -shivering, into atoms on the heads or at the feet of the passers-by; a night on -which beggars huddled together for warmth in stoops and porches, or, being -solitary, laid down moaning in their agony on doorsteps until, at the end, there -came that warm, blissful glow which precedes death by frost. A night when the -well-to-do who were abroad drew cloaks, roquelaures, and houppelandes tighter -round them as they shivered and shook in chariots and sedan chairs; when dogs -were brought in from kennels and placed before the blazing fires so that their -unhappy carcases might be thawed back to life and comfort, and when horses in -their stalls had rugs and cloths strapped over their backs so that, in the -morning, they should not be found stretched dead upon their straw.</p> - -<p class="normal">Inside, except in the garrets and other dwellings of the -outcasts, who had neither fuel to their fires nor rags to their backs, every -effort was made to expel the winter cold; wood fires blazed on hearths and in -Alsatian stoves; each nook and cranny of every window was plugged carefully; -while men, and in many cases, women as well, drank spiced Lunel and Florence, -Richebourg and St. Georges, to keep their temperatures up. And drank copiously, -too.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was the coldest night of the winter 1719-20; the coldest -night of that long spell of frost which had gripped Paris in its icy grasp.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, in the salons of the Demoiselles Montjoie that frost was -confronted--defeated; it seemed unable to penetrate into the warmed and scented -rooms, over every door and window of which was hung arras and tapestry; unable -to touch, and cause to shiver in touching, either the bare-shouldered women who -lounged in the velvet fauteuils or the group of men who, in their turn, wandered -aimlessly about.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Confusion!" exclaimed one of the latter, a well-dressed, -middle-aged man, "when is Susanne about to begin? What are we here for? To gaze -into each other's fascinating faces or to recount our week-old scandals? The -fiend take it! one might as well be at home and have been spared the encounter -with the night air!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have patience, Morlaix!" exclaimed a second; "the game never -begins until the pigeons are here. Sportsmen fire not into the air, nor against -one another. Do you want to win my louis-d'ors, or I yours? No, no! On the -contrary, let us combine. So, so," he broke off, "there come two. The Prince -Mirabel and Sainte Foix."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mirabel and Sainte Foix!" exclaimed the other. "Mirabel and -Sainte Foix! My faith, all we shall get out of them will not make us fat. Sainte -Foix cannot have got a thousand louis-d'ors left in the world, and those which -he has Mirabel will attach for himself. Mon Dieu! that one of the Rohans should -be one of us!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The other shrugged his shoulders; then he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Speak for yourself, mon ami. Meanwhile, I do not consider -myself the same as Mirabel. I have not been kicked out of the army. I am no -protector of all the sharpers in Paris. Speak for yourself, my friend. For -yourself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now, there," said the other, taking not the slightest notice -of his acquaintance's protestations, which he probably reckoned at their proper -value. "There is one who might be worth----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing! He would have been once, but his money is all gone. -La Mothe over there has had some of it, Mirabel also; even I have touched a -little. Now, there is none to touch. They even say he owes the respected Duc -Desparre twenty thousand livres, and cannot pay them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Desparre will expect them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is possible. But I have great doubts--as to his ever -getting them, I mean. Yet he is a gentleman, this Englishman; it may be he will -find means to pay. It is a pity he does not ask his countryman, John Law, for -assistance. He might put him in the way of making something."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He might; though that I also doubt. Law has bigger friends to -help than dissolute young Englishmen; and they are not countrymen, the financier -being Scotch. Meanwhile, as I say, Desparre will expect his money. He will want -it, rich as he is, for his honeymoon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"His honeymoon! Faugh! the wretch. He is fifty if an hour. -And, frankly, is it true? Has he bought Laure Vauxcelles?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, body and soul; from her uncle Vandecque. She is his, and -cannot escape; she is in his grip. There is no hope for her. Vandecque is her -guardian; our law gives him full power over her. It is obedience to the -guardian's orders--or--you know!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I know. A convent; the veil. I know. Ha! speak of the -angels! Behold!" and his eyes turned towards the heavily-curtained doorway, at -which a woman, accompanied by a man much her senior in years, appeared at the -moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">A woman! Nay! little more than a girl--yet a girl who ere long -would be a beauteous woman. Tall and supple, with a figure giving promise of -ripe fulness ere many months should have passed, with a face of sweet -loveliness--possessing dark hazel eyes, an exquisite mouth, a head crowned with -light chestnut hair, one curl of which (called by the roués of the Regent's -Court a "follow me, young man") fell over the shoulder to the fair bosom -beneath. The face of a girl to dream of by night, to stand before by day and -worship.</p> - -<p class="normal">No wonder that Desparre, forty-five years of age as he really -was, and a dissolute, depraved roué to whom swift advancing age had brought no -cessation of his evil yearnings, was supposed to have shown good taste in -purchasing this modern Iphigenia, in buying her from her uncle, the gambler, -Vandecque--the man who entered now by her side.</p> - -<p class="normal">In this salon there was a score of women, all of whom were -well favoured enough; yet the glances they cast at Laure Vauxcelles showed that -they owned their superior here. Moreover, they envied her. Desparre was thought -to be enormously rich--had, indeed, always been considered so since he inherited -his dukedom; but now that he had thrust his hand into the golden rain that fell -in the Rue Quincampoix and, with it, had drawn forth more than a million -livres--as many said!--there was not one of them who, being unmarried, would not -have sold herself to him. But he had elected to buy Laure Vauxcelles, they -understood; and yet Laure hated him. "She was a beautiful fool!" they whispered -to each other.</p> - -<p class="normal">The tables were ready by the time she and her uncle had made -their greetings. The "guests" sat down to biribi, pharaon (faro), and -lansquenet. It was what they had come for, since the Demoiselles Montjoie kept -the most fashionable gambling-house in Paris--a house in which the Regent had -condescended to play ere now. A house in which, many years later, a milliner's -girl, who was brought there to exhibit her beauty, managed to become transformed -into a king's favourite, known afterwards as Madame du Barry.</p> - -<p class="normal">Soon the gamblers were at it fast and furious. The -stockbrokers of the Rues Quincampoix<a name="div4Ref_01" href="#div4_01"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -and Vivienne--not having had enough excitement during the day in buying and -selling Mississippi shares--were now engaged in retrieving their losses, if -possible, or losing their gains. Even the greater part of the women had left the -velvet lounges and fauteuils and were tempting fate according to their means, -with crowns, louis-d'ors shares of the Royal Bank, or "The Louisiana Company"; -gambling in sums from twenty pounds to a thousand.</p> - -<p class="normal">And Vandecque, Laure's uncle, having now his purse well lined, -though once nothing rubbed themselves together within it but a few beggarly -coppers, was presiding at the lansquenet table, had flung down an important sum -to make a bank, and was--as loudly as the manners of good society under the -Regency would permit--inviting all round him to try their chance. While they, on -their part, were eager enough to possess themselves of that purse's contents, -though he himself had very little fear that such was likely to be the case.</p> - -<p class="normal">Two there were, however, who sat apart and did not join in the -play--one, the ruined young Englishman of whom Morlaix and his companion had -spoken, the other, Laure Vauxcelles, the woman who was to be sold in marriage to -Desparre. Neither had spoken, however, on Laure's entrance with Vandecque. The -man had remained seated on one of the velvet lounges at the far end of the room, -his eyes fixed on the richly-painted ceiling, with its cupids and nymphs and -goddesses--fitting allegories to the greatest and most aristocratic gambling -hell in Paris! The girl, on entering, had cast one swift glance at him from -those, hazel eyes, and had then turned them away. Yet he had seen that glance, -although he had taken no notice of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently, the game waxing more and more furious while -Vandecque's back was turned to them (he being much occupied with his earnest -endeavours to capture all the bank notes and the obligations of the Royal Bank -and the Louisiana Company, and the little piles of gold pieces scattered about), -the young man rose from his seat, and, walking to where Laure Vauxcelles sat -some twenty paces from him, staring straight before her, said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"This should be almost Mademoiselle's last appearance here. -Doubtless Monsieur le Duc is anxious for--for his union with Mademoiselle. When, -if one may make so bold to ask, is it likely to take place?"</p> - -<p class="normal">For answer, the girl seated before him raised her eyes to -those of the young Englishman, then--with a glance towards Vandecque's back, -rounded as it bent over the table, while he scooped up the stakes which a -successful deal of the cards had made his--said slowly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never. Never--if I can prevent it."</p> - -<p class="normal">She spoke in a low whisper, for fear the gambler should hear -her, yet it was clear and distinct enough to reach the ears of the man before -her; and, as he heard the words, he started. Yet, because--although he was still -very young--the life he had led, the people he had mixed among in Paris, had -taught him to steel himself against the exhibition of all emotion, he said very -quietly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mademoiselle is, if I may say it, a little difficult. She -appears to reject all honest admiration offered to her. To--to desire to remain -untouched by the love of any man?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The love of any man! Does Monsieur Clarges regard the love of -the Duc Desparre as worth having? Does he regard the Duc Desparre as a man? As -one whose wife any woman should desire to become?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Monsieur Clarges shrugged his shoulders, then he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"There have been others."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," she answered. "There have been others."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And they were equally unfortunate. There was one----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was one," she replied, interrupting, and with her -glance firmly fixed him, "who desired my love; who desired me for his wife. A -year ago. Is it not so? And, Monsieur Clarges, what was my answer to him? You -should know. Recall it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your answer was that you did not love him; that, therefore, -you could be no wife of his. Now, Mademoiselle, recall yourself--it is your -turn--what he then said. It was this, I think. That he so loved you that, -without receiving back any love from you in return, he begged you to grant his -prayer; to believe that he would win that love at last if you would but give -yourself to him; while, if you desired it, he would so show the reverence he -held you in--that, once you were his wife, he would demand nothing more from -you. Nothing but that he might be by your side; be but as a brother, a champion, -a sentinel to watch and guard over you, although a husband in truth. That was -what he said. That was all he desired. Mademoiselle, will the Duc Desparre be as -loyal a husband as this, do you think?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The Duc Desparre will never be husband of mine."</p> - -<p class="normal">The Englishman again shrugged his shoulders. He had learnt the -trick well during a long exile in Paris--an exile dating from the time when the -Pretender's cause was lost by the Earl of Mar, and he, a Jacobite, had followed -him to France after the "'15."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But how to avoid it now?" he asked. "The time draws near--is -at hand. How escape?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is there not one way?" she asked, with again an upward glance -of those eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No no no!" he replied, his calmness deserting him now. "No! -no! Not that! Not that!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How else? There is no other."</p> - -<p class="normal">As they spoke the play still went on at the tables; women -shrieked still, half in earnest half in jest, as a card turned up that told -against them. Still Vandecque crouched over the board where he held the bank and -where his greedy hands drew in the stakes, for he was winning heavily. Already -he had twenty thousand livres before him drawn from the pockets of Mirabel, -Sainte Foix, the stockbrokers of the Rues Quincampoix and Vivienne, and from the -female gamblers. And, gambler himself, he had forgotten all else; he had -forgotten almost that the niece whom he guarded so carefully until the time -should come when he would hand her over to her purchaser, was in the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is an accursed law," the Englishman murmured; "a vile, -accursed law which gives a father or a guardian such power. In no other country -would it be possible. Yet Lau--Mademoiselle--that which you meditate must never -be. Oh! to think of it! To think of it!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He buried his head in his hands now as he spoke--he had taken -a seat beside her--and reflected on the terror of the thing, the horror that -she, whom he had loved so madly--whom, alas! he loved still, though she cared -nothing for him--should be doomed to one of two extremes--marriage with -Desparre, or a convent. Or, worse--a third, a more fearful horror! That which -she meditated--death!</p> - -<p class="normal">For that, if she had taken this resolve, she would carry it -out he did not doubt. She would never have proclaimed her intention had she not -been determined. She had said it was the only way!</p> - -<p class="normal">But, suddenly, he looked up at her, bent his head nearer to -hers, whispered a word. Then said aloud:</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is your safety. There your only chance. Take it."</p> - -<p class="normal">As he spoke, she started, and a rich glow came into her face -while her eyes sparkled; but a moment later her countenance fell again, and she -drew away from him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No! no!" she said. "No! no! Not that way. Not that. Not such -a sacrifice as that. Never! never never!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - -<h5>THE ROMANCE OF MONSIEUR VANDECQUE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">An evening or so after the meeting between Laure Vauxcelles -and Walter Clarges at the gambling hell kept by the Demoiselles Montjoie, -Vandecque sat in the saloon of his apartments in the Passage du Commerce. Very -comfortable apartments they were, too, if bizarre ornaments and rococo -furniture, combined with the most gorgeous colours possible to be obtained, -could be considered as providing comfort. Yet, since it was a period of -bizarrerie and whimsical caprice in furniture, clothing, and life generally -(including morals), it may be that, to most people--certainly to most people -with whom the once broken-down but now successful gambler was permitted to -associate--the rococo nature of his surroundings would not have appeared -particularly out of place. And, undoubtedly, such a warm nest must have brought -comfort to the heart of the man who paid at the present moment 250f. a week for -the right of occupying that nest, since there had been a time once when he -scarce knew how to find one franc a day whereby to pay in advance for a night's -lodgings in a back alley. Also, he had passed, previously to that period of -discomfort, a portion of his life away from Paris in a condition which the -French termed politely (whenever they mentioned such an unpleasant subject) "in -retreat," and had been subjected to a process that they designated as "<i>marqué</i>," -which, in plain English, means that he had been at the galleys as a slave and -had been branded. "For the cause of religion," he said, if he ever said anything -at all on the subject; "for a question of theft and larceny with violence" -being, however, written in the factum of the eminent French counsel who appeared -against him before the judges in Paris.</p> - -<p class="normal">His life had been a romance, he was in the habit of observing -in his moments of ease, which were when the gambling hells were closed during -the day-time, or the stockbrokers' offices in the Rues Quincampoix and Vivienne -during the night-time. And so, indeed, it had been if romance is constituted and -made up of robbery, cheating, chicanery, the wearing of blazing scarlet coats -one month and the standing bare-backed in prison yards during the next, there to -have the shoulders and loins scourged with a whip previously steeped in brine. A -romance, if drinking flasks of champagne and iced tokay at one period, and water -out of street fountains at another, or riding in gilt sedan-chairs one week and -being flogged along at a cart tail another, formed one. For all these things had -happened to Jean Vandecque, as well as the galleys in the past, with the carcan, -or collar around his neck, and the possession of the gorgeous apartments in the -Passage du Commerce at the present moment--all these, and many more.</p> - -<p class="normal">With also another romance--or the commencement and foundation -of one. That which has now to be told.</p> - -<p class="normal">Struggling on foot along the great road that leads from the -South to Paris, ten years before this story begins, Jean Vandecque (with the -discharge of a liberated convict from the galley <i>Le Requin</i> huddled away -in the bosom of his filthy shirt) viewed the capital at last--his face burnt -black by the Mediterranean suns under which he had slaved for five years, and by -the hot winds which had swept over his nakedness during that time. God knows how -he would have got so far, how have traversed those weary miles without falling -dead by the wayside, had it not been for that internal power which he possessed -(in common with the lowest, as well as the highest of beasts) of finding -subsistence somehow; of supporting life. An egg stolen here and there along the -country roads; a fowl seized, throttled, and eaten raw, if no sticks could be -found wherewith to make a fire; a child robbed of a loaf--and lucky that it was -not throttled too; a lonely grange despoiled; a shopkeeper's till in some hamlet -emptied of a few sous; a woman cajoled out of a drink of common wine; and Paris -at last. Paris, the home of the rich and well-to-do; the refuge of every knave -and sharper who wished to prey upon others. Paris, into which he limped footsore -and weary, and clad in dusty rags; Paris, full of wealth and full of fools to be -exploited.</p> - -<p class="normal">He found his home, or, at least, he found the home in which -his unhappy wife sheltered; a garret under the roof of a crazy, tumble-down -house behind Notre Dame--found both home and wife after a day's search and many -inquiries made in cellars and reeking courts and hideous alleys, into which none -were allowed to penetrate except those who bore the brand of vagabond and -scoundrel stamped clear and indelible upon them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Also, he found something else: A child--a girl eight years -old--playing in a heap of charred faggots in the chimney; a child who told him -that she was hungry, and that there was no food at all in the place.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose is the brat?" he asked of his wife, knowing very well -that, at least, it was not hers, since it must of a certainty have been born -three years before he went "into retreat" on the Mediterranean. "Whose? Have you -grown so rich that you adopt children now; or is it paid for, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is paid for," the patient creature said, shuddering at the -man's return, since she had hoped that he had died in the galley and would -never, consequently, wander back to Paris to molest her. "Paid for, and will -be----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Badly paid for, at least, since its adoption leads you to no -better circumstances than these in which I find you. Give me some food. I have -eaten nothing for hours."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nor I; nor the child there. Not for twenty-four hours. I have -not a sol; nor anything to sell."</p> - -<p class="normal">The man looked at his wife from under bushy black -eyebrows--though eyebrows not much blacker than his baked face; then he thrust -his hand into his pocket and drew forth five sols and weighed them in his hands -as though they were gold pieces. He had stolen them that morning from the basket -of a blind man sleeping in the sun outside St. Roch, when no one was looking.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go, buy bread," he said. "Get something. I am starving. Go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bread--with these! They will not buy enough for one. And we -are so hungry, she and I. See, the child weeps for hunger. Have you no more?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not a coin. Have you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas! God, He knows! Nothing. And we are dying of hunger."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How is it you are not at work, earning something?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They will trust me no more. They fear I shall sell the goods -confided to me. Who entrusts velvets, or silk, or laces to such as I, or lets -such as I enter their shops to work there?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is to be done, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Die," the woman said. "There is nought else to do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah! In Paris! Imbecile! In Paris, full of wealth and food! -Stay here till I return."</p> - -<p class="normal">And he went swiftly out. Some hours later, when the sun had -sunk behind the great roof of the Cathedral, when the children were playing -about beneath the spot where the statues were, and when the pigeons were seeking -their niches, those three were eating a hearty meal, all seated on the floor, -since there was neither chair nor table nor bed within the room; a meal -consisting of a loaf, a piece of bacon, and some hard-boiled eggs. The woman and -the child got but a poor share, 'tis true, their portions being the morsels -which Vandecque tossed to them every now and again; while of a wine bottle, -which he constantly applied to his mouth, they got nothing at all. Yet their -hunger was appeased; they were glad enough to do without drink.</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The passing years brought changes to two of these outcasts, as -it did to the wealthy in Paris. Vandecque's wife had died of the small-pox -twelve months after his return; the adopted child, Vandecque's -<i>niece</i>, Mdlle. Vauxcelles, was developing fast into a lovely girl; while -as for Vandecque--well! the gallows bird, the man who had worn the iron collar -round his neck and who bore upon his shoulders the brand, had disappeared, and -in his place had come a grave, sedate person clad always in sombre clothes, yet -a man conspicuous for the purity of his linen and lace and the neatness of his -attire. While, although he had not as yet attained to the splendour of the -Passage du Commerce, his rooms in the Rue du Paon were comfortable and there was -no lack of either food, or drink, or fuel--the three things that the outcast who -has escaped and triumphed over the miseries and memories of the past most seeks -to make sure of in the future.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was known also to great and rich personages now, he had -patrons amongst the nobility and was acquainted with the roués who circled round -the Regent. He was prominent, and, as he frequently told himself, was -"respected."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was a successful man.</p> - -<p class="normal">How he had become so, however, he did not dilate on--or -certainly not on the earlier of his successes after his reappearance!--even when -making those statements about his romantic life with which he occasionally -favoured his friends. Had he done so, he would not, perhaps, have shocked very -much the ears, or morals, of his listeners, but he must, at least, have betrayed -the names of several eminent patrons for whom he had done dirty work in a manner -which might have placed his own ears, if not his life, in danger, and would, -thereby, probably have led to his once more traversing the road to Marseilles or -to Cette--which is almost the same thing--to again partake of the shelter of the -galleys.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet he would never have found or come into contact with these -illustrious patrons, these men who required secret agents to minister to their -private pleasures, had it not been for a stupendous piece of good fortune which -befell him shortly after his return to Paris from the Mediterranean. It was, -indeed, so strange a piece of good fortune that it may well be set down here as -a striking instance of how the Devil takes care of his own.</p> - -<p class="normal">From his late wife he had never been able to obtain any -information as to who "the brat" was whom he had found playing about in the -ashes on the hearth in the garret, when he returned from his period of southern -seclusion; he had not found out even so much as what name she was supposed to -bear, except that of "Laure," which seemed to have been bestowed on the child by -Madame Vandecque on the principle that one name was as good as another by which -to call a child. She had said herself that she did not know anything -further--that, being horribly poor after Vandecque had departed for the south, -she had yielded to the offer of an abbé--now dead--to adopt the girl, -twenty-five louis-d'ors being paid to her for doing so. That was all, she said, -that she knew. But, she added (with a firmness which considerably astonished her -lord and master) that, especially as she had come to love the creature which was -so dependent on her, she meant to carry out her contract and to do her best by -her. To Vandecque's suspicious nature--a nature sharpened by countless acts of -roguery of all kinds--this statement presented itself as a lie, and he believed -that either his wife had received a very much larger sum of money in payment for -the child's adoption than she had stated, or that she was surreptitiously -receiving regular sums of money at intervals on its behalf. Of the two ideas, he -inclined more to the latter than the former, and it was owing to this belief -that he did not at once take steps to disembarrass himself of the burden with -which he found himself saddled, and send the child of at once to the Home of the -Foundlings whence she would eventually have been sold to a beggar for a few -livres and trained to demand alms in the street, as usually happened to deserted -children in the reign of Louis the Great. Later on he was thankful--he told -himself that he was "devoutly thankful"--that he had never done anything of the -sort.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was one day, about a year after his wife's death, mounting -the ricketty stairs which led to the garret in which he had found the woman on -his return, when, to his astonishment, he saw a Sister of Charity standing -outside the door of his room, looking hesitatingly about her, and glancing down -towards him as he ascended to where she was. And it was very evident to him that -the woman had been knocking at his door without receiving any answer to her -summons. This was a thing certain to happen in any case, since it was -Vandecque's habit on quitting his shelter during the day-time to send Laure to -play with all the other vagrant children of the alley, and to put the key in his -pocket. At night, the plan was varied somewhat when he went forth, the girl -being sent to her bed and locked into the room for safety.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame desires--?" he said now, as he reached the landing on -which the sister stood, while taking off his frayed hat to her with an -inimitable gesture of politeness which his varied and "romantic" career had -taught him well enough how to assume when necessary. "Madame desires----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To see the woman, Madame Jasmin," the sister answered, her -grave solemn eyes roving over the man's poor clothes as she answered. Or, -perhaps, since his clothes in such a spot as this would scarcely be out of -place, examining his face with curiosity.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame Jasmin!" he repeated to himself, but to himself -only--"Madame Jasmin!" How long it was since he had heard that name! Ages ago, -it seemed; ages. "Madame Jasmin!" The name his wife had borne as a young widow -of twenty, the name she had parted with for ever, on the morning when she gave -herself to him at the altar of St. Vincent de Paul. Yet, now, of late years, she -seemed to have used it again for some reason, some purpose, and had probably -done so during his retreat. Only--what was that purpose? He must know that.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame Jasmin," he said in a subdued voice--a voice that was -meant to, and perhaps did, express some sorrow for the worn, broken helpmate and -drudge who had gone away and left him, "Madame Jasmin is dead. A year ago. My -poor wife was delicate; our circumstances did not conduce to----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah! your wife. You are, then, Monsieur Jasmin? She doubtless, -therefore--you--you understand why I am here? That I have brought what was -promised."</p> - -<p class="normal">Understanding nothing, utterly astonished, yet with those -consoling words, "I have brought what was promised," sinking deep into his mind, -Vandecque bowed his head acquiescingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I understand," he said. "Understand perfectly. Will not -Madame give herself the trouble to enter my poor abode? We can talk there at our -leisure." And he opened the door and ushered her within.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<h5>A SISTER OF MERCY</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Some betterment of his circumstances must have come to -Vandecque between the time when he had returned from the South and now (how it -had come, whether by villainy or honest labour, if he ever turned his hand to -such a thing, it would be impossible to say), since the garret, though still -poor and miserable, presented a better appearance than it had previously done. -There were, to wit, some chairs in it at this time; cheap common things, yet fit -to sit upon; a table with the pretence of a cloth upon it; also a carpet, with a -pattern that must once have been so splendid that the beholder could but -conclude that it had passed from hand to hand in its descent, until it had at -last' reached this place. A miserable screen also shut off a bed in which, -doubtless, Vandecque reposed, while a large cupboard was fitted up as a small -bedroom, or closet, in which possibly the child slept.</p> - -<p class="normal">In one of these chairs the owner of the room invited his -visitor to be seated, in the other he placed himself, the table between them. -Then, after a pause, while Vandecque's eyes sought again and again those of the -sister's, as though their owner was wondering what the next revelation would be, -the latter recommenced the conversation. She repeated, too, the purport of her -former words, if not the words themselves.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Doubtless Madame Jasmin told you that you might expect my -coming. It has been delayed longer than it should have been. Yet--yet--even in -the circumstances of my--of the person for whom I act--money is not always quite -easy to be obtained," and she looked at Vandecque as though expecting an answer -in assent.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Naturally. Naturally," he made haste to reply, his quick wits -prompting him to understand what that reply should be, while also they told him -that this explanation, coupled with the presence here of the visitor, gave an -almost certain testimony to the fact that the money mentioned had been now -obtained. "Naturally. And--and--it was of no import. Since my poor wife passed -away we have managed to struggle through our existence somehow."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet he would have given those ears which had so often been in -peril of the executioner's knife to know from what possible source any money -could have become due to his late wife. Her first husband had died in almost -poverty, he recalled; they had soon spent what little he had had to leave his -widow. Then, even as he thus pondered, the sister's voice broke in on him again.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is understood that this is the last sum. And that it is -applied, as agreed upon with your late wife, to the proper bringing up and -educating of the child, and to her support by you. You understand that; you give -your promise as a man of honour? Your wife said that you were a -'sailor'--sailors are, I have heard, always honourable men."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I--I was a sailor at the time she took charge of little -Laure. As one--as a man of honour--I promise. She shall have nought to complain -of. And I have come to love her. I--believe me--I have been good to her, as good -as, in my circumstances, I could be."</p> - -<p class="normal">And, knave as Vandecque was, he was speaking the truth now. He -had been good to the child. These two, so strangely brought together, had grown -fond of each other, and the vagabond not only found a place in his heart for the -little thing, but, which was equally as much to the purpose, found for himself a -place in hers. If he had ever seriously thought, in the first days of finding -her in his garret, of sending her to the home for abandoned children, he had -long since forgotten those ideas. He would not have parted with her now for that -possible sum of money which it seemed extremely likely he was going to become -the possessor of for having retained her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not doubt it. Yet, ere I can give you the money, there -are conditions to be complied with. First, I must see the child; next, you must -give me your solemn promise--a promise in writing--that you will conform to my -demands as to the bringing of her up. You will not refuse?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Refuse!" said Vandecque. "Refuse! Madame, what is there to -refuse? That which you demand is that which I have ever intended, not knowing -that you were--not knowing when to expect your coming. Now you have brought the -money--you have brought it, have you not?" speaking a little eagerly (for the -life of him he could not help that eagerness)--"my dearest desire can be -accomplished."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I have brought it," the woman answered. "It is here," -and she took from out her pocket a little canvas sack or bag, that to -Vandecque's eyes looked plump and fat. "It contains the promised sum," she said, -"and it is--should be--enough. With that the child can be fed, clothed, -educated, if you husband it well. Fitted for a decent, if simple, life. You -agree that it is so, Monsieur Jasmin?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Vandecque bowed his head courteously, acquiescingly, while -muttering, "Without doubt it is enough with careful husbanding." Yet, once more -he would have given everything, all he had in the world--though 'twas little -enough--to know what that small canvas bag contained. While, as for acquiescing -in its sufficiency, he would have done that even though it contained but a -handful of silver, as he thought might after all be the case.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take it then," she said, passing it across the table to him, -while the principal thought in Vandecque's mind as she did so was that, -whosoever had chosen this simpleton for his, or her agent, must be a fool, or -one who had but little choice in the selection of a go-between, "and, if you -choose, count the gold; you will find it as promised."</p> - -<p class="normal">Count the gold! So it was gold! A bag full! Some two or three -hundred pieces at least, or he, whose whole life had been spent in getting such -things by hook or by crook, in gambling hells, or by, as that accursed advocate -had said who prosecuted for the King, theft and larceny, or as a coiner, was -unable to form any judgment. And they were his, must be his, now. Were they not -in his own room, to his hand? Even though this idiotic Sister of Charity should -decide to repossess herself of them, what chance would she have of doing so. -Against him, the ex-galley slave. Him! the knave.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet he had to play a part, to reserve his efforts for -something more than this present bag of louis'. If one such was forthcoming, -another might be, in spite of what the foolish woman had said about it being the -last; for were there not such things as spyings and trackings, and the -unearthing of secrets; would there not be, afterwards, such things as the -discovery of some wealthy man or woman's false step? Oh that it might be a -woman's, since they were so much easier to deal with. And then, extortion; -blackmail. Ha! there was a bird somewhere in France that laid golden eggs--that -would lay golden eggs so long as it lived; one that must be nourished and fed -with confidence--at least, at first--not frightened away.</p> - -<p class="normal">He pushed the bag back towards the Sister, remembering he -could wrench it from her again at any moment. With a calm dignity, which might -well have become the most highbred gentleman of the Quartier St. Germain hard -by, he muttered that, as for counting, such an outrage was not to be thought -upon. Also he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame has not seen the child. She stipulated that she should -do so. Had she not thus stipulated, I must myself have requested her to see -her."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he quitted the room, leaving the bag of money lying on -the table, and, descending one or two of the flights of stairs, sent a child -whom he knew, and whom he happened to observe leaving another room, to seek for -little Laure and bid her return at once. At one moment ere he descended he had -thought of turning the key (which he had left outside when he and his visitor -entered the apartment) softly in the lock and thereby preventing her from -escaping; but he remembered that he would be on the stairs between her and the -street, and that he did not mean to go farther than the doorstep. She was safe.</p> - -<p class="normal">He returned, therefore, saying that the child would be with -them shortly. Then to expedite matters (as he said), he asked if it would not be -well for him to sign the receipt as desired? The receipt or promise, as to what -he undertook to perform.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That, too, is here," she replied, while Vandecque's shrewd -eye noticed, even as she spoke, that the bag of louis' lay untouched as he had -left it. "Read it, then sign."</p> - -<p class="normal">He did read it, laughing inwardly to himself meanwhile, though -showing a grave, thoughtful face outwardly, since his sharp intelligence told -him that it was a document of no value whatever. It was made out in the form of -a receipt from Madame Jasmin--who had had no legal existence for twelve years, -and was now dead--to a person whose name was carefully and studiously omitted -from the paper (though that, he knew, would afterwards be filled up) on behalf -of a female child, "styled Laure by the woman Jasmin." A piece of paper, he told -himself, not worth the drop of ink spilt upon it. Or, even though it were so, -not ever likely to be used or produced by the individual who took such pains to -shroud himself, or herself, in mystery. A worthless document, which he would -have signed for a franc, let alone a bag of golden louis.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Aloud, however, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"To make it legal in the eyes of his Majesty's judges, the -name of my dear wife must be altered to that of mine. Shall I do it or will -you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You, if it pleases you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereon Vandecque altered the name of "la femme Jasmin" to -that of "le Sieur Jasmin," householder, since, as he justly remarked aloud, he -was no longer a sailor, and then, with many flourishes--he being a master hand -at penmanship of all kinds--signed beneath the document the words, "Christophe -Jasmin." Christophe was not his name, but, as he said to himself saturninely, no -more was Jasmin, wherefore he might as well assume the one as the other. -Moreover, he reflected that should the paper ever see the light again, it might -be just as well for him to be able to deny the whole name as a part of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">As he finished this portion of the transaction, the door -opened and little Laure came in, hot and flushed with the games she had been -playing with the other <i>gamines</i> of the court, yet with already upon her -face the promise of that beauty which was a few years later to captivate the -hearts of all who saw her, including the Duc Desparre and the English exile, -Walter Clarges. Only, there was as yet no sign upon that face of the melancholy -and sorrow which those later years brought to it as she came to understand the -life her guardian led; to understand, too, the rottenness of the existence by -which she was surrounded. Instead, she was bright and merry as a child of her -years should be, gay and insouciant, not understanding nor foreseeing how dark -an opening to Life's future was hers. As for externals, she was well enough -dressed; better dressed, indeed, than those among whom she mixed. Her little -frock of dark Nimes serge--the almost invariable costume of the lowly in -France--was not a mass of rags and filth, her boots and thread stockings not -altogether a mockery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame sees," Vandecque remarked, as the child ran towards -him with her hands outstretched and her eyes full of gladness, until she -stopped, embarrassed at the sight of the strange lady with the solemn glance; -"Madame sees; she recognises that she need have no fear, no apprehension."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I see." Then, because she was a woman, she called Laure to -her and kissed and fondled the child, muttering, "Poor child; poor little -thing," beneath her breath. And, though she would have shuddered and besought -pardon for days and nights afterwards on her knees, had she recognised what was -passing through her mind, she was in truth uttering maledictions on the mother -who could thus send away for ever from her so gentle and helpless a little -creature as this; who could send her forth to the life she was now leading, to -the life that must be before her.</p> - -<p class="normal">The interview was at an end, and the sister rose from her -seat. As for Vandecque, he would willingly have given half of whatever might be -in that bag of money still lying on the table--his well-acted indifference to -the presence of such a thing preventing him from even casting the most casual -glance at it--could he have dared to ask one question, or throw out one inquiry -as to whom the principal might be in the affair. Yet it was impossible to do so -since he was supposed to know all that his wife had known, while actually not -aware if she herself had been kept in ignorance of the child's connections or, -on the contrary, had been confided in. "If she had only known more," he thought; -"or, knowing more, had only divulged all to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">But she was in her grave now, and, rascal though he had been, -he could not bring himself to curse the poor drudge lying in that grave for -having held her peace against such a man as he was, and knew himself to be. If -she knew all, then, he acknowledged, it was best she should be silent; if she -knew nothing--as he thought most likely--so, also, it was best.</p> - -<p class="normal">But, still, he meant to know himself, if possible, something -about the child's origin. He, at least, was under no promised bond of secrecy -and silence; he had never been confided in. For, to know everything was, he felt -certain, to see a comfortable future unroll itself before him; a future free -from all money troubles--the only discomfort which he could imagine was serious -in this world. The person who had sent that bag of louis'--the woman had said it -contained gold!--he repeated to himself, could doubtless provide many more. He -must know who that person was.</p> - -<p class="normal">With still an easy grace which seemed to be the remnant of a -higher life than that in which he now existed, he held the door open for his -visitor to pass out; with equally easy politeness he followed her down the -ricketty stairs and would have escorted her to the end of the court, or alley, -and afterwards, unknown to her, have followed the simple creature to whatever -portion of Paris she might have gone, never losing sight of his quarry, but -that, at the threshold, she stopped suddenly and bade him come no farther.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It must not be," she said. "Monsieur Jasmin, return. -And--forget not your duty to the child."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment he paused dumfoundered, perceiving that this -simpleton was, in sober truth, no such fool as he had supposed her. Then he -bowed, wished her good day, promising all required of him as he did so, and -retired back into the passage of the house. Nor could any glance thrown through -the crack of the open door aid him farther. He saw her pause at the entrance to -the court, and, standing still, look back for some minutes or so, as though -desirous of observing if he was following her; also, he saw her glance directed -to the window of his room above, as though seeking to discover if he was -glancing out of it; if he had rushed up there to spy upon her.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, a moment later, she was gone from out the entrance to -the court. And, creeping swiftly now to that entrance, and straining his eyes up -and down the long street, he observed that no sign of the woman was visible.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had lost all trace of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">Amidst the hackney coaches and the hucksters' carts, and, -sometimes, a passing carriage of the nobility from the neighbouring Quartier St. -Germain, she had disappeared, leaving no sign behind.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<h5>THE DUKE'S DESIRE</h5> - -<p class="normal">Vandecque never discovered who that woman was, whence she -came, nor where she vanished to. Never, though he brought to bear upon the quest -which he instituted for her an amount of intelligent search that his long -training in all kinds of cunning had well fitted him to put in action. He -watched for days, nay, weeks, in the neighbourhood of the Hospital of Mercy, to -or from which most of the Sisters, who were not engaged in nursing or other acts -of charity elsewhere, passed regularly--yet never, amongst some scores of them -who met his eyes, could he discover the woman he sought. He questioned, too, -those in the court who had been dwelling there when first his wife came to -occupy the garret in which he had found her later, as to whether they could -remember aught of the arrival of the child. He asked questions that produced -nothing satisfactory, since all testified to the truth of that which the poor -woman had so often told him--namely, that the child was brought to her before -she came to this spot. Indeed, he would have questioned Laure herself as to what -she could remember concerning her earliest years, only what use was it to ask -questions of one who had been but an infant, unable even to talk, at the time -the event happened.</p> - -<p class="normal">At last--and after being confronted for months by nothing but -a dense blackness of oblivion which he could not penetrate--he decided that the -woman who had appeared to him as a simple and unsophisticated -<i>religieuse</i>, capable only of blindly and faithfully carrying out the -orders given to her by another person, was, in truth, no Sister of Charity -whatever, but a scheming person who had temporarily assumed the garb she wore as -a disguise. He came also to believe that she herself was Laure's mother, that -she had bound herself in some way to make the payment which he had by such -extreme good fortune become the recipient of, and that, in one thing at least, -she had uttered the actual truth--the actual truth when she had said that those -louis' would be the last forthcoming, that there could never be any more. Had -she not, he recalled to mind, said that such a sum as she brought was not easily -come by, as an excuse for her not having paid them before? Also, had she not -wept a little over the child, folded her to her bosom, and called her "Poor -little thing"? Did not both these things most probably point to the fact that, -judged by the latter actions, she was the girl's mother, and, according to the -statement which preceded it, that she was not a woman of extraordinarily large -means? Had she been so, she would have been both able and willing to pay down -more than five hundred louis' for the hiding of her secret, and would, to have -that secret kept always safely (and also to possess the power of seeing the -child now and again without fear of detection) have been prepared to make fresh -payments from time to time.</p> - -<p class="normal">For five hundred louis' was what the canvas bag had contained. -Five hundred louis', as Vandecque found when, on returning to the garret after -losing sight of the woman at the entrance to the court, he had turned them all -out on to the table. Five hundred louis' exactly, neither more nor less, proving -that the sum was a carefully counted one; doubtless, too, one duly arranged for. -Louis' that were of all kinds, and of the reigns during which they had been in -existence--the original ones of Louis the Just; the more imposing ones of Le Roi -Soleil, with the great sun blazing on the reverse side; the bright, new ones but -recently struck for the present boy-king by order of the Regent; all of which -led the astute Vandecque to conclude that the pile had been long -accumulating--that the first batch might be an old nest egg, or an inheritance; -that the second batch was made up of savings added gradually; that the third had -been got together by hook or by crook, with a determination to complete the full -sum.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet, what matters!" he said, to himself, as he tossed the -gold pieces about in his eager hands, and gloated over them with his greedy -eyes; tossing, too, a double louis d'or of the treacherous Le Juste, which he -had come across, to the child to play with--"what matters where they come from, -how they were gathered together to hide a woman's shame? They are mine now! -Mine! Mine! Mine! A capital! A bank! The foundation of a fortune, carefully -handled! Come, child; come, Laure; come with me. To the <i>fournisseur's</i>, -first; then to the dining rooms. Some new, clean clothes for both of us, and -then a meal to make our hearts dance within us. We are rich, my child; rich, my -little one. Rich! Rich! Rich!"</p> - -<p class="normal">For, to the whilom beggared outcast and galley slave, five -hundred louis' were wealth.</p> - -<p class="normal">Time passed; in truth it seemed that Vandecque was indeed -rich, or growing rich. The garret was left behind; four rooms in the Rue du Paon -preceded by a year or so that apartment in the Passage du Commerce at which he -eventually arrived. Four rooms, one a dining-room, another a parlour, in which -at midnight there came sometimes a score of men to gamble--women sometimes came -too--and a bedroom for each. He was growing well-to-do, his capital accumulating -as capital will accumulate in the hands of the man who always holds the bank and -makes it a stipulation that, on those terms alone, can people gamble beneath his -roof.</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile Laure was fast developing into a woman--was one -almost. She was now seventeen, for she was within a year of the time when the -exile, Walter Clarges, was to whisper the words of suggested salvation in her -ear in the saloon of the demoiselles Montjoie--suggested salvation from her -marriage with Monsieur le Duc Desparre, from his embraces. A beautiful girl, -too, with her sweet hair bound up now about her shapely head, her deep hazel -eyes full and lustrous, calm and pure. Una herself passed no more undefiled -amidst the horrors of Wandering Wood than did Laure Vauxcelles amidst the -gamblers and the dissolute <i>roués</i> who surrounded the court of Philippe le -Débonnaire, and who, ere the games began at night--when occasionally permitted -to see her--found time to cast admiring glances at her wondrous, fast-budding -beauty.</p> - -<p class="normal">The name Vauxcelles was, of course, no more hers than was that -of Laure, which had been given to her by poor Madame Vandecque when first she -took the deserted and discarded waif to her kindly heart. But as Vandecque had -elected to style her his niece, so, too, he decided to give her a name which -would have been that of an actual niece if he had ever had one. He recalled the -fact that he had once possessed an elder sister, now long since dead, who had -married a man from Lorraine whose name was Vauxcelles, and, he being also dead, -the name was bestowed on his <i>protégée</i>. It answered well enough, he told -himself, since Laure had come to his late wife far too early in her life to -remember aught that had preceded her arrival under the roof of the unhappy -woman's earlier garret; and it formed a sufficient answer and explanation to any -questions the girl might ever ask as to her origin. In sober fact, she believed -that she was actually the child of his dead and gone sister and her husband.</p> - -<p class="normal">She would have loved her uncle more dearly than she did--she -would have loved the grave, serious man who had suffered so for his "religion," -as he often told her, but for two things. The first was that she knew him to be -a gambler; that he grew rich by enticing men to his apartments and by winning -their money; that several young men had been ruined beneath their roof, and that -more than one had destroyed himself after such ruin had fallen upon him. She -knew, too, that others stole so as to be able to take part in the faro and -biribi that was played there; to take part, too, in the brilliant society of -those members of the aristocracy who condescended to visit the Rue du Paon and -to win their stolen money. For there sometimes came, amongst others, that most -horrible of young roués, the Duc de Richelieu and Fronsac, from whom the girl -shrank as from a leper, or some noisome reptile; there, too, came De Noailles, -reeking with the impurities of an unclean life; and De Biron, who was almost as -bad. Sometimes also, amongst the women, came the proud De Sabran, who -condescended to be the Regent's "friend," but redeemed herself in her own eyes -by insulting him hourly, and by telling him that, when God had finished making -men and lackeys, He took the remnants of the clay and made Kings and Regents. -Laughing La Phalaris came, too, sometimes; also Madame de Parabère; once the -Regent came himself; leaning heavily on the arm of his Scotch financier, and, -under his astute mathematical calculations, managed to secure a large number of -Vandecque's pistoles, so that the latter cursed inwardly while maintaining -outwardly a face as calm and still as alabaster.</p> - -<p class="normal">An illustrious company was this which met in the ex-galley -slave's apartments!</p> - -<p class="normal">What to Laure was worse than all, however, was that her uncle -sometimes desired her to be agreeable to occasional guests who honoured his -rooms with their presence. Not, it is true, to the dissolute roués nor the -Regent's mistresses--to do the soiled and smirched swindler of bygone days -justice, he respected the girl's innocence and purity too much for that--nor to -those men who were married and from whom there was nothing to be obtained. But -he perceived clearly enough her swift developing beauty; he knew that there, in -that beauty, was a charm so fresh and fascinating that it might well be set as a -stake against a great title, an ancient and proud name, the possession of -enormous wealth. Before loveliness inferior to Laure's, and purity not more -deep--for such would have been impossible--he had known of, heard of, the heads -of the noblest houses in France bowing, while exchanging for the possession of -such charms the right to share their names. What had happened before, he mused, -might well happen again.</p> - -<p class="normal">Laure, the outcast, the outcome of the gutters and the mud, -the abandoned child, might yet live to share a ducal coronet, a name borne with -honour since the days of the early Capets. And, with her, he would mount, too, -go hand in hand, put away for ever a disgraceful past, a past from which he -still feared that some spectre might yet arise to denounce and proclaim him. If -she would only yield to his counsel--only do that! If she only would!</p> - -<p class="normal">Suitors such as he desired were not lacking. One, he was -resolved she should accept by hook or by crook, as he said to himself in his own -phrase. This was the newly succeeded Duc Desparre, the man who a year before had -been serving as an officer on paltry pay in the Regiment de Bellebrune, and -taking part in the Catalonian campaign--the man who, in middle life, had -succeeded to a dukedom which a boy of eighteen had himself succeeded to but a -year before that. But the lad was then already worn out with dissipation which a -sickly constitution, transmitted to him by half-a-dozen equally dissipated -forerunners, was not able to withstand. A cold contracted at a midnight fête -given by the Regent in the gardens of Madame de Parabère's country villa at -Asnieres, had done its work. It had placed in the hands of the soldier who had -nothing but his pay and his bundle of swords (and a few presents occasionally -sent him by an admiring woman), a dukedom, a large estate, a great rent-roll.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was six months before that snowy night on which the -Marquise Grignan de Poissy paid her visit to Monsieur le Duc, that Desparre, -flinging all considerations of family, of an ancient title and a still more -ancient name, to the winds, determined that this girl should be his wife, that -he would buy her with his coronet, since in no other way could she be his.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I desire her. I love her. I will possess her," he said to -himself by night and day; "I will. I must marry her. Curse it, 'tis strange, -too, how her beauty has bound me down; I who have loved so many, yet never -thought of marrying one of them. I, the poor soldier, who had nothing to offer -in exchange for a woman's heart but a wedding ring, and would never give even -that. Now that I am well to do, a great prize, I sacrifice myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet he chuckled, too, as he resolved to make the sacrifice, -recognising that it was not only his love for and desire of possessing this girl -which was egging him on to the determination, but something else as well. The -desire to retaliate upon his numerous kinswomen who had once ignored him, but -who now grovelled at his feet. To wound, as he termed them, the "women of his -tribe," whose doors were mostly shut to the beggarly captain of the Regiment de -Bellebrune, but who, in every case, would have now prostrated themselves before -him with pleasure--the elder ones because there was much of the family wealth -which he might direct towards them and their children eventually, if he so -chose, and also because rumour said that his acquaintanceship with the Regent -and John Law was doubling and trebling that wealth; the younger ones because -there was the title and the coronet and the great position ready to be shared -with some woman. Yet he meant to defeat them all, to retaliate upon them for -past slights. The only share which they should have in any wedding of his would -be the witnessing of it with another woman, and that a woman of whom no one knew -anything beyond the fact that she belonged to the inferior classes, and was the -niece and ward of a man who kept a gambling-house.</p> - -<p class="normal">It would be a great, a stupendous retaliation--a retaliation -he could gloat over and revel in; a repayment for all he had endured in his -earlier days.</p> - -<p class="normal">One thing alone stood in the way of the accomplishment of that -retaliation. Laure Vauxcelles refused absolutely to consent to become the -Duchesse Desparre--indeed, to marry anyone--as Vandecque told Monsieur after he -had well sounded his niece on the subject.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Refuses!" Desparre exclaimed. "Refuses! It is incredible. Is -there any other? That English exile to wit, the man Clarges? If I know aught of -human emotions, he, too, loves her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has refused him also."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet the cases are widely different. He is a beggar; I am -Desparre."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She avers she will marry no one. She has also strange -scruples about this house, about the establishment I keep. She says that from -such a home as this no woman is fit to go forth as a wife."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Her scruples show that she, at least, is fit to do so. -Vandecque, she must be my wife. I am resolved. What pressure can you bring to -bear upon her? Oh! that I, Desparre, should be forced to sue thus!" he broke -off, muttering to himself in his rage.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must think, reflect," Vandecque replied. "Leave it to me. -You are willing to wait, Monsieur?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must have her. She must be my wife."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Leave it to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Monsieur did leave it to him, and, as the autumn drew towards -the winter, Vandecque was able to tell his employer--for such he was--that all -scruples were overcome, that the girl was willing to become his wife. One thing, -however, he did not tell--namely, the influence he had brought to bear upon her, -such influence consisting of the information he had furnished as to her being an -unknown and nameless waif and stray, who, as he said, he had adopted out of -charity. For, naturally enough, he omitted all mention of the bag of louis' d'or -which he had received on her behalf, and also all mention of anything else which -he imagined his wife had previously received. So, when his tale was done, it was -with no astonishment that he heard Laure Vauxcelles announce that she was -willing to become the Duchesse Desparre, since he concluded that, as she had now -learnt who she was--or rather who she was not--she was willing to sink all trace -of what she doubtless considered was a shameful origin in a brilliant future. It -never dawned upon his warped and sordid mind that this very story, while seeming -to induce her to compliance, had, in truth, forced her to a determination to -seek oblivion in a manner far different from that of marriage; an oblivion which -should be utter.</p> - -<p class="normal">As for Desparre, he asked no questions as to how Vandecque had -brought her to that compliance. It was sufficient for him to know, and revel in -the knowledge, that the girl, who moved his middle-aged pulses in a manner in -which they had never been stirred for years before by any woman, was now to be -his possession; sufficient for him also to know that, in so becoming possessed -of her, he would be able to administer a crushing blow to the vanity as well as -the cupidity of the family which had so long ignored him; a blow from which he -thought it was very doubtful if their arrogance could ever recover.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - -<h5>THE DUKE'S BRIDE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The Duc Desparre was making his toilette for his approaching -marriage--about to take place at midday at the church of St. Gervais, which was -conveniently placed between the streets in which his mansion and Vandecque's new -apartments were situated.</p> - -<p class="normal">Strange to say, Monsieur was in a bad temper for such a joyous -occasion, and, in consequence, his valet was passing an extremely bad time. Many -things had conspired to bring about this unfortunate state of affairs, the -foremost of which was that there had been a great fall in the value of -"Mississippians" or "Louisiana" stock, owing to the fact that adverse accounts -were reaching France as to the state of the colony. Some of the settlers, who -had gone out within the last two or three years, had but recently returned and -given the lie to all the flourishing accounts so assiduously put about. There -were, they said, neither gold mines nor silver to be found there, as had been -stated; the Indians, especially the Natchez, were in open warfare with the -French and slaughtering all who came in their way; the soil was unproductive, -marshy and feverous--the colonists were dying by hundreds. Law, the great -promoter of the Louisiana scheme, was a liar, they said, while, La Salle and -Hennepin, the Franciscan monk who had sent home such flourishing accounts to the -late king, were, they added, the same; and so were all who held out any hopes -that Louisiana could ever be aught to France but a suitable place to which to -send its surplus population, there to find death. It is true these wanderers had -been flung into the Bastille for daring to return and promulgate such -statements--but, all the same, those statements had their effect on the funds, -and "Mississippians" had fallen.</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore the Duc Desparre was a poorer man on this, his -wedding morn, than he had been yesterday, by one-half his newly acquired wealth, -and he was in a great state of irritation in consequence. While, also, he -remembered at this moment that Vandecque had had a deal of money from him, none -of which he was ever likely to see the colour of again. So that, altogether, he -was in a very bad humour--and there were other things besides to annoy him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you sent this morning to enquire how Mademoiselle -Vauxcelles is?" he asked of his valet, who at this moment was affixing a patch -to his face. "She has not been well for four days, and has been invisible. I -trust her health is restored. What is the answer?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mademoiselle is better, Monsieur," the man replied, "much -better."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that the answer? No message for me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None was delivered to me from her, Monsieur le Duc. But -Monsieur Vandecque sent his compliments and said he expected you eagerly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did he? Without doubt! Perhaps, too, he expects a little more -money from me." This he whispered to himself. "Well, he will find himself -disappointed. If he requires more he may go seek it at the gambling tables, or -of the devil; he will get nothing further from me. Henceforth it will be -sufficient to have to support his niece."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, his toilet being completed, he asked the valet if the -company were below and the carriages ready to convey them to the church where -the bride was to be met?</p> - -<p class="normal">"They assemble, Monsieur le Duc, they assemble. Already the -distinguished relatives of Monsieur are arriving, and many friends have called -to ask after Monsieur's health this morning, and have proceeded to the church," -while, as the little clock struck eleven in silvery tones, the man added, "If -Monsieur is agreeable it will be well to descend now, perhaps."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So," said Desparre, rising, "I will descend. Yet, before I -go, give me my tablets, let me see that everything has been carried out as I -ordered," while, taking from the servant's hand a little ivory notebook, he -glanced his eye over it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he muttered. "Yes. Humph! Yes. Rosina's allowance to be -paid monthly--ha!--curse her!--yet, otherwise, she would not hold her tongue. -The exempt to sell up the widow Lestrange if she pays not by the 31st. Good! -Good! The outfitters to be told that I will not pay for the new furniture until -the end of the year; ha! but I shall not pay it then, though." And, so, he read -down his tablets until he had gone through all his notes. When, bidding his man -perfume his ruffles and lace pocket-handkerchief, he descended to the salon to -greet his relatives and guests; those dearly beloved relatives, who, he strongly -believed and hoped, were cursing themselves and their fate at this very moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">In spite of their intense disapproval of the union which -Desparre was about to enter into, a union with the niece of a man whose -reputation was of the worst--which really would not have mattered much had he -belonged to the aristocracy!--those relatives had not thought it altogether -advisable to abstain from gracing the impending ceremony with their presence. -For Monsieur was the head of a great house, of their great house, he had -interest unbounded. And he was the Regent's friend. He was almost one of the -most prominent of the roués. What might he not still do for them, in spite of -this atrocious misalliance he was about to perpetrate, if only they kept on -friendly terms with him? Then again, he was, as they supposed, enormously -wealthy, rumour saying that he had made some millions over Law's system--in -which case rumour, as usual, exaggerated--and, above all, he was approaching old -age; he was, and always had been, a dissolute man; there was little likelihood -that he would leave any heirs behind him. And, if so, there would be some fine -pickings for the others. Wherefore they swallowed their disapproval and disgust -of this forthcoming mésalliance and trooped to his house to wish him that joy -which they earnestly hoped he would never experience, notwithstanding that it -was a cruel, bitter winter and that, unfortunately, wedding ceremonies took -place at an hour when most of them were accustomed to be snoring in their beds.</p> - -<p class="normal">These relatives formed a strange group; a strange collection -of beings which, perhaps, no other period than that of the Regency, five years -after the death of Louis XIV., could have produced. There were old women -present, including his paternal aunt, the Dowager Duchesse Desparre, whose lives -had been one long sickening reek of immorality and intrigue under The Great -King; women who, as she had done, had struggled and schemed for that king's -favours--or for what was almost as good, the reputation of having gained those -favours. Women who had betrayed their husbands over and over again, women who -had sinned against those husbands with the latters' own consent, so long as the -deception had aided their fortunes. Yet, withal, their manners were those of the -most perfect ease and grace which the world has ever known, and which are now to -be found only amongst dancing mistresses and masters of ceremonies.</p> - -<p class="normal">Amidst them all, however, the battered, half-worn-out roué -moved with a grace equal to theirs, he having become a very prince of posturers; -while bowing to one old harridan in whose veins ran the blood of crusading -knights and--some whispered--even of Henry of Navarre; kissing the hand of -another who had tapped the late Dauphin on the cheek with her fan when he asked -her if she liked hunting, and had made answer that "innocent pleasures were not -pleasure to her;" leering at a younger female cousin in a manner that might -almost have made the Duc de Richelieu himself jealous, but which did not disturb -the fair recipient of the ogle at all. And he kissed the hand of the Dowager -Duchess with respectful rapture (though once she had refused to let the -impoverished soldier into her house), while he regretted that such a trifle as -his marriage should have brought her forth from her home that morning; he -carried a glass of tokay to one aunt and ordered his servant to hand a cup of -chocolate to another--the distinction being made because the rank of this latter -was not quite so exalted as that of the former.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was revelling in his revenge! And then, suddenly, his face -dropped and he stood staring at the door. Staring, indeed, with so ghastly a -look upon that face that a boon companion of his began to think that, after all, -an apoplectic fit was about to seize him, and that leeches to his head and a -cupping would more likely be his portion than a wedding on that day.</p> - -<p class="normal">For, at the door, was standing Vandecque, alone--and on his -face was a look which told the Duke very plainly that something had happened.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is it?" he muttered, as he came close to him, while -lurching a little in his gait, as the boon companion thought--as though he had -fetters about his feet--and while his words came from his mouth with difficulty. -"Speak. Speak. Curse you! speak. Why are you here when--when--you should be with -her--at--the--church?"</p> - -<p class="normal">And all the time the eyes of the old and young members of his -family were looking at him, and the Dowager Duchess was wondering if the bride -had committed suicide sooner than go to his arms, while the battered hulk who -had been drinking the chocolate was raising the wrinkles in her brow as much as -she dared do without fear of cracking her enamel, and leering at the other -worn-out wreck whose shaking hand held the glass of tokay.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no Duchess yet," she whispered to a neighbour, -through her thin lips, "and my boy, Henri, is second in succession." And again -she leered hideously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Speak, I say," Desparre continued. "Something has happened. I -can see it in your face. Quick."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She--she--is--gone. Escaped. Married," Vandecque stammered. -"Married!" And Desparre's face worked so that Vandecque turned his eyes away -while he muttered. "Alas! Yes. This morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To whom? Tell me. Tell me. I--did--not--know--she had a -lover."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nor I. Yet it appears she had. She loved him all the time. -That Englishman. Walter Clarges."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a click in the Chevalier's throat such as a clock -makes ere it is about to strike, and Vandecque saw the cords twitching in that -throat--after which Desparre gasped, "And I have called them here to see my -triumph!" and then glanced his eyes round his great salon. Then he muttered, -"Married!" and, controlling himself, walked steadily out into the corridor and -to a chair, into which he sank.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Tell me here," he whispered, "here. Where they cannot see my -face, nor look at me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The woman found this in her room when she went to warn her -the time was near. She had no maid; therefore, I had engaged one from the person -who made the bridal dress. It was on her mirror. Look. Read."</p> - -<p class="normal">Desparre took the paper in his hands; they were shaking, but -he forced them to be still; then he glanced at it. It ran:--</p> - -<p class="normal">"I refuse to be sold to the man who would have bought me from -you. Therefore I have sought a lesser evil. I am gone to be married to another -man whom, even though I do not love him, I can respect. An hour hence I shall be -the wife of Monsieur Clarges. He has loved me for a year; now, his love is so -strong, or, I should better say, his nobility is so great, that he sacrifices -himself to save me. God forgive me for accepting the sacrifice, but there was no -other way than death."</p> - -<p class="normal">The Duke's hand fell to his knee while still holding the paper -in it, after which he raised his eyes to the other's face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You suspected nothing; knew nothing of this?" he asked, his -lips still twitching, his eyes half-closed in a way peculiar to him when -agitated or annoyed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing. I swear it. Do you think that, if I had dreamed of -such a catastrophe, I would not have prevented it? It was to you I wished her -married--to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay," Desparre answered, "no doubt. We have worked together in -other things--you--but no matter for that now." Then he raised his half-hidden -eyes to the other. "Where does this man live?" he asked. "I do not know. Yet his -address can be found. There are many to whom he is known. Why do you ask?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why!" and now there was another look in Desparre's face that -Vandecque did not understand. "Why! I will tell you. Yet, stay; ere I do so send -those people all away. Go. Tell them--damn them!--there is no marriage to-day, -nor--for--me--on any other day. Get rid of them. Bid them pack. Then return," -while, rising from the antique chair into which he had dropped in the corridor, -he went slowly into another room, feeling that his feet dragged under him, that -they were heavy as lead.</p> - -<p class="normal">"By night," he murmured, "it will be all over Paris--at -Versailles and St. Germain--the Palais Royal. The Regent will laugh and make -merry over it with La Phalaris--countless women whom I have cast off will be -gloating over it, laughing at the downfall, the humiliation of Desparre--the -fool, Desparre, who had boasted of the trick he was to play on his kinsfolk. <i> -Dieu!</i> to be fooled by this beggar's brat. Yet. Yet. Yet--well! let Orleans -laugh--still--he shall help me to be avenged. He shall. He must. Or--I will tell -my tale, too. Sirac and I know as much as he about the deaths of the Duc and -Duchesse de Bourgogne and the Duc de Bretagne--about the Spanish snuff. Ha! he -must avenge me on these two--he shall."</p> - -<p class="normal">Vandecque came back now, saying that the company was -departing, but that some of the ladies, especially the Dowager Duchess, were -very anxious to see him and express their sympathy. Would he receive them?</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sympathy, faugh! Let them express their sympathy to the -Devil, their master. Now, Vandecque, listen to me. There is but one way of -re-establishing myself in the eyes of Paris. By retaliation, punishment--swift, -hard, unceasing. You understand?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Vandecque nodded.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good. If you did not understand I should have to assist your -memory with reminders of other things--which would have been no more remembered -had all gone well--and of several little matters in your past known to me. -However, you need no reminders such as those, I think."</p> - -<p class="normal">Again Vandecque showed by a nod that such was the case.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good. Therefore, you will assist me to rehabilitate myself. -So. So. Very well. We must begin at once. Because, Vandecque, I am not well, -this has been a great shock to me--and--and, Vandecque, I had a--perhaps it was -an apoplectic seizure six months ago, when--when--I was falsely accused of--but -no matter. I am afraid I may have another ere long. I feel symptoms. My feet are -heavy, my speech is uncertain. I must not leave the thing undone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What," asked the other, "will you do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What!" Desparre paused a moment, and again the twitching came -to his lips; then, when it was over, he went on. "What! Vandecque," speaking -rapidly this time, "do you love your niece at all?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Passably," and he shrugged his shoulders, "she was beloved of -my dead wife, and she was useful. Also, I hoped great things from her marriage."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Those hopes are vanished, Vandecque. So, too, for the matter -of that, is your niece. Therefore, it will not grieve you never to see her -again?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall never see her again. You forget she has a husband."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Vandecque. No! I do not forget. It is that which I am -remembering."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you mean, Monsieur?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Later on you will know. Meanwhile," and he put a finger out -and touched him, "do you love this Englishman, who has spoilt your niece's -chances?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Love him!" exclaimed Vandecque. "Love him! Ah! do I love -him!" while, as he spoke, he looked straight into Desparre's eyes.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - -<h5>MAN AND WIFE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"This," said Walter Clarges, as he thrust open the door, "has -been my home for the last four years. You will find it comfortable enough, I -hope. Let me assist you to remove your cloak and hood."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a large room into which he led his newly-married wife, -situated on the ground floor of an old street, the Rue de la Dauphine, in the -Quartier St. Germain. A room in which a wood fire burnt on this cold wintry day, -and which was furnished sufficiently well--far more so, indeed, than were the -habitations of most of the English refugees in Paris after the "'15." The -furniture, if old and solid, was good of its kind; there were a number of tables -and chairs and a huge lounge, an excellent Segoda carpet on the floor, and a -good deal of that silver placed about, against the sale of which, for gambling -purposes, a strangely stringent law had just been passed in France. On the walls -there were some pictures--one of an English country house, another of a horse, a -third of a lady.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is my mother," Clarges said. "My mother! Shall I ever -see her again? God knows!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She, following him with her eyes as he moved about the room, -could think only of one thing; of the nobility of the sacrifice he had made for -her that morning; the sacrifice of his life. He had married her because it was -the only way to save her from Desparre, the only legal bar he could place -between her and her uncle's desire to sell her to the best bidder who had -appeared. The law, passed by the late King, which accorded to fathers and -guardians the total right to dispose of the hands of their female children and -wards, was terrible in its power; there was no withstanding it. Nothing but a -previous marriage could save those children and wards, and, even if that -marriage had taken place clandestinely, the law punished it heavily. But, punish -severely as it might, it could not undo the marriage. That stood against all.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! Monsieur Clarges," Laure exclaimed, as she sat by the -side of his great fire, the cloak removed from her shoulders, her hood off, and -her beautiful hair, unspoilt by any wig, looped up behind her head. "Oh! -Monsieur Clarges, now it is finished I reproach myself bitterly with the wrong I -have performed against you. I--I----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I beseech you," he said, coming back to where she sat, and -standing in front of her. "I beseech you not to do so. What has been done has -been my own thought; my own suggestion. And you will remember that, when I asked -you to be my wife a year ago and you refused, I told you that, if you would -accept me, I would never force my love on you further than in desiring that I -might serve you. The chance has come for me to do so--I thank God it has -come!--I have had my opportunity. Whatever else may happen, I have been enabled -to save you from the terrible fate you dreaded."</p> - -<p class="normal">He stood as he spoke against the great mantel-shelf, gazing -down at her, and she, while looking up at him in turn, recognised how great was -the nobility of this man. She saw, too, and she wondered now why it struck her -for the first time--struck her as it had never done before--that he was one who -should have but little difficulty in gaining a woman's love if he desired it. -She had always known that he was possessed of good looks, was well-made and -graceful, and had clear-cut, handsome features. Now--perhaps because of what he -had done for her that day, because he had wrecked his existence to save -hers--hers! the existence of an abandoned child, a nameless woman--and had -placed a barrier between him and the love of some honest woman who would make a -home and happiness for him, she thought he seemed more than good-looking; -indeed, he almost seemed in her eyes superb in his dignity and manliness. And -she asked herself, "Why, why could she not have given him the love he craved -for? Why not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was," she said aloud and speaking slowly, while, with -her hands before her on her knees, she twined her fingers together. "There was -no just reason why you should have made this sacrifice for me. I--I refused to -give the love you craved, therefore you were absolved from all consideration of -me. I had no claim on you--no part nor share in your life. Oh! Monsieur," she -broke off, "why tempt me with so noble an opportunity of escape from my -impending fate; why tempt me to avail myself of so great a surrender by you of -all that could make life dear? Especially since I have told you!--thank God, I -told you!--that I am a nameless woman. That I have no past."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hush," he said. "Hush, I beseech you. I loved you a year ago, -and I made my offer--even proffered my terms. You would not accept those terms -then; yet, because the offer was made, I have kept to it. Do you think the story -of your unacknowledged birth and parentage could cause me to alter? Nay!--if I -have saved you, I am content."</p> - -<p class="normal">Still she looked up at him standing there; still, as she gazed -at him who had become her husband, she felt almost appalled at the magnanimity -of his nature. How far above her was this man whose love she had refused; how -great the nobleness of his sacrifice! And--perhaps, because she was a -woman--even as he spoke to her she noticed that he never mentioned the love -which had prompted him to the sacrifice as being in the present, but always as -having been in the past. "I loved you last year," he had said once; not, "I love -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," he went on, seating himself in a chair opposite to her -on the other side of the great fireplace. "Now, let us talk of the future. Of -what we must do. This is what I purpose."</p> - -<p class="normal">She raised her eyes from the fire again and looked at him, -wondering if he was about to suggest that their life should be arranged upon the -ordinary lines of a marriage brought about on the principles of expediency; and, -although she knew it not, there was upon her beautiful face a glance which -testified that her curiosity was aroused.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he went on.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know," he said, "that my own country is closed to me. For -such as I, who, although little more than twenty at the time--for such as those -who were out with the Earl of Mar--there is no return to England, in spite of -the Elector having pardoned many. Nor, indeed, would I have it so. We Clarges -have been followers of the Royal House always. My grandfather fell fighting -against Fairfax and the Puritans; my father was abroad with King Charles II., -and returned with him; I and my elder brother fought for the present King whom, -across the water, they term 'The Pretender.'" He paused a moment, then said, "I -pray I may not weary you. But, without these explanations, the future--our -future--can scarce be provided for."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go on," she said, very gently. Whereupon he continued. -"England is consequently closed to me--for ever. After to-day's work it may be -that France will be, too--and then----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"France, too!" she repeated, startled, "France, too! and -'after to-day's work.' Oh!" and she made a motion as though to rise from her -chair, "what do your words mean? Tell me. Tell me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her suddenly aroused anxiety surprised him somewhat; he -wondered, seeing it, if she feared that, even now, the relief against her fate -which he had provided her with was not sufficient; if still she feared other -troubles. Then, with a slight smile, he continued.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I mean that--forgive me if I have to say so--I may be called -to account for my share in saving you from the Duc Desparre. He is a powerful -man--a favourite with the Regent and the Court--he may endeavour to revenge -himself. I have seen an advocate; I took his advice yesterday so that what I did -this morning I might do with my eyes open, and there is no possible doubt that I -have committed an offence against the law in marrying a ward contrary to her -guardian's will, for which I may be punished."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh! this, too," and he saw that she had -grown very pale, whereupon he hastened to comfort her. "I beseech you," he said, -"have no fear. You are, so the advocate tells me, perfectly free from any -danger; nothing can happen to you----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur!" she cried. Then, under her breath, she muttered, -"So be it! He imagines I fear only for myself. Alas! it is not strange he -should."</p> - -<p class="normal">As she spoke no more after that exclamation, he continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Therefore, since France is now, perhaps, no longer likely to -be more of a home to me than England, this is what I have decided to do. To -leave France for ever--to find another home in another land. To begin a new -life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To begin a new life! Yes?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. A new life. As you know--who can help but know if they -have been in France during the last year or so!--this country is colonising -largely in America; there are great prospects for those who choose to go to the -Mississippi; Louisiana is being peopled by the French; emigrants, planters are -called for largely. If I go there, it is not at all probable that Desparre's -vengeance will follow me; nay, a willing colonist can even get exemption for his -sins committed in France. I intend to take steps for proceeding to the new world -as soon as may be."</p> - -<p class="normal">She bent her head as though to signify that she heard all he -said, yet, even as she did so, there coursed again through her brain the thought -of how she had blasted this man's life. She was driving him forth to a place of -which she had heard the most terrible accounts, a place overrun by savages who -disputed every inch of their native ground against the white man--sometimes, -too, with other white men for their allies--the very countrymen of him who sat -before her. Of herself she thought not at all; if he could endure the hardships -that must be faced, why, she, his wife, could endure them--must endure -them--too. She--but his voice aroused her from her thoughts, and it showed that -for her, at least, there was no likelihood of such endurance being required.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I intend," he was saying, "to take steps for proceeding there -as soon as may be. But, ere I go, your welfare has to be consulted--provided -for. This is what I purpose doing," while, as he spoke, he rose and went towards -a large, firmly-locked bureau that stood in one corner of the room, and came -back bearing in his hand a small iron box which he proceeded to open. "This," he -said, with a smile that seemed to her as she watched him to be a terribly weary -one, "contains all that I have left in the world, except what my mother -contrives at various periods to furnish me with. It is not much now--but -something. There are some four thousand livres here; enough to provide you with -your subsistence for the time being; to assist you in doing what I wish--what I -think best for you to do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What," she asked, still with her eyes fixed on him, "is -that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would be best," he continued, "that, when I am gone, you -should endeavour to make your way to England--to my mother. I shall write to her -at once telling her that I am married, that my future necessitates my going to -Louisiana, and that, out of her love for me, her last remaining child--for my -brother is dead--she will receive you as her daughter. And she will do it, I -know; she will greet you warmly as my wife. Only," and now his voice sank very -low, was very gentle, as he continued, "one thing I must ask. It is that you do -not undeceive her about--the--condition we stand in to one another--that, for -her sake--she is old, and I am very dear to her--you will let her -suppose--that--there is love--some love, at least--between us. If you will so -far consent as to grant me this, it is all--the only demand--I will ever make of -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">He lifted his eyes towards where she sat, not having dared to -glance at her while he made his request, but they did not meet hers in return. -Unseen by him, she had raised her hood as a screen to the side of her face which -was nearest to the logs; that, and her white hand, now hid her features from -him. He could not see aught but that hand. Yet she had to speak, to make some -answer to his request, and, a moment later, she said from behind her hand in a -voice that sounded strangely changed to him:</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you bid me I will do. All that you desire shall be carried -out."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, for a moment, no further word was said by either. -Presently he spoke again. "Desparre is paid what I owe him--what I lost at play. -It will reach him by a safe hand at about the same time he learns that you -are--my wife, not his. And I owe no money now in Paris. All is paid; during the -past two days I have settled my affairs. As for these apartments, when you -desire to set out, do what you will with all that they contain, excepting only -those," and he pointed to the pictures of the country house, the horse, and his -mother. "Those I should not desire to part with. I will take them with me to a -friend. Now, I will summon the concierge; she has orders to attend to all your -wants."</p> - -<p class="normal">She rose as he spoke and turned towards him, and he saw that -there was no colour left in her face; that, in truth, she was deathly pale. Her -eyes, too, he thought were dim--perhaps, from some feeling of regard or -gratitude which might have been awakened in her--and as she spoke her voice -trembled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is this then," she asked, "our parting? Our last farewell?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay. Nay," he said, "not now. Though it will be very soon. -But I shall not leave Paris yet. Some trouble might arise; your uncle may -endeavour to regain possession of you--though that he cannot do, since you are a -married woman and have your lines. I shall stay near you for some days; I shall -even be in this house should you require me. Have no fear. You will be quite -safe. And, when I am assured that all is well with you, we will part; but not -before."</p> - -<p class="normal">He went towards the hall to ring for the woman, but, ere he -could cross to where it was, she stopped him with a motion of her hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stay," she said, "stay. Let me speak now. Monsieur--my -husband--I have heard every word that has fallen from your lips. Monsieur, I -think you are the noblest man to whom ever woman plighted her troth--a troth, -alas! that, as she gave it, she had no thought of carrying out. Oh!" she -exclaimed, raising her eyes, "God forgive me for having accepted this man's -sacrifice. God forgive me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, in a moment, before he had time to form the slightest -suspicion that she meditated any such thing, she had flung herself at his feet, -and, with hands clasped before her, was beseeching him also to pardon her for -having wrecked his life. But, gentle as ever, he raised her from the ground and -placed her again in the seat she had left, beseeching her not to distress -herself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Remember this," he said; "what I did I did out of the love I -bore you when first I sought yours; remember that, though you had no love in -your heart to give me, I had plighted my faith to you. Remember that my duty is -pledged to you; that, if I prosper, as I hope to do, you shall prosper too. Or, -better still, if in years to come this yoke which you took upon yourself galls -too much, and you have no longer any need of it, we will find means to break it. -I will find means to set you free."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To--set--me--free!" she repeated slowly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. Now I will go and seek the concierge. Then I will leave -you until to-morrow. You will, as I have said, be perfectly safe here--perfectly -at liberty. Have no fear, I beg. No one can harm you."</p> - -<p class="normal">The concierge came at his summons and took his orders, he -telling her briefly that the lady would occupy his apartments for a few days, -and that he would use some other rooms at the top of the house which she had for -disposal. Then, when he had seen a light meal brought to her and the woman had -withdrawn, he bade his wife good-night.</p> - -<p class="normal">"In the morning," he said, "I will tell you how my plans are -progressing. I am about now to visit one who is much concerned with the -colonisation of Louisiana, and, indeed, of the whole of the -Mississippi--doubtless I may obtain some useful knowledge from him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And it is to this exile--this life in a savage land--that I -have driven you! You, a gentleman--I, God only knows what," she exclaimed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, nay. In any circumstances I must have gone forth to seek -my living in some distant part of the world. It could not have been long -delayed--as well now as a month or a year later."</p> - -<p class="normal">"At least, you would have gone forth free--free to make a home -for yourself, to have a wife, a----"</p> - -<p class="normal">But he would listen to none of her self reproaches; would not, -indeed, let her utter them. Instead, he held out his hand to her--permitting -himself that one cold act of intimacy--and said, "Farewell. Farewell, for the -present. Farewell until to-morrow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not farewell," she murmured gently, "not farewell No, not -that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it," he answered, commanding himself and forcing back -any thoughts that rose to his mind at what seemed almost a plea from her. "So be -it. Instead, au revoir. We shall meet again."</p> - -<p class="normal">And he went forth.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - -<h5>THE STREET OF THE HOLY APOSTLES</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">When Walter left his wife it was with the intention of -proceeding to the offices of the Louisiana Company, known more generally as Le -Mississippi, situated in the Rue Quincampoix. For, at this exact period, which -was one of a great crisis in the affairs of the "Law System," as it was -universally called, those offices were open day and night, and were besieged by -crowds made up of all classes of the community. Duchess's carriages--the -carriages of women who had made Law the most welcome guest of their salons, who -had petted and actually kissed him--as often as not at the instigation of their -husbands, when they had any--jostled the equally sumptuous carriages of the rich -tradesmen's wives and <i>cocottes</i>, as well as those of footmen who had -suddenly become millionaires; while country people, who had trudged up from -provincial towns and remote villages, rubbed shoulders with broken-down -gentlemen and ladies, who had hoped to grow rich in a moment by the "System." -Broken-down gentlemen and ladies who, after a few months of mirage-like -affluence, were to find themselves plunged into a worse poverty than they had -ever previously known.</p> - -<p class="normal">For, as has been said, the "System" was breaking down, and -France, with all in it, would soon be in a more terrible state of ruin than it -had even been at the time of the death of that stupendous bankrupt and -spendthrift, "Le Grand Monarque."</p> - -<p class="normal">The Bank of France had almost failed--at least it could not -pay its obligations or give cash for its notes, which had been issued to the -amount of two thousand seven hundred million francs, and the Mississippi Company -was approaching the same state; it could neither redeem its bonds nor pay any -interest on them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Therefore all France was in a turmoil, and, naturally, the -turmoil was at its worst in Paris. Law--the creator of the "System" by which so -many had been ruined--had sought safety at the Palais Royal, where the Regent -lived; the gates of the Palais Royal itself were closed against the howling mob -that sought to force an entrance, the streets were given up to anarchy and -confusion. Meanwhile, in the hopes of quelling the tumult, it was being -industriously put about all over Paris that fresh colonists were required to -utilise the rich products of the soil of Louisiana, and that, so teeming was -this soil with all good things for the necessary populating of the colony, that -culprits in the prisons were being sent out in shiploads, with, as a reward for -their emigration, a free pardon and a grant of land on their arrival in America. -And--which was a masterstroke of genius well worthy of John Law--since the -prisons were not considered full enough, innocent people were being arrested -wholesale and on the most flimsy pretences, and thrust into those prisons, only -to be thrust out of them again into the convict ships, and, afterwards, on to -the shores of America.</p> - -<p class="normal">Many writers have spoken truly enough when they have since -said that a light purse dropped into an archer's or an exempt's hands might be -made the instrument of a terrible, as well as a most unjust and inhuman, -vengeance. It was done that night in Paris, and for many more nights, with awful -success. Girls who had jilted men, men who had injured and betrayed women, -successful rivals, faithless wives; a poet whose verses had been preferred to -another's and read before De Parabére or the Duchesse de Berri and her lover and -second husband, the bully, Riom; an elder brother, a hundred others, all -disappeared during those nights of terror and were never seen or heard of again. -Not in France, that is to say, though sometimes (when they lay dying, rotting to -death on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and, in their last faint accents, -would whisper how they had been trapped and sent to this spot where pestilence -and famine reeked) those who listened to them shuddered and believed their -story. For many of those who so listened had been victims of a similar plot.</p> - -<p class="normal">Down the street which led to the Rue de la Dauphine--one which -rejoiced in the name of the Rue des Saints Apostoliques--there came, at almost -the same moment when Walter Clarges quitted his wife, a band of men. Of them, -all were armed, some, the archers and the exempts,<a name="div4Ref_02" href="#div4_02"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -being so by virtue of their duty of arresting troublesome people, especially -drunkards and brawlers of both sexes, while two others walking behind wore the -ordinary rapier carried by people of position. These two were Desparre and -Vandecque. Inclusive of archers and exempts the band numbered six.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We may take them together," Desparre whispered in his -comrade's ear, "in which case so much the best. I imagine the English dog will -show fight."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Without doubt! When was there ever an Englishman who did not? -Yet, what matter! These fellows," and Vandecque's eye indicated that he referred -to the attendants, "will have to seize on him, we but to issue orders. Now," and -he turned to the fellows mentioned, "we near the street where the birds are. You -understand," addressing the man who seemed to be the leader, "what is to be -done?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We understand," the man replied, though the answer was a -husky one, as if he had been drinking. "We understand. Take them both, without -injury if possible, then away with them to the prisons. She to St. -Martin-des-Champs, he to La Bastille. Ha! la Bastille. The kindly mother, the -gracious hostess! My faith! Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," answered Vandecque. "Without injury, as you say, if -possible. But, remember, you are paid well for what you may have to do; -remember, too, the man is an Englishman; he has been a soldier and fought -against the King of England for that other whom he calls the King; he will show -his teeth. He is but newly married--this day--he will not willingly exchange the -warm embraces of his beautiful young wife" (and as he spoke he could not resist -looking at Desparre out of the side of his eye) "for a bed of straw. You must be -prepared--for--for--well, for difficulties."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We are prepared--I hope your purse is. We are near the -spot--we should desire to have the earnest before we begin. While as for -difficulties, why, if he makes any, we must----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Kill him--dead!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The man started and looked round, appalled by the voice that -hissed in his ear. Yet he should have recognised it, since he had heard it -before that evening, though, perhaps, with scarcely so much venom in its shaking -tones then. And, as he saw Desparre's face close to his, he drew back a little, -while almost shuddering. There was something in the glance, in the half-closed -eyelids--the eyes glittering through them--that unnerved him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead," hissed Desparre again. "Dead." And he put forth his -hand and laid it on the archer's sleeve, and clutched at his arm through that -sleeve so that the man winced with pain, as a moment before he had winced, or -almost winced, from a feeling of creepiness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead," Desparre repeated.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mon Dieu!" the man said, raising his hand to his forehead and -brushing it across the latter, "we know our business, monsieur; no need to -instruct us in it. Though as for killing, that is not our account as a rule----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Peace," interrupted Desparre, "here is the reward. Hold out -your hand."</p> - -<p class="normal">The man did as he was bid, and, in the light of a seven -nights' old moon that, by now, overtopped the roofs of the houses, Desparre -counted out twenty gold louis' d'or (rare enough at that moment, when all France -was deluged with worthless paper; coins to be kept carefully and made much of!) -into his hand, and twenty more into the hands of the principal exempt. Yet his -own hand shook so that each of the vagabonds raised his eyes to his face and -then withdrew them swiftly. They liked the look of the money better than the -appearance of the features of the man who was paying it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, suddenly, he started as he dropped the last piece into -the exempt's palm--while the latter, looking up again at Desparre, saw his eyes -staring down the street to the further end of it--though, at the same time, -there was a glance in them as if he were staring into vacancy. Yet, in truth, -they were fixed on a very palpable object--the form of a man passing swiftly up -the street of the Holy Apostles.</p> - -<p class="normal">The form of Walter Clarges!</p> - -<p class="normal">"See," Desparre whispered to Vandecque. "See. He comes. Ha! he -has left her alone. So! 'tis better." Then he turned to the Archers and Exempts -and muttered low: "There! There is the man. Coming towards us. I would slay him -myself--I could do it easily with the secret thrust I know of," he whispered, -"but I must risk nothing--till--I--have--seen--her."</p> - -<p class="normal">While, as he spoke, he moved off to the other side of the -street and withdrew into the porch, or stoop, of a door, wrapping his roquelaure -around him. Yet, as the fellows drew themselves together and prepared to seize -on the man advancing towards them, they heard his voice send forth another -whisper from within that porch.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know your office. Do it. And if he resists--slay him."</p> - -<p class="normal">Approaching, Walter Clarges saw the group of men standing in -the roadside close up by the footway, while, because of the troubles and -turmoils in the streets, as well as because he knew well enough of the -lawlessness that prevailed that night, he let his left hand fall under his cloak -on to the hilt of his sword, and thus loosened the blade in its sheath, so that -it should be ready for his right to draw if necessary. Then, a moment later, he -saw Vandecque's figure in front of the others, and, recognising his features in -the gleam of the moon, nerved himself for an encounter. Though, even now, he -scarcely knew what form that encounter might take.</p> - -<p class="normal">"So," Vandecque exclaimed, "we have found you! That is well, -and may save trouble. Monsieur Clarges, you will have to go with us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed! On what authority? State it quickly and briefly. I -have no time to spare."</p> - -<p class="normal">"On the authority of the guardian of the woman whom you have -removed from his custody and married. The law has a punishment for that to which -you will have to submit."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Possibly. Meanwhile, your warrant for my arrest and -detention."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The warrant is made out. I----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Show it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall not show it. It is sufficient for that later on. -Meanwhile, I warn you--come without resistance or we must resort to force. These -men are archers and exempts, if you resist them they will seize upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let them begin. I am ready," and, as he spoke, his sword had -leaped from its sheath and was glittering before their eyes in an instant.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Begin," he repeated, "or stand back. My time is precious."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is against the law that you contend. I warn you," -Vandecque called out excitedly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it. It is for my freedom I contend. Whether it be -either the law or Vandecque, the sharper and swindler who embodies that law, I -care not. Let me pass, fellow," speaking impatiently, "or 'tis I who will -commence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fall on," exclaimed Vandecque, "and do your duty. Seize on -him."</p> - -<p class="normal">'Twas easier said than done, however, as those five men found -when once they were engaged with the Englishman--well armed as they were. The -rapier wielded by Clarges seemed to have, indeed, the power of five swords; it -was everywhere--under their guard, perilously near their lungs, through one -man's throat already--a man who now lay choking on the ground. Moreover, Clarges -had had time to wind his cloak swiftly round his left arm, and, with that arm -bent, to ward off several of their attacks. Nor was this difficult, since all -were not armed as well as he. The exempts had short swords of the cutlass order, -which would cut heavily but administer no thrust; the archers had rapiers, or, -rather, long thin tucks, which were more deadly--Vandecque had a weapon as good -as Clarge's own. Already it had lunged twice at his breast--and hate had added, -perhaps, an extra force to those thrusts (for Vandecque was undone by the -marriage that had taken place that morning), and had twice been parried. Yet as -Clarges knew, he was spared but for a few moments; his fate was but postponed. -Against that rapier and the remaining blades--unless he could kill the wielders -of the latter, and so stand face to face with Vandecque alone--he had no hope. -The swordsman never lived yet who could encounter four others--for the man on -the ground was disposed of--and keep them at bay for longer than a few moments.</p> - -<p class="normal">He knew his end was at hand; at every moment he expected the -sharp thrust of the rapier through his body, or the heavy swinging blow that -would cleave his head in half. He knew one or the other must come, yet he fought -hard against the odds, with his back against the house behind him, his teeth -clenched, his breath coming faster and faster from his lungs. And, all beset as -he was, knowing that death was near at hand, he whispered to himself "for her, -for her."</p> - -<p class="normal">Though once he thought, "'Tis better so, far better. Thus her -way is clear, and she is free of me."</p> - -<p class="normal">He forgot--he was mercifully permitted to forget for a moment -that, free of him, she would still be open to Desparre's designs again, and -might still be forced to marry him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, a moment later, the recollection of this sprang swiftly -as a lightning flash to his mind. He must live for her, he must not be slain and -thereby set her free for Desparre.</p> - -<p class="normal">Nerved afresh to his task by this memory, he fought with -renewed energy--fought like a tiger at bay, determined that, even though he -fell, he would not fall alone; that he would have some more companions on the -dark road he must go, as well as the man now dead at his feet.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Two," he muttered through his set teeth as, darting like an -adder's fang, his rapier passed through a second man's breast-bone when, with a -yell of agony, the archer fell at his feet. "Two. Who next?"</p> - -<p class="normal">But still there were three to contend with, Vandecque, an -archer, and an exempt. And these two were raining blows at him, while the -gambler's sword was making pass after pass--it being caught once in the folds of -the cloak over his left arm and missing once his left breast by an inch, while -ripping open the coat and waistcoat as it darted by. Then, as he warded off -another swinging blow from the archer's weapon, he knew the time had come. His -rapier was cleft in twain by the heavier metal of the other blade--his hand held -nothing but the hilt and a few inches of sundered steel.</p> - -<p class="normal">With a fierce exclamation he flung himself full at the man who -had disabled him, seized him by the throat ere he could swing his cutlass again, -and dashed with awful force the remnant of his sword in his face, inflicting a -frightful wound and battering the features into an unrecognisable mass.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, as he did so, he uttered a terrible moan himself and -reeled back heavily against the wall, sliding a moment after down it and rolling -to the ground. Vandecque's rapier was through his left lung, an inch below the -shoulder. The fight was finished.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is he dead?" that ruffian heard a harsh, raucous voice -whisper as he drew his sword from the other's body. "Is he dead?" while, -turning, he saw the cadaverous face of Desparre peering over his shoulder at -their victim.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead," he replied breathlessly. "Mon Dieu! I hope so. Were he -not, we should all have been dead ourselves ere long. And then--then--he might -have found you out in your hiding-hole."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - -<h5>ALONE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Laure scarcely moved for an hour after Walter had left her, -but still sat upon the couch, gazing into the wood fire--musing always.</p> - -<p class="normal">Sometimes on the sacrifice this man had made; more often on -the profound depths of that sacrifice.</p> - -<p class="normal">For it had in its depth that which she had never dreamed of; -it had taken a shape she had never looked for.</p> - -<p class="normal">When he brought her to this apartment she had supposed that, -from this day, there was to commence a loveless life such as was so often -witnessed in the marriages of convenience with which she was familiar enough in -Paris; she had, indeed, told herself that she had escaped one sacrifice only to -become the victim of another.</p> - -<p class="normal">She had escaped Desparre, only to become tied to this -Englishman for ever; an escape for the better, it was true, since he was young -and manly, while Desparre was old and--worse--depraved. But, still, a sacrifice.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, never had she dreamt of aught like this: of a marriage -gone through by him which was, in truth, all a sacrifice on his part but none on -hers. For he was bound to her for ever, and he asked nothing from her in return. -Not so much as a word of love, a look, a thought; nothing! Nothing, though he -knew by her confession that she was a nameless, an abandoned child: the -offspring of Shame! Yet he had taken her for his wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">As she meditated upon it all, her eyes still watching the logs -as they smouldered on the hearth, there rose into her mind a reflection -which--because she was a woman--was more painful than any that had previously -possessed it. The thought that this was no marriage of love on his part, no -clutching by him at the one opportunity that had arisen of gaining her for his -wife, and, with that gain, the other opportunity of, in time, drawing her to -him, but, instead, was simply the fulfilment of a word promised and given a year -ago, the redemption of that which was in his eyes as a bond. He had told her -once--a year ago--that all he asked was to be allowed to be her servant, her -champion, her sentinel; and now the opportunity had come to prove his word. That -was all! And she, reflecting, recalling other Englishmen whom she had met or -heard of, who were living a life of exile in Paris, remembered how they all -prided themselves above aught else upon the sacredness with which they regarded -their word when once passed--how, amongst all other men, they were renowned for -keeping that word. He would have kept his, she thought sorrowfully, with any -other woman as equally well as with her, simply because he had given it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Why the tears dropped from her eyes as she still mused and -still gazed into the dying embers, she could scarcely have told herself; all she -did know was that, gradually, a resolve was forming in her heart, a -determination that all the nobility should not be with him alone. On her side -also there should be, not a sacrifice--remembering what she was, she dared not -deem it that--but, at least, a reciprocity. If he loved her still, if what he -had done had not been prompted alone by that sense of honour which governed all -his countrymen's actions, then he should have the reward that was his due. True -or false as the statement might be, she would declare that she loved him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not?" she whispered to herself. "Why not? Whom have I -ever seen or known more worthy of my love? Ah!" she murmured, "return, return, -my husband, that I, too, may make confession."</p> - -<p class="normal">The winter night was come now, though from the churches near -by the hour of five was but striking. The Rue de la Dauphine was very still, -while yet, from a distance, there came the hum of many noises. She knew that -Paris was in a feverous state at this time, that Law's bubble was bursting, that -the Regent's popularity was gone, that the boy-king's throne was in danger. And -the archers, and the exempts, and provost-marshal's guards were in these -streets, carrying off the turbulent ones to the many prisons of Paris, shooting -them down sometimes--as the report of a discharged carbine now and again -testified--clubbing them and beating out their brains as the most sure way of -preventing resistance.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, amidst this distant noise which sometimes disturbed the -quiet street at intervals, her ears caught now a footstep outside the door--the -footsteps, indeed, of more than one person, as well as a whispering that mixed -itself and mingled with her own murmur of "Return, my husband." So that she -wondered if her wish was granted, if he had returned, and was giving the -concierge further orders in a low tone that she might not be disturbed; or if he -was saying "Good night" to some friends--perhaps to those two other Englishmen -who that day had witnessed their marriage.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the door opened, and a man came in. A man who was not her -husband, but, instead, he who expected to have been that husband--the Duc -Desparre!</p> - -<p class="normal">With a cry--a gasp that was half a shriek--she rose and stood -facing him, the table, to one side of which he had advanced, being between them. -Facing him, with her hand upon her heart,</p> - -<p class="normal">"You!" she exclaimed. "You here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Even as she spoke she wondered what possessed, what ailed the -man; he was so changed since the time when last she had seen him. He had thrown -back the cloak in which he had been muffled against the wintry air; while, -because the habits of the courtier and the gentleman--or, at least, the -well-bred man--were strong upon him, he had also removed his hat. He had come, -he stood before her, she knew and felt, as an avenger; but he had been of the -great Louis' time and the instincts of that period could not be put aside or -forgotten.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet his appearance, the change which she noticed in him since -they had last met and she had listened to his hateful wooing, was terrible. His -face was white and drawn; the lines left by a dissolute life, perhaps also by -the rough life of a soldier--lines which had always been strong and -distinct--showed more plainly now; the eyes glistened horribly. But, worse than -all, more terrifying to behold than aught else, were the twitchings of the -muscles of his face and the shaking of the long brown hand which was lifted now -and again to that face, as though to still the movement of his lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he said, and she started as he spoke, for the voice of -the man was changed also; had she not stood before him she would scarce, she -thought, have known to whom it belonged. "Yes. We had to meet again, -Laure--Madame Clarges. To meet again. Once. Once more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why?" she gasped. In truth, the girl was appalled, not only -by his presence there, but by his dreadful appearance, his indistinct, raucous -voice and shaking hands.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why! You ask why? Have you forgotten? -We--were--to--have--been--made--man and wife--this morning. Yet----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"By no consent of mine," she cried, interrupting him and -speaking rapidly, "but of him--my uncle, my guardian. God! my guardian! My -guardian!" Then she continued, more calmly, "Yes, we were to have been married -thus: I to be sold; you to buy. Only, I did not choose it should be so. -Instead----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Instead," he replied, interrupting in his turn, "you married -another--thereby to escape me. I--I--hope--you do not love him very dearly. Not, -for--instance, more than, than you loved me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment she paused ere answering, wondering dimly what -lay beneath his words, what threat was implied in them; but, still, with a -feeling of happiness unspeakable that now, at this moment, her opportunity had -come to fulfil some part of that reciprocity she had resolved on. Even though -he, her husband, could not hear the words, she uttered them plainly, distinctly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your hope is vain. I love my husband."</p> - -<p class="normal">His shaking hand, clutching now at the table, shook even more -than before. For some time he essayed ineffectually to speak. Then, as once more -he appeared to be obtaining the mastery over his voice, she resumed:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why do you come here? What do you require? Between us there -is nothing in common. Nothing. You had best leave me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not yet. There is something further to be said--to be done."</p> - -<p class="normal">And now he mastered himself with some great effort, so that, -for a time, he was coherent, intelligible; and continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen," he said. "You did not love me. I knew that well -enough, I cared little enough upon that score. Yet I needed a wife; it pleased -me--for a reason other than your beauty--to select you. I announced to all whom -it concerned that I had done so. As for love, that had little part or parcel in -the matter. There was no more love--passion is not love--in my heart for you -than in yours for me. I have passed the time for loving any woman; but----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, then," she asked, gazing at him, "seek me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because I am the bearer of a great name, a great fortune. -Because I despised the members of my family--they are all intriguing harridans -who formerly despised me. Because I sought a woman at once beautiful, yet lowly, -who should arouse equally their envy and their hate; who should sting these -women to madness with mortification. That is why I selected you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You may now select another," she replied coldly. "Doubtless -there are many to whom the holder of so great a name, so great a fortune, will -prove acceptable."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall not select another. Meanwhile, you have flouted me, -exposed me to the ridicule of the whole court--me, Desparre--of the whole of -Paris! Do you think that is to be quickly forgotten, overlooked? Do you think -that I, Desparre, will do either?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must do what seems best to you," she said, still coldly. -"Monsieur le Duc, I am not your wife. What you may choose to do is of absolute -indifference to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">He became, if such a thing were possible, more white than -before. Once his eye glanced at a chair close by as though he felt he must drop -into it; yet he forbore. Instead, planting both his shaking hands on the table, -he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The trick was clever that you played. Yet--as you should -know, you who haunted the gambling-hells of Paris with your precious -guardian--you should know that, however clever a trickster may be, there is -generally one to be found who is his master. Always. Always. He always finds his -master, does that trickster. Shall I tell you of a cleverer trick than yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What--what do you mean?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Attend. You hear that noise in the next street; do you know -what it is? It is the archers and the exempts carrying of people to prison who -are supposed to be insurgents, uprisers against the King, the Regent--the -'System.' Many of those persons are quite innocent, they are simply passers-by -seeking their homes. Still, they have, some of them, enemies, people whom they -have wronged, perhaps even inadvertently; yet the wronged ones have now their -hour. A purse--a very light one--dropped into an archer's or an exempt's -hands--a hint--a name--an address--and--that is all! To-night the prisons, La -Force, La Pitié, La Tournelle--the Bastille; to-morrow the false accusations--a -month later the wheel, or, at best, the Mississippi, the Colonies. And--and--my -purse is not light."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Devil!" she murmured. "Devil incarnate!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, an aroused one. Yet, 'tis your own doing. You should have -thought, you should have reflected. Desparre's name was known in those choice -circles which you and Vandecque affected--in your own gambling hell. Had you -ever heard it coupled with so weak a quality as forgiveness for an insult, a -slight? Nay, madame, nay! None can prevent either insult or slight being -offered--it is only the weak and powerless who do not retaliate. And I, -Desparre, am neither." While, once more, as he spoke, the twitchings of his face -presented a terrible sight.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You mean," she said, staring at him as one stares who is -fascinated by some horror from which, appalling as it is, the eyes cannot be -withdrawn, "you mean that this retaliation is to be visited on me. On me--or, -perhaps, one other. The man who enabled me to escape you--on my husband?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I mean precisely that. On you. Yet without my purse's weight -being much tested, either. For against you, madame, I have legal claims that -will, I fear, prevent you from enjoying your new-found happiness for some time, -even were your husband able to share it with you, which he is not----"</p> - -<p class="normal">He stopped. For as he uttered those last words, "which he is -not," she had moved from the position in which she had stood all through the -interview; she had quitted that barricade which the table made between them; she -was advancing slowly round it to him. In her eyes there was a light that -terrified him; on her face a look at which he trembled more than even his rage -and unstrung nerves had previously caused him to do. For, now, he saw that the -victim was an equal foe--that the aroused woman had changed places with him and -was calling him to account, instead of being called to account herself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Speak!" she said; her voice low, yet clear, her eyes blazing, -her whole frame rigid, "speak. Have done with equivocation, with hints and -threats. Speak, villain. Answer me." While, as she herself spoke, she raised her -hand and pointed it at him. "You say he cannot share my new-found happiness with -me. Answer me! Why can he not? Two hours ago he was here, with me, in this room. -Where is he now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Standing before her, his eyes peering at her--ghastly, -horrible; upon his face a look that was half a leer and half a snarl, he essayed -to tell her that which he had come to say. Yet, at first, he could utter no -word--almost it seemed to him as though he was suffocating, as though his gall -were rising and choking him. Yet, still, there was the woman before him, close -to him, her hand outstretched, her eyes glaring into his. Again, too, he heard -her words:</p> - -<p class="normal">"My husband! Villain! Scoundrel! Answer me. Where is my -husband?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Then his voice came to him, though it seemed to her as though -it was the voice of one whom she had never known. At last he spoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is dead," he said, "Half an hour ago. Slain by my orders. -Dead. My wrong, my humiliation is avenged."</p> - -<p class="normal">With a cry she sprang at him, frenzied, maddened at his words; -her hands at his throat, as though she would throttle him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Murderer!" she shrieked. "Murderer! By your orders--By your -orders--By----"</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, even as she spoke, the shaking assassin before her seemed -to vanish from her sight, the room swam before her and became darkened; with a -moan she sank swooning to the floor, forgetting, oblivious of, all.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come in," said Monsieur le Duc a moment later, as he opened -the door and showed a white face to those waiting without. "Come in. She is -quite harmless. Now is your time."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - -<h5>THE PRISON OF ST MARTIN DES CHAMPS</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The agreeable ceremony of marrying the prisoners to one -another, ere despatching them to Louisiana as convicts, was going on rapidly in -the yard of the Prison of St. Martin des Champs on a sunny morning of the May -which followed the ruin of Law's system; the paternal government being under the -impression that it was far better for moral purposes--always matters of great -importance in France!--that the new tillers of the soil should go out as married -couples.</p> - -<p class="normal">Moreover, the Government were a little embarrassed as to what -they should do with all the convicts with which the numerous prisons of Paris -were stuffed, since, at this period, there was no opportunity of drafting the -men off into regiments, nor of utilising the services of the women. France was -ruined--consequently she was not at war just now with any Power--while she had -no money with which to keep her convicts hard at work. But (the idea having -entered Law's fertile brain ere he prepared to flee) it was thought that -Louisiana might still be made of some service to the Mother Country if her soil -could be utilised, and, since there were no capitalists left of the original -order and, if there had been, none who would embark their capital in that -region, the Government had decided on peopling the place with fresh batches of -convicts. Thus they attained a double object; they emptied their prisons and -they provided a population for New France--a population which, since it was free -and absolved from all further punishment of its past crimes, might, on reaching -the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, flourish and do well, or, since both the -Indians and the neighbouring English colonists were very troublesome, might be -swept off the face of the earth. But, even in the event of such a lamentable -catastrophe as this, they would, after all, be only ex-convicts whose loss could -be supplied by fresh relays.</p> - -<p class="normal">Now, on this morning, it had come to the turn of the Prison of -St. Martin des Champs to be relieved of some of its inhabitants, while, previous -to their despatch to La Rochelle, and, in some cases, even Marseilles, Toulon, -and Cette (to which places they would have to walk in chain-gangs, thereby to -reach the convict transports), the marriage ceremony was taking place between -those who were willing to be united together, and the governor and the chaplain -were both in the yard ready to officiate at the ceremony.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen," said the chaplain, addressing the gaol birds who -were blinking in the rays of the bright morning sun--an unaccustomed sight to -them, since many of their numbers had been for months buried in dark underground -cells, attached each to a block of wood by the humane process of having a chain -passed round their throats which was stapled on to the beam behind. "Listen, -while I expound to you the law by which you now practically become free men and -women once more." While, as he spoke, he turned his eyes and bobbed his head to -the right where the men were huddled together, and to the left where the women -were. "Free to become wealthy colonists and planters; married men and women -instead of cutpurses and outcasts, or lost women. Listen, I say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Ohé!</i>" muttered one of the women, while almost all the -others laughed and grimaced, except two or three who scowled at the chaplain and -the governor and ground their teeth savagely together. "<i>Ohé!</i> -hark to him. Lost women! Think of that! The rogue! Who knows more of such -unhappy ones than the reverend father? Mon Dieu My sisters! You remember?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Silence," bellowed the chaplain, who seemed a more important -man than the governor at this juncture, "silence, and listen to the law as -expounded by me and passed," the latter part of the sentence being delivered as -though of secondary importance--"by his Highness the Regent. This is it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, having cleared his throat, he began again:----</p> - -<p class="normal">"All who leave by the transport ships from La Rochelle, -Marseilles, Cette, Toulon, Dunkirk, or Brest go forth as prisoners already -pardoned and absolved from a shameful yet well-deserved death; absolved and -pardoned from that most meritorious penalty, I say, yet still prisoners and -convicts. Yet, now, see what a noble and forgiving Government does for you all, -fruit of the Abbey of Mount Regret<a name="div4Ref_03" href="#div4_03"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -as you are. As you step upon the shores of New France your chains will fall away -from you; you will be free; you will become honourable citizens once more of the -noblest country in the world, with a vast continent before you on which Nature -has poured out her most bounteous treasures--all for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But how to obtain them, Roger, my friend?" screamed a -bold-faced, black-eyed young woman, who had evidently known the chaplain under -other circumstances than the present. "Tell us that," and she laughed a strident -laugh.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Silence, wretch," again bawled the chaplain, whereat the -woman laughed once more derisively. "Silence, creature. It is to tell you -this--and for other things--that I am here after a night of fasting and prayer. -On landing, to each man will be allotted plots of the most excellent fertile -ground, either on the banks of the Mississippi, the Fiore, the Ste. Susanne, the -Trinité, or the Boca-Chica rivers." All these names he read from a paper in his -hand. "To each married couple--remember this, you abandoned ones, who have -hitherto despised and scoffed at the holy bonds of matrimony, into which I now -invite you who are still unwed to enter--a treble plot. Also tools for husbandry -and the building of houses, barns, and sheds. Also," he went on with great -volubility, still glancing at the paper in his hand, "a musket to each man, a -sufficiency of powder and shot for the slaying of wild beasts; though not those -of your own kind," he added, remembering, doubtless, their proclivities. Then, -his recollection of their lawless natures prompting him again, he also added. -"For if you slay one another you will undoubtedly be executed. Therefore, take -heed, and if the beasts of the forest offer not sufficient killing to your -murderous and unregenerate natures, why! assist in exterminating the natives -who, being not yet baptised and received into the bosom of our Holy Mother -Church, are not to be accounted human. Then, there are the English from -neighbouring settlements who war with and dispute the power of France in their -insolence. Those, too, you may slay and despatch--if--if they give you fair -cause, which undoubtedly their fierce and brutal nature will prompt them to do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But how to live?" asked one man, an enormous and -cruel-looking ruffian; "how to live, Father Roger, until the land yields the -wherewithal?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen, and you will learn. On arriving, you will be sent to -that noble town now rising as a monument of France's greatness; the town of new -Orleans, so named after our pious and illustrious Regent. 'Tis but eighteen -miles from where you will land, if the captains of the transports arrive at the -proper spot; a morning's walk. There you may earn money by assisting in laying -out the streets, building the houses, making yourself useful. Work half the day -at this, devote the other half to attending to your allotted settlements, if -they are near at hand; otherwise, if they are afar off, work one week at New -Orleans, another at your plantations; and, thereby, shall you grow rich and -prosperous. 'Tis not hard to do, and, if it is, why, 'tis better than a roadside -gallows, a prison cell, or the wheel--any of which you have all deserved."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whether he knew what he was talking about, or whether he knew -how impracticable were the schemes he propounded, cannot be told. It was -sufficient that, at least, the vagabonds before him knew no better than he did, -and, at any rate, he spoke truly in one particular--to whatever life they went -forth, it must be better than death on the gallows or the wheel. And as they -listened, they told each other that, at the worst, they would be free and at -liberty to commence a new life of preying on their fellow creatures, if there -were any worth preying on.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," the chaplain continued hastily, for a glance at the -prison clock showed him that the time for his midday meal was approaching--a -meal at which he generally ate heartily, since, from various causes, he was ever -a poor breakfaster; "now for the holy and irrevocable bond of marriage to which -I invite you to enter, so that, thereby, you shall all lead a life of propriety -and decency--which, as yet, none of you have ever done!--and shall also increase -the population of New France. Therefore, stand forth, first, all you who are -agreed on marriage; after which those who are not yet affianced unto one another -can select spouses according to their tastes. Stand forth, I say, you who are -agreed."</p> - -<p class="normal">Forth, at his bidding they came, many of them having already -decided on becoming united, since it seemed that those who were married might -derive more advantage from their emigration than those who were single; and -because, also, all in their own minds had decided that, once in the foreign land -to which they were going, the tie might easily be broken if they got sick of it. -Therefore they stood before him, ready.</p> - -<p class="normal">They were a strange, vile-looking crowd, such as, perhaps, no -other state of society but that which prevailed in the last days of the Regency -of Philip of Orleans could have produced. All were not of the lowest orders; -some there were who had commenced life in circumstances which should almost have -warranted them against ever coming to such case as they were now in. The -chaplain's list contained their names--or such names as they chose to be known -by--as well as their prison numbers; it contained, too, information as to where -other particulars could be gathered. And in that list was an account of what -crimes they were condemned for.</p> - -<p class="normal">Among the men, most had been convicted of robbery, accompanied -generally with violence; one had slain a youth in a gambling hell, or tripot, -after cheating him; another had drugged a friend and robbed him; a third had -broken into a church and stolen the sacred vessels; a fourth had beaten a -priest; a fifth had throttled his wife. While, also, there were others convicted -and sentenced to the gibbet or the wheel for crimes which, besides these, seemed -trifling: a shop boy who had robbed his master: a master who had starved his -shop boy to death; a vicomte who had embezzled the trust money of a ward and -lost it all in the "System;" a clerk who had stolen money to indulge in loose -pleasures, and a literary man who had written against the doctrines of Rome and -had called her Babylon, he being prosecuted by the Cardinal Dubois of pious -life!</p> - -<p class="normal">The women were, however, the greater sinners, besides being -also better educated in most cases, and, likewise, more hardened and defiant. -One was beautiful, her golden hair being knotted now behind her head--wigs in -the Prison of St. Martin des Champs were, naturally, superfluous!--her eyes as -blue as the cornflower, large, limpid, and full of innocence; yet she had -murdered her husband and her husband's mother to marry a man who, from the -moment she was arrested, had never come near her nor sent her word nor message, -nor money for her defence. She was now about to marry the embezzling vicomte. -Next to her there stood, ready to bestow herself on the literary man, a woman -who was her exact opposite, a creature black and swarthy, yet with the remains -of magnificent florid beauty in her dissolute face; a woman born beneath the -warm sun of Hérault. She, too, had committed secret murder on one who had -wronged her; yet now she was to be married. And, sometimes, as he glanced at her -who in a few moments would be his wife, the literary man who boasted that he had -made Pope Clement tremble trembled himself.</p> - -<p class="normal">The others were all more or less alike; lost women, as Roger, -the priest had said--one of them was about to espouse the shop boy--young -viragoes, robbers of drunken men, and so forth. And all meant to lead a new life -in a new land, though not perhaps the manner of life which the priest had so -unctuously described.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stand forth," he said again now, for the clock had struck -twelve and his onion soup and stewed mutton were ready.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stand forth in front of me. Prepare to enter the Holy State." -Whereupon he rapidly ran his eye over the paper in his hand, compared the -numbers by which the convicts were known in the prison with the names they had -been tried under, and then, exhorting them to attend to the ceremony in a decent -and reverent attitude, he proceeded to make each two into one.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet before he did so he gave them one last salutary -admonition, one paternal warning. "Remember," he said, "that this is no idle -ceremony to be gone through carelessly, but an entrance into the honourable -state of matrimony; an espousal of each other as binding on you by the laws of -the land as though it had taken place at the altar of Notre Dame, and been -performed by Monseigneur the Archbishop. Pause, therefore, ere it is too late; -before you pledge yourselves to one another; ransack your memories; be sure that -none of you men have wives anywhere else; that none of you women--though, in -truth, most of you have taken steps to make yourselves widows without the -assistance of Fate--have husbands. For if any of you have such ties and the fact -is ever discovered, nothing can save you again. Wherever you are, in France or -her colonies, you will most assuredly be executed, for such is the punishment of -bigamy as laid down by his late most sacred Majesty, urged thereto by the pious -Madame de Maintenon. I have warned you. Turn your eyes inwards," and as he spoke -he cast his own eyes over the convicts before him to see which of them trembled -or turned pale. Doubtless there were some to whom the warning came home--amongst -them there must of a surety have been some dissolute wives who had deserted -their husbands, and selfish husbands who, having grown tired of supporting wives -of whom they had sickened, had long disappeared from their knowledge--yet all -were hardened and gave no sign of meditated bigamy. The New World was before -them; their imaginations were inflamed with the hopes of, a fresh and more free -life in New France, or elsewhere, if they could escape from the old world. If -they had deserted a dozen wives, or husbands, each was now willing to accept -another.</p> - -<p class="normal">Therefore they gave no sign, and, after one more glance at -their brazen faces, the chaplain married those who stood before him to each -other.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he gave them his blessing and his hopes that their union -might be prosperous and fruitful, and also--this he did not forget--passed in a -sober and righteous manner, after which he dismissed them and exclaimed--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now for the undecided ones. Come, you," and he advanced -towards where three or four men were making proposals to as many women. "Come -you, time runs apace; are you agreed?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Two men and two women were agreed, the third man was -unpropitious in his suit. The woman to whom he offered himself refused to listen -to him, to even heed his words or to give any sign that she heard him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is her number?" the priest asked, while the governor by -his side bent down and twitched at her coarse prison cloak, which she had drawn -close round her shoulders and the lower part of her face, thereby probably to -conceal the latter. "What is her number? Let us see," and he looked at his -notebook.</p> - -<p class="normal">"54," the governor said, pointing to the figures sewn on her -shoulder.</p> - -<p class="normal">"54," muttered the chaplain, referring to the paper in his -hand and, after that, to a small memorandum book he drew from beneath his -cassock. "54. Humph! Ha!" Then, after reading from the book for a few moments, -he turned to the rejected suitor and said: "Young man, you do not lose much. She -is almost the worst, if not the worst, of all in the list--she is----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She may reform--and--and--you see? She is beautiful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I see," murmured the chaplain, "that is true. Yet a dower you -are best without. What, my son, was your crime?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh as for that," the fellow stammered, "but little. My uncle -was rich; he would give me nothing--a--miser----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Precisely. Wherefore you helped yourself. Yet you were an -innocent beside this woman whom you now seek to wed. An innocent! She was -affianced to a rich man of illustrious family. On the day that was to witness -their wedding, on that very day she jilted him and married an English -vagabond--a swindler--who, report says, shortly deserted her. But before he did -so, they inveigled the one who should have been her husband to their dwelling at -night on some vile pretence, and then attempted to strangle him, she doing the -deed herself with those hands," and he pointed to the thin white hands of the -woman which held the coarse hood about her face. While he continued: "Her victim -was found almost throttled at her feet--the exempts swore to it--part of his -cravat was in her hand when they rushed in. My man, you are well free of the -creature, even if you could by law have wedded her, which is doubtful. The -brigand, her husband, may be still alive, plundering, robbing elsewhere."</p> - -<p class="normal">He finished speaking, and the miserable creature who would -have united himself to the woman, shuddered at the escape he had had. Shuddered, -too, at the look of despair upon the woman's face, which he took for the fury of -a spitfire, as she, lifting her hood, stared up with large, grief-stricken eyes -from where she crouched, and said to the chaplain:</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a lie! A lie! My husband was no adventurer, while, for -that other, would to God he were truly dead. He merited death."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - -<h5>THE CONDEMNED</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The prisons had not emptied quite as swiftly as the -authorities desired after they had been stuffed full of real and imaginary -criminals who were to people New France, with a view to proving that the -Mississippi scheme was not such a falsehood as had been stated. The principal -cause of this was that trustworthy galleys which could cross the ocean from the -western coast of France to the Gulf of Mexico were not obtainable, while of the -transports, only three, <i>La Duchesse de Noailles</i>, <i>La Victoire</i>, and <i> -La Duchesse de Berri</i>, were fit to make the passage. The consequence was, -therefore, that but one prison emptied itself at a time, and that the month of -May had come ere, for the detained of the two remaining gaols, La Tournelle and -St. Martin des Champs, vessels had been provided for their reception, while even -these had to be hired from private owners by the Government.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the unhappy creatures, whether actual or supposititious -malefactors, who had lain in damp and unclean dungeons during the months which -had now passed since the period of the great frost, this fact fell with an even -greater force of cruelty than anything which the other evil-doers--incarcerated -in La Pitié, La Salpêtrière, Bicêtre or Vincennes--had had to undergo, since the -incarcerated ones of the latter places had to proceed only to La Rochelle or La -Havre or St. Malo, while those of the former had now to set out on a far more -terrible journey. They were to march, chained together, to Marseilles, a -distance, roughly, of 350 miles from Paris; to cross mountains and vast plains -beneath a sun which would be a burning one ere they had accomplished half the -distance, and to do so upon nourishment which would scarcely suffice to keep -alive those who had to make no exertions whatsoever. The reason for this was -that the private owners of the vessels which were to be hired for the purposes -of their transport would only consent to let them be chartered for such use on -condition that Marseilles was made the port of embarkation. Their ships belonged -to, came into, that port; they would be there in the beginning of June, and, if -the Government chose to have their convicts ready to proceed on board at that -time, they were willing to undertake their transportation to the Gulf. If not, -then those vessels must be used for the ordinary business they were employed -upon, and, in no circumstances, would they contract to proceed to any other port -of France, and certainly to none on the western coast, to await the arrival of -the convicts.</p> - -<p class="normal">Marseilles was, therefore, decided on as the place to which -the miserable wretches still inhabiting La Tournelle and St. Martin des Champs -were to proceed. Three days after the marriages which the chaplain of the latter -place had performed (as the chaplain of the former had also done) the chain -gangs were ordered to set out. The day was fixed--May 15--so, too, was the -hour--that of eight o'clock in the morning.</p> - -<p class="normal">It is possible that upon this earth--beneath the eyes of -God--no more horrible nor more heart-rending sight has ever been witnessed than -the preparations for the departure, and the actual departure itself, of a chain -of galley slaves of both sexes towards the sea coast. And that which was taking -place on this 15th of May in the prison of St. Martin des Champs might have -wrung the hearts of even those persons who were marble to the core; of even -human fiends. Yet, however much the process might be calculated to distress -those who looked on, there was a sufficiency of observers to cause the exit from -the gaol to be so surrounded that scarcely could the prisoners come forth, and -the roads and streets leading to the open country to be so stuffed and congested -with lookers-on as to be almost impassable. For to see the "strings," as they -were called, depart was ever one of the spectacles of Paris.</p> - -<p class="normal">Inside the prison, in its huge, vast yard, all were assembled -at daybreak--all who were to set out upon that horrible journey on foot which -was to know no end until the burning shores of the Mediterranean were reached; -the end of a journey which was then to give place to a life of hell passed -between close decks in ships none too seaworthy. A life of weeks spent under the -eyes of sentries with loaded muskets, of overseers armed with whips coated with -hardened pitch; of blasphemous and brutal guards ready to strike with sticks, or -the flats of sabres, upon the backs of either men or women who disobeyed their -orders and injunctions; a life of horror to be endured until they were set -ashore free men and women in the New World. Perhaps the knowledge of that -impending freedom enabled some to look forward calmly to what they had learned -they would have to endure; perhaps--which was far more probable--none among the -murderers and murderesses, the thieves and rogues and lost women, and innocent, -guiltless victims, knew or dreamt of what was before them. Far more probable!</p> - -<p class="normal">All were in the courtyard at daybreak. And now began the -ceremony of preparing, of making the <i>toilette de voyage</i>, as it was -brutally termed, of the travellers ere they set out upon their journey. Into the -vast gaol-yard--called in bitter mockery and spite by generations of convicts -who had quitted it on their road to the galleys, the "Court of Honour"--there -came now three waggons filled with chains and fetters; <i>carcans</i>, or iron -collars, to be fitted on to the necks of men and women alike; iron bolts to join -together the chains which attached each of those prisoners to one another. To be -rivetted on here in Paris; to be never struck off again until the journey of 350 -miles was accomplished, and the human cattle stood upon the crazy decks of the -hired transports which were eventually to land them, free at last, amidst the -raging surf of the Gulf of Mexico.</p> - -<p class="normal">Free then, but, until then, condemned convicts in actual fact -as much as if, instead of being on their way to the New World, there to begin a -new life, they were to step on board the galleys themselves and there begin the -hideous existence which France enforced on all those who offended against her -laws.</p> - -<p class="normal">Before, however, these fetters and those chains were rivetted -upon their necks and wrists and ankles--rivetted cold, and thereby causing awful -agony to all the culprits--one thing had to be done. Those women who, in the -course of the months in which they had lain in prison, had given birth to -children, were now to be separated from them; separated from them for ever in -all likelihood, since it was certain that the mothers would never return to -France, and almost equally certain that the children would never be likely to -make their way to New France when they grew up. Separated also--since the -lawgivers of France boasted that they punished but never persecuted--because -these babes had committed no crime; because, too, the Government paid no passage -money for children, nor arranged for their sustenance.</p> - -<p class="normal">Three women had given birth thus to children during the time -they lay in the vaults of St. Martin des Champs, which was one of the places of -reception for these galley slaves who now figured under the name of colonists; -and, not knowing that their babes would ever be torn from them, had rejoiced -exceedingly over their birth. For they had hugged the little creatures to their -bosoms to keep them warm and to warm themselves; they had kissed and fondled -them and crooned strange phrases of maternal love over them; had even looked -forward with joy unspeakable to the extra burden which they would have to carry -on the long march that they suspected, truly enough, lay before them. And they -had passed the helpless things round at night to other women who had been torn, -shrieking, from their own offspring, or had been spirited off to gaol ere they -could utter one last farewell to them, or give them one last mad embrace; they -had passed these newborn babes round surreptitiously in the dark, and when the -warders slumbered, to these poor bereft mothers, so that they might pet them a -little, call them by the names of their own deserted and lost children, and -bring, thereby, some sort of comfort to their aching hearts in doing so. While -the women, these other women who had been wrenched away from their offspring, -had arranged with those happier ones to assist in the carrying of the infants on -the weary march and to help those who owned them, their reward to be that they -should hold the little mites within their arms sometimes and, thereby, delude -themselves into the belief that it was their own flesh and blood which they were -clasping to their aching breasts.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet now--now!--those mothers who had been made happy by the -coming of the children were to be parted from them for ever. There strode -towards one of these mothers who was seated on the stone bench which ran all -round the Court of Honour, the Governor of St. Martin des Champs (a stern man -who had never possessed either wife or child, nor anything of a home but tents -and barracks, during a long life of soldiering) accompanied by a woman from the -Hospital of Charity--which preceded by some years the Hospital for Foundlings--a -nurse. And she, that mother smiling there, had no idea, no suspicion, of aught -that was about to befall her. If any other of the convicts knew--which was -doubtful, since few had ever travelled the road before that all were now to set -out upon--not one spoke a word or gave a hint of the sorrow that was to light -upon the unhappy woman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say farewell to your child," the governor exclaimed. "Quick! -there is no time to lose. Bid it adieu; then give it to this good nurse," and he -indicated that other woman who accompanied him.</p> - -<p class="normal">The mother looked up at him with staring eyes. There was, in -truth, a half smile upon her face, as though she doubted if she heard aright and -was almost amused--if one so wretched as she could ever be amused again!--at the -strange, impossible form which the words he must actually have uttered had taken -to her ears. Then she said, quietly, "What did monsieur say?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bid your child adieu. Quick!" the governor repeated -impatiently; "or it will be taken without your farewells. Quick! I say. There -are two others to be dealt with."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bid my child--farewell!" she murmured, understanding his -words at last. "Bid it farewell. You mean that?" And, now, her eyes stared with -a horror that was awful to see. A horror that appalled even this man, whose life -had been passed amidst, first, the turbulence of years of rough campaigning, -and, next, amidst all the most depraved and savage wild beasts of Paris -humanity.</p> - -<p class="normal">Above the roar of clanking cold iron being fastened upon the -chains of men and women, the rivetting and fitting of <i>carcans</i> upon -different throats--the white throats of erring women, the knotted, corded -throats of men who had worn them before and slaved out portions of their evil -lives with those cursed iron bands swathed fast about them--amidst, too, the -cheers of the populace outside, through whose ranks, by now, the first -chain--that of some men--was passing, that woman's shriek was heard. It rose -above all; above hoarse curses from the male savages at the pain caused by the -hammer as it struck the edges of their collars together; above yells from the -female savages as the same process went on; above, too, the trumpets of the -gendarmerie, which, a merciful Government allowed to bray outside the prison -gates as an encouragement to the unhappy wretches setting out upon that journey; -above everything else that shriek arose.</p> - -<p class="normal">For she understood now! She knew that the little helpless mass -of human life which had lain so warm and snug within her arms for two or three -months was to be torn away from her for ever.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No! No! No!" she moaned, ceasing at last to shriek. "No! No! -No. Ah, monsieur, see how small, how helpless it is. My child! My child! My -little child! And--monsieur--it is not well--it--it--oh--oh! God, how I have -watched over it; cared for it. I have prayed to Him--I, who never prayed before; -I, who scarce knew how to form a prayer. It is not well. It cannot live without -me. It cannot; it cannot. It is death to part us; death to it and me. And it is -so--so helpless--and--so--innocent."</p> - -<p class="normal">The governor had turned his back upon her. Perhaps her -pleading had wrung even his heart! Then the nurse spoke. The nurse, who, because -she was a gentle woman, wept.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fear not, poor girl," she whispered, even as she strove to -take the child from the arms which clasped it so tightly. "Fear not. It shall be -well attended to. And, see, here is a number," whereon she gave the unhappy -mother a piece of paper, on which she hastily scrawled some figures. "If you -ever return you may find it thus--when it grows up--it--what is your name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Le Blanc. I shall never return. Never." Then she moaned -again. "My child! My little child! And," she sobbed forth, "see, I had made a -sling wherewith to carry it--so--that--it should lie more easily upon my breast. -Oh! God--that I--that it--were dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">Many women had watched this scene, amongst them the two other -newly-made mothers, who saw in it what was to be their own fate and the fate of -their babes. So, too, had Laure Vauxcelles, herself bearing a collar now around -her beautiful neck--a light one, it is true, since the warder whose duty it was -to attend to these matters, among other things, had observed that she was young -and handsome, and, being himself young, or, at least, not old, had spared her as -much as possible. On her left wrist there was fastened a great iron loop--great -for so small a wrist!--through which was to run the chain that would attach her -to those before and those behind her. To her right wrist was an iron bracelet -with a short chain hanging to it, which, a few moments later, would couple her -to the woman who would march by her side from Paris to Marseilles--if she ever -reached the latter place, which she prayed fervently she might never do.</p> - -<p class="normal">The chain composed of men was already gone by now; out into -the street, beyond the prison gate, it had already passed; out into the bright, -warm sun, so cheering to those who had lain in that prison for months--cheering -now, but, ere long, to become an awful torture as the days grew hotter and the -south was neared. The chain composed of women was about to follow. Of women, -amongst whom, perhaps, were others as innocent of guilt as Laure herself; women -whom a relentless rival, a rejected lover possessed of power, a suspicious, -jealous husband also possessed of power or--which was the same thing--of money, -may have consigned to this hellish doom. Women, too, who, although they were the -guilty things that Roger, the chaplain, had described them as being, had -possibly never walked three consecutive leagues in their lives. Women who, -instead, had in many cases ridden in carriages and sedan chairs and coaches -provided by their admirers. Yet now--now they set forth to march to Marseilles, -nearly 350 miles away by road; to Marseilles, where, in the summer, the sun -burned like a flaming furnace, and to which the breeze of the southern sea came -hot and sultry as the breath from out of the mouth of a panting dog.</p> - -<p class="normal">The trumpets of the gendarmerie pealed louder, the mob outside -was screaming frantically, people were hanging half-way out of the windows; some -boys who had climbed a tree which grew in the dusty place beyond the prison -gates, were waving their ragged caps and chattering and grimacing. "The female -cord" was passing forth. Ahead, went four mounted gendarmes, then, next, four -waggons, destined to occasionally give a lift to those women who fell by the -wayside, yet did not die at once. They who did so were left behind for the -Communes to bury! Now, in the waggons, were seated the galley sergeants. There -was no reason why they should walk; they were neither criminals nor women.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then <i>la Châim</i> issued from the gates, the two leading -couples of the double string, as the mob and the boys in the trees called them, -passed out. Amidst further roars, hurrahs, encouragements, low jeers and -fingerpointings, they came forth; amidst, too, exclamations from some who -recognised them. With, also, a woman's shriek issuing now and again from out the -mob's tight-packed density--a mother's heartbroken cry perhaps, perhaps a -sister's, perhaps a daughter's. Yet, with no sign of sympathy from one set of -beings who were witnessing the spectacle; who had paid, and paid well, to thus -witness it. Beings--fashionable, well-dressed men and women, who had hired -windows at which to sit and see the chains go by, and who drank chocolate and -ate chipped bread and cakes and dainty butter brought from the cool north; and -laughed and chatted, and made appointments for the Gardens of the Tuileries that -night, or for boating parties on the Seine when the evening air was cooling the -atmosphere.</p> - -<p class="normal">Laure passed out, too, at last, manacled, shackled to the dark -southern woman who had married the literary man. Passed out with her head bent -down, her feet dragging like lead beneath her, her heart beating as though it -must burst.</p> - -<p class="normal">Passed out to what she knew and felt would be her death. To -what she prayed might be her death.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - -<h5>MARSEILLES</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The chain gangs--the men a mile ahead of the women--marched -but slowly on their way; indeed, it was impossible that they should progress -very fast. Some, as has been said, especially among the female prisoners, had -never been accustomed to walking at all; others, amongst both women and men, -soon became footsore. The months passed in the dungeons of the prisons, with -their bodies chained by the neck to the beam behind them, had given their feet -but little opportunity of exercise, that only being obtainable which they got -from stamping on the ground to drive out the cold they suffered from during the -winter period. No wonder that all became footsore ere a fiftieth part of their -toilsome journey was covered.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet they went on; they had to go on. Marseilles was, to be -exact, 356 miles from Paris by road, and they were timed to do the distance in -thirty days; must do it according to the contract made by the Government with -the owners of the ships which were to transport the "colonists," the -"emigrants," to New France. Thirty days for 356 miles.</p> - -<p class="normal">About twelve miles a day! Not much that for pedestrians, for -hardy walkers, for people used to journeying on foot day by day. A thing to be -accomplished easily, and easily to be surpassed, by the countless pedlars who -swarmed over the face of France; by itinerant monks, by wandering -ballad-singers, strolling players and troops of showmen; yet not easy for women -or men who, even if they had ever walked at all, were now quite out of practice; -who, also, were ill-fed and, in many cases, were sick and ailing. Yet they had -to do it. It must be done.</p> - -<p class="normal">Each morning, therefore, they set forth again on their route, -no matter whether the sun was beating down fiercely on their heads--they being -protected only by hats which they had been allowed to plait from the prison -straw, in anticipation of the forthcoming journey--or whether the rain was -falling in torrents. Each night they lay down wherever the chain halted, which -it generally did near some village or hamlet, partly because there the colonists -might be allowed to lie and sleep beneath the shelter of barns and outhouses, -but more particularly because, thereby, the guards and the galley sergeants and -mounted gendarmes could find drinking shops and <i>pants</i> wherein they might -rest and refresh themselves. And, gradually, as they went on and on along the -great southern road, through Montargis and Cosne, and by Nevers, and on to -Moulins and Montmarault, their numbers became a little diminished nightly. Women -dropped by the wayside, or, rather, amidst the dust and mud of the high road; it -was useless to place them in the carts and carry them further; therefore they -were left beneath the hedges and the sparse bushes that bordered the route--left -with their coarse prison petticoat thrown over their dead faces to save them -from the flies--left there for the villagers to bury when they were found. And, -because the women passed along behind the men, they saw--they could not help but -see!--unless they were blinded by staggering for league after league through -heat and dust, that, with the chain of men, the same thing had happened. Their -bodies--some of their bodies--were also to be seen lying beneath the hedges and -the bushes, but with no protecting rag over their faces.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, still, those who were not dead went on and on, stumbling, -falling, being dragged up by the companion manacled to them, or by the guards -(kind in some cases, brutal in others) on and on, like women walking in their -sleep; their lids half closed over their glistening, fever-lit eyes, their -senses telling them they were suffering, even as the dumb brutes' senses tell -them that they are suffering. But no more!</p> - -<p class="normal">Shackled to the dark handsome woman of the south who had -espoused the writer who hated Rome and her customs, was Laure, alive still, -though praying that every day might be her last. That she would have ever -reached Clermont, to which they were by now arrived, had it not been for this -woman, was doubtful. For she, brought up by Vandecque in all the luxury he could -afford--partly from love of her, partly because she was a saleable article that, -carefully cherished, might fetch a large price--was no more fitted to walk day -by day a distance of from ten to fifteen miles than she was fitted to sleep on -the ground in barns and outhouses, or to exist on bread and water and anything -else which her comrade could procure by stealing or begging from the -compassionate landlords of those inns where sometimes the chain halted.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet she had done it, she had survived, she was alive; she -could feel the cool mountain air of the Dômes sweep down upon and revive her. -She was still alive.</p> - -<p class="normal">It seemed to her as if a miracle alone could have kept her so; -a miracle that had for its instrument the woman Marion Lascelles (Lascelles -being the name of the man the latter had espoused, but from whom she would be -separated until they stood free in Louisiana). For Marion, however vile her past -had been, or whatever crimes she might have steeped her hands in, was, at least, -an angel of mercy to Laure, though at first she had not been so. Instead, -indeed, she, in her great, masterful strength, which neither dungeon nor -starvation had been able to subdue, had strode fiercely along the baked roads -which led, as she muttered to herself, to the sea-coast first, and then to -freedom, though a freedom thousands of miles away. And, as she so strode, she -dragged at the chain which fastened Laure to her, until once, in doing so, she -brought down on her the eye of the officer, or guard, who rode near.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What ails her?" he asked, guiding his horse up close to them, -while Marion saw his hand tighten on the whip he held as though about to -administer a blow. "What ails her? Does she want a taste of this?" and he shook -it before their eyes. The fellows in charge of the chain gangs were indeed -officers, but, since none but the most brutal, or those who had risen from the -lowest ranks, would condescend to accept this employment, to which they were -regularly appointed for periods, their savageness was not extraordinary.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay," replied Marion; "it is my fault. I am too rough with -her. And you can see that she is a gentlewoman, delicately bred. If," and her -black eyes flashed at him, "you are a man, strike not one as helpless as she -is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! as for that," the fellow answered, "there are no -delicately-bred ones here. Sentenced convicts all, while you are in our hands. -Yet, since you are the best-looking women in the gang--I love both fair and dark -myself!--I will not beat her this time. But there must be no lagging; the -transports sail under three weeks from now if the wind is fair. We must be -there--at Marseilles."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She shall not lag," Marion replied. "If she fails I will -carry her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you," Laure said to her that night, as, still -chained to each other, they lay down together in a shelter for sheep outside -Issoire, since the dreary march was now almost half compassed though many -leagues had still to be accomplished. "God bless you, you are a true woman." -Then she put out her hand and touched the dark one of the woman at her side, and -called her "sister."</p> - -<p class="normal">With this began their friendship; with it began, too, a -revolution in the hot, fiery blood that coursed through the veins of Marion -Lascelles. She scarcely knew at first what crime the woman next to her had been -condemned for, though she had caught something of what the chaplain of the -prison had said to the fellow who desired to marry Laure; but one thing she did -know, namely that, besides herself, this was an innocent, suffering creature. -And this weakling had called her "sister"; had prayed God to bless her--to bless -her! "When," she mused, "when, if ever, had such a prayer gone up to heaven for -her; when, when?" Not, she thought, since she was a simple, innocent child, -roaming about the sandy, sunburnt beach of Hérault with her hand in her -mother's--a fisherman's widow, now years since dead. And from that day she was -no longer the fierce companion, but instead, the protector of Laure, striving -always to give the latter some portion of her own sparse allowance of food; -stealing bits of meat out of the -<i>pots-au-feu</i> if the chance ever came her way, sharing all with her; -walking with her arm round her waist, while Laure's head reclined on her -shoulders.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall die," the latter said more than once, "I shall die -ere we reach Marseilles. Oh! Marion, let them not leave me by the wayside."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah!" Marion answered, "you shall not die. I will fight death -for you, wrestle with him, hold you back from him. You have to live."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For what?" the other would ask. "For what?" and her soft eyes -would look so sad that Marion, still unregenerate, would swear a fierce southern -oath to herself, while she folded Laure to her bosom and strained her to it with -her strong arms. "For what?" Marion would repeat. "Why, for freedom, first; for -justice. That poor imbecile marching ahead of us" (she was referring to her -newly-espoused husband) "has it seems the gift of writing, at least, since it -has brought him to this pass. We will tell him your history" (for Marion knew it -all now): "then he shall put it into words, and so, somehow, it shall have its -effect. In this new land to which we go there must be a governor, or -vice-regent, or someone in power. He will surely help you, especially after he -has seen you! And there are two other reasons why you should live."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know them," Laure faltered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You love your husband?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah!" the other gasped.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You love him, I say. My God! do I not know what love is!" and -she smote her breast as she spoke. "You love him. You have told me all. You -loved him; you came to love him on the day you married him, the day he saved you -from that--that animal!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is dead!" Laure wailed. "He is dead!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I doubt it. Men do not die easily." Possibly, here, too, she -was speaking from experience. "I doubt it. More like, those animals, Desparre -and your uncle, caused him to be arrested and thrown into prison; remember, they -may have encountered him on their road to you. He may be--who knows?--in the -chain that is now on its road to Brest or Dunkirk."</p> - -<p class="normal">Laure wrung her hands and shook her head at this, while Marion -continued:--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or suppose Desparre lied to you; suppose they had not -encountered him at all. Suppose, I say, he came back to you that night, the next -morning, and found you gone; with none to tell where--you say yourself that no -servant appeared on the scene ere the exempts dragged you away. Suppose he came -back. What then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know; I cannot think."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can. He will find out what has become of you, follow you. <i> -Mon Dieu!</i>" as a sudden thought flashed into her mind. "Did he not tell you -he meant himself to emigrate to Louisiana, the very place to which we go. -Courage; courage; courage."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh!" Laure gasped, "if--if I dared to hope that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dared to hope! There is nothing else to be supposed but that. -He will be there. Surely, surely, Laure, you will meet your husband in this -colony, big as they say it is. All will be well."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay," she said, "nay. It will never be well. He married me to -save me from Desparre; he had ceased to love me. Yet--yet, if I could see him -once again, only once, I would tell him----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That I surrendered; that I had come to love him. Yet of what -avail would that? He will be a gentleman planter; I--I a released convict, a -woman earning her bread by labour. Also, he knows--that--I have no origin."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He knew it before he married you. And, knowing it, be sure he -loved you." And Marion Lascelles, whether she believed the comforting hopes she -had endeavoured to raise in the other's breast, or whether she had only uttered -them in the desire to put fresh strength into her sad heart, would hear no word -of doubt.</p> - -<p class="normal">But still the chains went on, the men a mile ahead, the women -following behind. But ever on, and with the journey growing still more toilsome -to these poor creatures worn by this time to skeletons; more toilsome because -they were passing through Haute Loire and Ardèche now and the mountains were all -around them, and had to be climbed by their bleeding, festering feet. Ascents -that had to be made which lasted for hours, followed by descents as wearying to -their aching limbs.</p> - -<p class="normal">In truth, it might have seemed to any who had observed that -chain of women that it was a small army of dead women which was passing through -the land. An army of dead women who had been burnt black and become mummified, -whose bony frames were enveloped in prison garments, foul--even for such -things--from rain and the mud they had slept in and the white powdery dust that -had blown on to them. Dead women, who, when they halted, fell prostrate and -gasping to the earth, or reclined against rocks and trees rigidly, with staring, -glassy eyes--eyes that stared, indeed, but saw nothing. Women, in fact, to whose -lips the guards and the sergeants of the prisons--themselves burnt black, though -not worn to skin and bone by constant walking, since they had their horses and -the carts--were forced to hold cups of water, as otherwise the prisoners must -have died of thirst, not being able to fetch or lift them for themselves. But -still--with now half their number left behind dead, amongst which were two of -the women whose children had been taken from them--they went on. Down by where -the Rhone swept and swirled; past Beaucaire and Tarascon, past Orgon and -Lambèse; past Aix, sacred twenty years before to the slaughter, and the murder, -and the mock trials of many Protestants still toiling at the galleys, hopeless -and heartbroken. On, on, on, until, beneath a lurid evening sky, the eyes of the -guards--but not the sightless eyes of the women--discerned a great city lying -upon the shores of a limpid, waveless sea.</p> - -<p class="normal">Marseilles! It was there before them, before the eyes of those -men on horseback and in the carts, only--what was happening, what was doing in -it? That, they could not understand.</p> - -<p class="normal">For, beneath that lurid and gleaming sky, which had succeeded -to an awful thunderstorm that had passed over the unhappy chain gang an hour -before and drenched them afresh, as they had been drenched so many times in -their long march, they saw fires blazing from pinnacles and towers, as well as -upon the city walls. They knew, too, that similar fires must be blazing in the -streets and market-places and great open spaces--they knew it by another fierce -red light that rose up and mingled with the red flames and flecks which the sun -cast upon the purple, storm-charged clouds.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is it?" a mounted gendarme whispered to a comrade. -"What! Can the storm, the lightning, have set the city in flames? Yet, surely -not in twenty places at once!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, nay," the other muttered, his eyes shaded by his hands -as he glanced down to where those flaming lights were illuminating all the -heavens with their glare as the night grew on, and the fires burnt more -fiercely. "Nay; they burn fuel for some reason, they ignite it themselves."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What! What! What! For what reasons?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"God knows," muttered the gendarme, becoming pious under this -awe-inspiring thing which he did not understand. "They did it once before," the -other whispered. "Once! nay, oftener. My grandam was a Marseillaise. I have -heard her tell the tale. They feared the pest."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The pest--my God! Ere we left Paris people whispered that it -had broken out in the Levant. The Levant! Marseilles trades much there. What -if--if----" he stammered, turning white with fear and apprehension.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What if," said his comrade, taking him up, "it should be -here!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - -<h5>"MY WIFE! WHAT WIFE? I HAVE NO WIFE."</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Two months before the chain-gangs set out for Marseilles from -the Prison of St. Martin des Champs, namely at the end of March, Walter Clarges -descended from a hackney coach outside the house in which he had lived in the -Rue de la Dauphine, and entered its roomy hall, or passage. Then, taking a key -from his pocket, he was about to open the door of his own suite of apartments on -the right of the hall, when he saw that, attached to the door, was a great -padlock which fastened a chain into two staples fixed in the outer and inner -framework. He saw, too, something else. A spider's web that had been spun above -the chain itself by the insect, which, at the present moment, was reposing in -its self-made house.</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment, seeing this, he stood there pondering while -looking down upon the creature in its web--accepting, acknowledging, the sign of -desolation which this thing gave--then, ever so gently, he shrugged his -shoulders with a gesture that might have brought the tears to the eyes of any -woman--nay, of any man--who had observed him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Scarce," he muttered, "could I have expected aught else. -After so long. After so long." Then, turning away, he went to the back of the -long hall where, opening a small door, he called down some stairs to the woman -who had been the housekeeper three months before--at the time when he brought -Laure to his rooms.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently, after answering him from where she was, she -appeared, her sleeves turned up and her hands wet, as though fresh from some -simple household work, and, seeing him, exclaimed--</p> - -<p class="normal">"In truth! It is Monsieur Clarges. Returned--at last! Monsieur -has been away long. Perhaps to his own land. No matter. Now he is back. -Yet--yet----" she said, looking up at him in the gleaming light of the spring -sun: "Monsieur has not been well. He is white--oh, so white! Evidently not -well."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been close to death for months. At death's door. In -the hospital of the Trinity. No matter for that. Instead, tell me where the lady -is whom I left here on--on--the night I brought her. When did she cease to -occupy these rooms; when depart? As I see she must have done by this." And he -indicated with his finger the spider in its web. "Also, what message, what -letter has she left for me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">For answer the woman glanced into his face with wide-open -eyes--eyes full of astonishment, surprise. Then she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur asks strange questions. Letters! Messages! From -her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"From her. Surely she did not go away and leave none behind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But--but----" the other stammered, she being appalled by the -look in his eyes; "beyond doubt she went with Monsieur. Upon that night. I have -ever thought so. I----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She went away upon that night!" he said, his voice deep and -low. "Upon that night?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, yes, Monsieur," the woman replied. "Why, yes." And now -she found her natural garrulity; she began to tell her tale, such as it was. "I -have always thought that, after Monsieur had given his orders as to Madame's -occupation of the rooms, he and the lady had changed their minds and had decided -to go away together. Especially since a compatriot of Monsieur's called a few -days later and said that Madame was Monsieur's wife--that--that--the marriage -had taken place on the morning of that day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My compatriot told you that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He told me so. As well as that he himself had assisted at the -wedding. Therefore, I felt no surprise at the absence of Monsieur and Madame."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What?" asked Walter Clarges, still in the low deep voice that -was owing, perhaps, to the thrust through the lungs he had received in the Rue -des Saints Apostoliques three months ago, perhaps to the tidings he was now -gleaning--"what happened on that night? How did she go away? Surely, surely, you -must have known she did not go with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas!" the woman answered. "I knew nothing; saw nothing. I -knew not when she went, and deemed for certain that Monsieur had returned for -her. That he had taken her away with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You mean, then, that she went alone? Walked forth from this -house alone. Leaving no word--no message. Has--never--since--sent--one. You mean -that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur, I know not what I mean. Oh! Monsieur, listen. That -night was a night of horror. Awful things were being done outside. Monsieur -knows. Hideous, heart-rending things! A neighbour of mine, Madame Prue, came in, -rushed in in the evening, and said that the archers and exempts were seizing -people in the streets who had committed no crimes, yet had been denounced by -their neighbours as criminals. Her own son, she said, was abroad in the streets, -and he was so wild, as well as hated by all in the quarter because he was a -fighter and a brawler in his cups. She feared--she feared--she knew not what. -That he might resist and become quarrelsome. Thereby, be lost and sent to the -prisons--the galleys; even, some whispered, to foreign lands, exiled for ever. -And she, Madame Prue, begged me to go with her, to assist in finding -him--to--to----" and the woman paused to take breath.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go on," said Walter Clarges. "Go on. You went. When did you -return?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not for three hours. We could not find the son--he has never -been found yet. God alone knows where he is. His mother is heartbroken. They -say--they say there are hundreds in the prisons being transported to foreign -lands--to----."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You came not back for three hours! And the -lady--my--my--wife?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur, she was gone. And I thought nought of it. The -streets were in turbulence, shots were heard now and again; even houses, -apartments entered. I deemed you had returned for her, dreading to leave her -alone; that you had taken Madame away, dreading also to keep her in this -quarter. That you had, perhaps, sought a better one, or the suburbs, and were -enjoying--well! your honeymoon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My honeymoon," he whispered to himself. "My God!" Then he -said aloud. "And there was no message? No letter left in the room? You are -sure?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was nothing. I entered the room meaning to offer Madame -some supper--it was vacant. No sign of aught. The fire was gone out. The lamp -was extinct. There was--nothing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing!" Walter repeated. "Nothing! No sign of aught. Not a -line of writing. No letter left then or come since."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh," exclaimed the woman, "as for 'come since'--there are -several----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you have kept me thus in torture! Where are they? Where? -Where? Doubtless one is from her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will go and fetch them. Since Monsieur has been away I have -not opened the rooms. Not since I cleaned them during the first days of -Monsieur's absence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fetch them at once, I beseech you. Yet, ere you go, give me -the key of this padlock. Let me enter the rooms. Bring the letters here at -once."</p> - -<p class="normal">The woman sped on her way to the back of the house, and, while -she was gone, Walter applied the key to the padlock--brushing away the spider -and its web as he did so--then turned the other key of the door and entered his -sitting-room while he muttered, "She will have gone to England, as I wished her. -She has written from there. All will be well. All. All. Yet why did she go so -soon? Why leave this house the moment my back was turned?"</p> - -<p class="normal">And, even as he remembered she had done this, he felt a pang -at his heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">Why! Why I Why had she acted thus? Why before seeing him -again; before waiting for his return?</p> - -<p class="normal">The rooms looked very lonely and desolate as he glanced around -them, while throwing open the wooden shutters ere he did so--lonely and desolate -as all rooms and houses invariably appear which have remained unused and shut up -for some considerable space of time. And they seemed even more so than they -would otherwise have done, because of her whom he had left sitting by what was -now a cold and empty hearth. Where, he asked himself, where was she? Yet he -would soon know--in an instant; he could hear the woman's pattens clattering up -the bare cold steps of the stairs and along the hall--he would soon know.</p> - -<p class="normal">She came in a moment later, one hand full of kindlings and -paper to make a fire, the other grasping some letters--half a dozen--a dozen. -And amongst them there must be one--more than one from her--he could see the -English frank--also the red post-boy stamped in the corner. She had written.</p> - -<p class="normal">He snatched as gently as might be the little parcel from the -woman's hand, ran the letters rapidly through his own--and recognised in a -moment that there were none, was not one, from her. Not one! Three were from his -mother, another was in a woman's writing which he did not recognise, another -from his compatriot, from him who had witnessed his marriage. But from -her--nothing!</p> - -<p class="normal">He let the servant lay and light the fire while he stood by -looking down into the fast kindling flames and holding the letters in his hand -listlessly, then, when she rose from her knees and glanced at him inquiringly, -he shook his head gently.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," he said, in answer to her questioning eyes. "No. She has -not written yet. Not yet. Leave me now if you will. These at least must be -attended to."</p> - -<p class="normal">When she had gone from out the room, after turning back ere -she did so to cast a swift glance at him, a glance which led her to passing her -apron across her eyes after she had gained the passage, he sat down in the deep -fauteuil by the fire in which he had so often sat since he had lived there--the -fauteuil in which his wife of a day had sat before him on their wedding -night--and brooded long ere he opened the letters which lay to his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What does it mean?" he murmured to himself. "What? Were -Vandecque and that creeping snake, Desparre, whom I saw lurking in the porch of -a house ere I was vanquished, on their way here when we met? Did they come on -here afterwards? Yet, even so, what could they do to her? Nothing! The law -punishes not those women who disobey their parents or guardians by marrying -against their wish, but, instead, the man who marries them. It could do nothing -to her. If she went from here she went of her own free will, even though cajoled -by Vandecque into doing so. As for Desparre, what harm could he do? She hated -him; she married me when she might have married him. No! No! It is Vandecque I -must seek. Vandecque! At once. At once. Now. Yet, to begin with, these letters."</p> - -<p class="normal">Those from his mother were the first to which he turned; -before all else he, this married yet wifeless man, sought news of her. Her love, -at least, never faltered; never! And, he reflected sadly, it was the only -woman's love he was ever likely to know. There could be no other now that he was -wedded to one who had disappeared from out his life an hour after his back was -turned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet, stay," he mused, as these thoughts sped swiftly through -his troubled mind. "Stay. She may have followed my injunctions and have made her -way to England. The news I seek may be here, in these."</p> - -<p class="normal">But, even as he so thought, something, some fear or -apprehension, told him that it was not so, and that his mother had no -information to give him of his wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">Swiftly he ran through his letters after opening them, putting -away for the moment all consideration of his mother's anxiety as to what might -have happened to him, since she had not heard from him for so long. Swiftly only -to find that, beyond all doubt, she had neither seen nor heard aught of Laure. -There was no mention of her. No word.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no wife," he murmured. "No wife; nothing but a bond -that will for ever prevent me from having wife or child, or home. Ah well! so be -it. I saved her; saved her from him. Of my own free will I did it. It is -enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, though she had gone away thus and had left him without -word or sign, he remembered that there was still one other thing--two other -things--for him to do. Things that he had mused upon for weeks as he lay in the -hospital in which he found himself on emerging from a long delirium, and while -his wounded lung was slowly healing--the determination to find both Desparre and -Vandecque, and, then, to slay both.</p> - -<p class="normal">To kill Vandecque as he would kill a rat or a snake that had -bitten him; to force Desparre to stand before him, rapier in hand, and to run -the villain through the lungs, even as his jackals had done to him while their -employer looked on from out the shelter of the porch.</p> - -<p class="normal">This he meant to set about now, at once, to-day; but, first, -let him read his mother's letters and write one in reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">Those letters were full of the distress she was in at gleaning -no news from him, full of tender dread as to what might have befallen him in -Paris, which, she had heard, even in her country seclusion, was in a terrible -state of turmoil in consequence of the bursting of the Mississippi bubble and -the ruin following thereon; also, they expressed great fear that, in some -manner, his Jacobite devotion might have led him into trouble, even though he -was out of England.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thus the first two ran. The third contained stranger and more -pregnant news; news of so unexpected a nature that even this gentle, anxious -mother put aside for the moment her wail of distress over the lack of tidings -from her son to communicate it.</p> - -<p class="normal">His distant cousin, she wrote, Lord Westover, was dead, burned -to death in his own house in Cumberland, and with him had also perished his son; -therefore Walter Clarges, her own dear son, had, unexpectedly to all, inherited -the title as well as a large and ample fortune. He must, consequently, she said, -on receipt of this at once put himself in communication with the men of business -of the Westover family, the notary and the steward; if, too, she added, he could -see his way to giving in his adherence to the reigning family his career might -now be a great, almost an illustrious, one. The Hanoverian King was welcoming -all to his Court who had once espoused the now utterly ruined Stuart cause. All -would be forgotten if Walter but chose to give in his allegiance to the new -ruler of England. And, perhaps with a view to inducing him to think seriously of -such a change, she mentioned that she had heard from a sure source that, not six -months before he met with his terrible death, the late Earl had seen King -George, and had been graciously received by him. There was, she thought, no -doubt that he at least had made his peace with the reigning monarch.</p> - -<p class="normal">To Walter Clarges--or the Earl of Westover, as he now -was--this news seemed, however, of little value. Titles, political -principles--which he felt sure he should never feel disposed to change--even -considerable wealth, were at the present moment nothing to him; nothing in -comparison with what he had to do, with what he had set himself to do.</p> - -<p class="normal">This was to seek out and wreak his vengeance on those two men, -Desparre and his tool and creature, Vandecque. As for her, his wife--now an -English aristocrat, a woman of high patrician rank by marriage--she had gone; -she had left him without a word, without a message as to what life she intended -to lead henceforward, or what existence to pursue. Yet, he had no quarrel with, -no rancour against, her; he could have none. He had offered himself to her as a -man who might be her earthly saviour, though without demanding in return any of -the rights of a husband, without demanding the slightest show or pretence of -affection; and she had taken him at his word, she had accepted his sacrifice! -That was all. Upon her he had no right to exercise any vengeance whatsoever.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was on Desparre first; on Vandecque next; or rather, on -whichever might first come to his hand, that the punishment must fall; and fall -it should, heavily. Of this he was resolved.</p> - -<p class="normal">Pondering thus, he picked up the letter addressed to him in a -woman's handwriting, and, opening it, began its perusal.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, as he did so, as he read through it swiftly, his face -became white and blanched. Once he muttered to himself, "My God, what awful -horror have I saved her from!" And once he shivered as though he sat on some -bleak moor, across which the wintry wind swept icily, instead of in his own -room, on the hearth of which the blazing logs now roared cheerfully up the great -open chimney.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - -<h5>WHERE IS THE MAN?</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">When Walter Clarges was left lying on the footway of the Rue -des Saints Apostoliques, on that cold, wintry night after Vandecque's rapier had -struck through his left lung, there was not an hour's life left in him if -succour had not been promptly at hand. Fortunately, however, such was the case, -and, ere he had been stretched there twenty minutes, his prostrate form was -found by a number of soldiers of the "Regiment of Orleans," who happened to pass -down the street on their way to where their quarters were, near the Hôtel de -Ville. All these men had been drinking considerably on this night of lawlessness -and anarchy, they having, indeed, been sent forth under the charge of some -officers to restore, if possible, peace and tranquillity to the streets, and to -prevent the archers and exempts from continuing the wholesale arresting and -dragging off to prison (after first clubbing and beating them senseless) of many -innocent persons. And, for the rescues which they had made of many such innocent -people, they had met with much gratitude and had been treated to draughts of -liquor strong enough and copious enough to have turned even more seasoned heads -than theirs, and were now reeling back to their quarters singing songs, yelling -out vulgar ribaldries, and accosting jocosely, and with many barrack-room -gallantries, the few women who ventured forth, or were forced to be abroad on -such a night.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Body of a dog," said one, a big, brawny fellow, whose -magnificent uniform shone resplendent under the rays of the now fully risen -moon, as they flashed down from the snow upon the roofs, "is our Regent turned -fool? What will he gain by this devil's game of arresting all the people who -object to lose their money in his cursed schemes. 'Tis well De Noailles sent us -out into the streets to-night to stop it all, or the boy-king might never sit on -the old one's throne. By my grandmother's soul, our good Parisians will not -endure everything, and Philippe, who is wise, when he is not drinking or making -love, should know better than to play such a fool's game. 'Tis that infernal -Dubois, or his English friend, the financier----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"La! la!" said another, equally big and brawny, "blaspheme not -Le Débonnaire. He is our master. Ho! le Débonnaire!" Whereon he began to sing a -song that everyone sung in Paris at this time, in which he was joined by all his -comrades:</p> -<br> - -<p style="margin-left:30%; text-indent:-12px"> -"Long live our Regent,<br> -He is so débonnaire."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Then he broke off, exclaiming while his comrades continued the -refrain, "Ha! What have we here? Ten thousand thunders! Is it a battlefield? -Behold Look at this Dead men around! The house-wall splashed with blood! How it -gleams, sticky and shiny, in the moon's rays! Poor beasts!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Beasts in truth!" exclaimed a third. "Archers, exempts! <i> -Fichtre!</i> -who cares for them. Dirty police, watchmen essaying the duties of soldiers--of -gentlemen, of ourselves. Bah!" and he kicked a dead archer lying in the road -with such force that the thud of his heavy-spurred riding-boots sounded -hideously against the corpse's ribs. "Let them lie there till the dogs find -them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay! ay!" exclaimed the first of the speakers. "Let them lie. -But this other, here; this is no exempt nor archer--instead, a gentleman. Look -to his clothes and lace, and his hands. White as De Noailles's own. Also, he is -not dead yet."</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile, he who thus spoke was bending over Walter Clarges -and had already run his great muscular arm beneath the wounded man's shoulders, -thus lifting him into a sitting position, whereby a stream of blood issued -swiftly from his lips, and, running down his chin, stained the steinkirk and -breast lace beneath.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That saves him," he exclaimed, "for a time, at least. The red -wine was choking the unfortunate. And observe; you understand? This is a -gentleman. Set upon by these sewer rats either for robbery--or--or--or," and he -winked sapiently, "by some rival."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereon, as he spoke, the man who had kicked the dead fellow -lying in the road looked very much as though he were about to repeat the -performance. Yet he was arrested in the act by what the other, who was -supporting Walter's still inanimate form, said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, fool, kick not the garbage. They cannot feel. Instead, -scour their pockets. Doubtless the pay of Judas is in them. And, if so, 'tis -rightly ours for saving this one. To the soldier and gentleman the spoils of -war. To the gentlemen of Monseigneur's guard the perquisites of those wretches."</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile, even as he spoke, the gentleman of Monseigneur's -guard was doing his best to restore the victim of Desparre and Vandecque to -life. Half a handful of snow was placed on the latter's burning forehead; his -vest was opened by the summary process of tearing the lace out of it and -wrenching the sides apart. Gradually, Clarges unclosed his eyes, understanding -what was being done.</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you!" he murmured as well as the blood in his mouth -would let him. "God bless you! My purse is in my pocket. Take----" Then relapsed -into insensibility.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah! for his purse. This is a gentleman. We do not rob one -another. The dog eats not dog, as the Jew said to the man who unhappily looked -like one. Instead, despoil those carrion, and, you others, help me to bear him -to the Trinity. 'Tis close at hand. Hast found aught, Gaspard?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay!" the other gentleman of the guard replied. "A pocketful -of louis-d'ors. Ho! for Babette and Alison and the wine flask to-morrow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good! Good!" the first replied. "The wine cup and the girls -to-morrow. Yet, not a word of anything to anybody. We found this Monsieur -stretched on the ground wounded. As for the refuse here," and he looked -scornfully at the dead men, "poof! we do not see them. They are beneath the -notice of sabreurs. Lift him gently; use your cloaks as bands beneath his body. -So away to the Trinity. Forward! <i>Marchez, mes dragons!</i>"</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The days drew into weeks, and the weeks into months. The -winter, with its snows and frosts was gone; the spring was coming. Yet, still, -Walter Clarges lay, white as a marble statue, in the hospital bed, hovering -'twixt life and death. But, because he was young and healthy, and had ever been -sober and temperate, his constitution triumphed over the thrust that had pierced -his lung and gone dangerously near to piercing his heart; his wound healed well -and cleanly both inside and out, his mouth ceased at last to fill with blood -each time he coughed or essayed to speak. Recovery was close at hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">That he was a gentleman the surgeons recognised as plainly as -the good-natured swashbucklers of Monseigneur's guard had done. His clear-cut, -aristocratic features and his delicate shapely hands showed this as surely as -his rich apparel (he had put on the best he had for his wedding), his jewelled -watch by Tompion (which his father had left him), and his well-filled purse -seemed to testify the same. But they did not know that what the purse contained -was all he would have in the world after he had made provision for the woman he -had married in the morning, and had paid every debt. At last, one day, the -surgeon spoke to him, telling him that he was well and cured. If he had a home -he might go forth to it, nothing now being required but that he should exercise -some little care with his lung, while endeavouring to catch no chill--and so -forth.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he said, "I have a home, such as it is. An apartment in -a back street, yet good enough, perhaps, for an English exile--an English -Jacobite."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had told them who he was and his name, while contenting -himself with simply describing the attack upon him as one made by armed ruffians -on that night of confusion, and thinking it best that he should say no more. To -narrate the reason why he had been thus attacked, to state that he had taken a -woman away from her lawful guardian, and married her on the morning when she was -about to have become the wife of a prominent member of the noblesse--prominent -in more ways than one!--would, he knew, be unwise. It might be that, even now, -Desparre or Vandecque could set the law upon him, in spite of their base attempt -at murder. If such were the case, and he should become a prisoner in the -Bastille or Vincennes, his chance of being of further help to his wife would be -utterly gone. And, for the same reason, he had not, during the last two weeks -that he had been enabled to speak or write, sent any message to the custodian of -the house where he lived, nor to his wife. He imagined that, since he had not -returned on that night as he had promised to do, she would continue to remain on -in the apartments in the Rue de la Dauphine until she heard from him. He had -shown her his strong box and had told her that it contained four thousand -livres, enough to provide her with her subsistence for some time to come. Surely -she would not fail to utilise the money--would not forget that she was his -lawful wife, and, though caring nothing for him, was therefore fully entitled to -do with it what she chose. He would find her there on his return. And then--then -they would make their arrangements for parting. He would force himself to bury, -in what must henceforth be a dead heart, the love and adoration he had for her. -Nay, he would do more. He had told her that, in days to come, he would find some -means of setting her free from the yoke of their marriage, that yoke which must -gall her so in the future. He could scarcely imagine as yet how this freedom was -to be obtained, but, because of that adoration, that love and worship of his, it -should be done. He had saved her from Desparre; soon she would need him no more. -Then she could fling him away, if any means could be devised to break the bonds -that bound her to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">What he did find when he reached the house in the Rue de la -Dauphine has been told, and how, when there, he learned that his thoughts of -setting her free had long since been anticipated. She had waited for no effort -on his part. She had escaped and left him the first moment that a chance arose, -after having availed herself of the sacrifice he had made, all too willingly, -for her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it," he said at last, as he sat before the burning -logs, thinking over all these things, while that letter, written in some unknown -woman's handwriting, lay at his feet "So be it; she is gone. I have no wife. -Yet, yet"--and he gazed down as he spoke at the paper--"had she known this story -which it tells--if it is the truth, she should have thanked me five thousand -times over for the service I did her. To have saved her from Desparre as her -husband was, perhaps, something worth doing--to save her from the awful, hellish -union into which she would have entered unknowingly, would surely have entitled -me to her everlasting gratitude--even without her love."</p> - -<p class="normal">And, again, he shuddered as he glanced at the letter lying -there.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," he exclaimed, springing to his feet, "that is over; -done with; put away for ever. One thing alone is not--my vengeance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Vandecque's abode I know," he muttered, "though not the -address of that double-dyed scoundrel, his master. That I must learn later. Now -for the jackal."</p> - -<p class="normal">He seized his roquelaure and was about to throw it over his -shoulder when he paused, remembering that he was unarmed--since the last sword -he had worn, that one which had been broken in the affray of the Rue des Saints -Apostoliques, was left where it had fallen. Then he went into his sleeping room -and came forth bearing a strong serviceable rapier, which he passed through his -sash.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has done good work for me before now," he mused; "'twill -serve yet to spit the foul creature I go to seek."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereupon, putting the letter from his unknown female -correspondent in his pocket, he went forth and made his way to the spot at which -he had met his wife on the morning of their ill-starred marriage; the "Jardin -des Roses," out of which the Passage du Commerce opened.</p> - -<p class="normal">The roses were not yet in bloom, the spring flowers were only -now struggling into bud; yet all looked gay and bright, and vastly different -from what it had done on that cold wintry morning when Laure had stolen forth -trembling to the arbour in which he waited for her, and had gone with him to -that ceremony which she then regarded as but a lesser evil than the one she fled -from.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What hopes we cherish, nourish in our hearts," he thought, as -he went swiftly over the crushed-shell paths to the opening of the Passage. -"Hopes never to be realised. Even as I married her, even as I vowed that never -would I ask her for her love, nor demand any consideration for me as her -husband, I still dreamed, still prayed that at last--some day--in the distant -future--she might come to love me. If only a little. Only a little. And now! And -now! And now! Ah, well! It must be borne!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He reached the house in the Passage as thus he meditated; -reached it, and summoned the concierge to come forth from his den. Then, when -the man stood before him ready to answer his inquiries, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I seek him who occupies the second floor of this house. Your -tenant, Vandecque."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Vandecque!" the man exclaimed. "Monsieur Vandecque! You seek -him?" and the tones of the man's voice rose shriller and shriller with each word -he muttered. "You seek Monsieur Vandecque?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Tis for that I am here. What else? Where is he?" Then, -seeing a blank look upon the man's face, he suddenly exclaimed: "Surely he is -not dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead; no. Not that I know of. Though, sometimes, I fear. -But--but--missing. He may be dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Missing! Since when--how long ago?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Since the night of the--the--catastrophe. The night of the -day when mademoiselle threw over the illustrious duke to marry an English -outcast. They say--many think--that it broke his heart; turned him demented. -That he drowned himself, poor gentleman, plunged into the Seine to hide----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah!" exclaimed Walter, "such fellows as that do not drown -themselves. More like he is in hiding for some foul crime, attempted or done. If -this is true that you tell me" (he thought it very likely that the man was lying -by Vandecque's orders) "what of his companions, his clients--the men who gambled -here. The 'illustrious duke' of whom you make mention; where is that vagabond?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The man rolled up his eyes to heaven as though fearing that -the skies must surely be about to fall at such profanation as this, and would -have replied uncivilly to his interrogator only--the accent of that interrogator -showed him to be an Englishman of the same class as the man who had stolen the -Duke's bride. And he remembered that Englishmen were hot and choleric; above all -that they permitted no insolence from inferiors. He did not know but that, if he -were impertinent, he might find himself saluted with a kick or a blow. But, -because he had as much wit of a sub-acid kind as most of his countrymen, he -muttered to himself, "Apparently, Monsieur knows Monsieur le Duc." But, aloud, -he said, "Monsieur le Duc is extremely unwell. He is no longer strong; in truth, -he has lived too well since he removed himself from the army. They say," and the -fellow sunk his voice as though what he was now about to impart was of too -sacred a nature to be even whispered to the vulgar air, "they say that Monsieur -fears a little fluxion, a stroke of apoplexy. His health, too, has suffered from -the events of that terrible morning, and that----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No matter for his health. Where is he? Tell me that. If I -cannot find Vandecque I must see him." Then, taking a louis from his pocket, he -held it out, while making no pretence of disguising the bribe. "Here," he said, -"here is something for your information. Now, answer, where is the man?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is," the concierge said, slipping the louis with -incredible rapidity into his breeches' pocket, "at or near Montpelier. The -doctors there are the finest in the world, while the baths are of great repute -for such disorders as those of Monsieur le Duc."</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is the truth? As well as that Vandecque has -disappeared?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur, I swear it. And, if Monsieur doubts me, he can see -Monsieur Vandecque's apartments. They will prove to him that they have not been -occupied for months. Also, if Monsieur demands at the Hôtel Desparre he will -learn that, in this case as well, I speak the truth."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I take you at your word. Let me see the apartments. Later, I -will verify what you say as to the absence of Desparre."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ascend, Monsieur," said the man, pointing to the stairs. -"Ascend, if you please." Walter Clarges did as was suggested, yet, even as he -preceded the concierge, he took occasion to put his hand beneath his cloak and -loosen his sword in its sheath. He did not know--he felt by no means sure of -what he might encounter when he reached those rooms upon the second floor.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - -<h5>THE PEST</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Almost did those unhappy women of the cordon, or -chain-gang--those skeletons clad in rags--thank God that something was occurring -down below in the great city, the nature of which they could not divine beyond -the fact that it was horrible, and must be something portentous, since it -delayed their descent from the hill towards the ships that were, doubtless, now -waiting in the harbour to transport them to New France. For, whatever the cause -might be--whether the city were in flames, or attacked by an enemy from the sea, -or set on fire in different places by the recent lightning--at least they were -enabled to rest; to cast themselves upon the dank earth that reeked with the -recent rain; to lie there with their eyes closed wearily.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, amongst those women was one who knew--or guessed, -surely--what was the cause of those flames; what they signified. The dark woman -of Hérault--the woman who, as a child, had listened to stories told of not so -many years ago, when, forth from this smoking city which lay now at their feet, -had rushed countless people seeking the pure air of the plains and mountains; -people seeking to escape from the stifling and pestiferous poison of the pest -that was lurking in the narrow, confined streets of Marseilles.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has come to the city again," she whispered in Laure's ear, -as the latter lay prostrate by her side--chained to her side--"As it has come, -they say, more than thirty times since first Christ walked the earth--since -Cæsar first made the place his. It must be that it has come again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What?" murmured Laure, not understanding. "What has come? -Freedom or death? Which is it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Probably both," Marion Lascelles answered. "Freedom and -death. Both."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, because her eyes were clearer than the eyes of many by -whom she was surrounded, and because her great, strong frame had resisted even -the fatigues and the miseries of that terrible journey from Paris to which so -many of her original companions had succumbed--to which all had succumbed, more -or less!--she was able to observe that the mounted gendarmes and the warders and -gaolers were holding close consultation; and that, also, they looked -terror-stricken and agitated. She was able to observe, too, that a moment later -they had been joined by a creature which had crept up the hill to where they -were, and had slowly drawn near to them. Yet it had done so as though half -afraid to approach too close, or as one who feared that he might be beaten away -as an unknown dog is driven off on approaching too near to the heels of a -stranger.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thrusting her brown, sunburnt hands through her matted, -coal-black hair, now filled and clotted with mud that had once been the dust of -the long weary roads she had traversed until the rain turned it into what it -was, she parted that hair from off her eyes and glared transfixed at the figure. -It was that of a man almost old, his sparse white locks glistening in the rays -of the moon which now overtopped the brow of the hill behind them--yet it was -neither the man's age nor his grey hairs that appalled her. Instead, it was his -face, which was of a loathsome yellow hue--it being plainly perceptible in the -moonbeams--as is the face of a man stricken to death with jaundice; a face -covered, too, with huge carbuncles and pustules, and with eyes of a chalky, -dense white, sunken in the hollow sockets.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is," Marion muttered hoarsely to herself, "the pest. That -man is sickening, has sickened of it. God help us all! Slave-drivers and slaves -alike. I saw one like him at Toulon once." And again she muttered, "God help us -all!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Above her murmur, which hardly escaped beyond her white, -clenched teeth, there rose a shout from those whom she termed to herself the -slave-drivers--a shout of fury and of horror.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Away, leper!" cried the man who had been the most stern of -all the guards, on seeing this figure near to him and his companions; "away, or -I shoot you like a dog," and he wrenched a great horse pistol from out his belt -as he spoke. "Away, I say, to a distance. At once."</p> - -<p class="normal">The unfortunate, yellow-faced creature did as he was bidden, -dragging himself wearily off for several paces, while falling once, also, upon -one knee, yet recovering himself by the aid of a huge knotted stick he held in -his hands; then he turned and said in a voice which, though feeble, was still -strong enough to be heard:</p> - -<p class="normal">"In the name of God give me some water. I burn within. Oh! -that one should live and yet endure such agony!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You shall have water--later," a warder answered. "Only, -approach not on peril of your life. Presently, a jar of water for you shall be -carried to a spot near here." Then the speaker asked huskily, and in a voice -which trembled with fear, "Is it the pest? Down there--in the city?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is the pest," the man replied, his awful white eyes -gleaming sickeningly. "They die in hundreds daily. Whole families--whole streets -of families--are dead. All mine are gone--my wife and seven children. I, too, am -stricken after nursing, burying them. I cannot live. In pity's sake, put that -jar of water where I can reach it ere--ere they come forth!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They come forth?" the guards of the cordon exclaimed all -together. "Ere who come forth?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Many who are still left alive. All are fleeing who can leave -the city. It is a vast tomb. Hundreds lie dead in the streets--poisoning, -infecting the air. Also, the dogs--they, too, are stricken, through tearing -them. The rooks, likewise, who have swooped down upon the bodies. God help me! -The water! The water The water! Ere they come."</p> - -<p class="normal">Perhaps it was compassion, perhaps fear, perhaps the knowledge -that ere long they, too, might be burning inwardly from the same cause as that -which now affected this unhappy man, which caused those brutal custodians to -take pity on his sufferings. But, from whatever cause it might be, at least that -pity was shown. A flat, squat bottle holding about a pint was taken by one of -them to a little rising knoll some seventy yards away and put on the ground; -then the pest-stricken man was told he might go to it.</p> - -<p class="normal">By now, even as he hobbled and dragged himself on his stick -towards that knoll, his white eyes gleaming horribly, the women of the -chain-gang had somewhat recovered from the stupor in which they had been lying; -some besides Marion Lascelles had even sat up upon the rain-steeped ground and -had heard all that had passed. And, now, they raised their voices in a shrill -clatter, shrieking to their custodians:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Release us! Release us! Set us free! We are not doomed to -this; instead, we are on our road to freedom. Strike off these accursed irons; -let us find safety somewhere. None meant that we should perish thus," while -Marion's voice was the loudest, most strident of all, since she was the -strongest and the fiercest.</p> - -<p class="normal">A common fear--a common horror--was upon everyone by now: -women prisoners and captors, or custodians, alike; all dreaded what was -impending over them. Wherefore their cries and shrieks, which, before this day, -would have been answered with the lash or the heavy riding wand, were replied to -almost kindly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have patience, good women," the gendarmes and guards replied, -"have patience. All may yet be well. If the vessels are in the port they will -soon carry you to sea; to a pure air away from this."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet still more hubbub arose from all the women. Those very -women who, upon the weary journey, had prayed that each day might be their last, -screamed at this time for life and safety and preservation from this awful -death--the death by the pest.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Turn us back," they wailed. "Turn us back. It has not -penetrated inland, or we should have heard of it on the route. Turn us back, or -set us free to escape by ourselves. 'Tis all we ask. It is our due. The law -desires not our death. Above all, no such death as this!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But again their guardians bade them have patience, telling -them that soon they would be on board the transports and well out upon the pure -bosom of the ocean.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well out!" cried Marion Lascelles, her voice still harsh and -strident, her accent defiant and contemptuous. "Well out to sea! Yes, after -traversing that fever-stricken city from one end to the other to reach the -docks. How shall we accomplish that; how will you, who must accompany us? You! -You, too! Can we pass through Marseilles unharmed? Can you?" and again she -emphasised the "you," while striking terror into the men's hearts and making -them quake as they sat on their horses or reclined in the carts. "All are -doomed. We, the prisoners. You, the gaolers."</p> - -<p class="normal">Those men knew it was as she said; they knew that their lives -were subject to as much risk, were as certain to be forfeited, as the lives of -the wretched women in their charge. Whereon they trembled and grew pale, -especially since they remembered that this was a woman of the South, and, -therefore, one who doubtless understood what she spoke of. The people of the -Midi had been reared from time immemorial on legends telling of the horrors of -the earlier pests.</p> - -<p class="normal">Whatever terrors were felt by either prisoners or custodians, -women or men, were now, however, to be doubly, trebly intensified. They were to -see, here, upon this rising upland of sunburnt and, now, rain-soaked grass, -sights even more calculated to make their hearts beat with apprehension, their -nerves tingle, and their lips turn more white.</p> - -<p class="normal">Forth from the smitten, pestiferous city lying at their -feet--that city which now flared with a hundred fires lit to purify it, if -possible--there came those who could escape while still life remained, and while -the poisonous venom of the scourge had not reduced them to helplessness. They -came dragging themselves feebly if already struck by the disease; swiftly if, as -yet, the fever had not penetrated their systems nor death set its mark upon -them. Walking rapidly in some cases, crawling in others; running, almost -leaping, if able to do so. Doing anything, thereby to flee away in the open; out -into the woods and plains and mountains--anything to leave behind the accursed -city in which the houses were empty or only filled with corpses; the accursed -streets in which the dead bodies of men and women, of dogs and crows, lay in -huddled masses.</p> - -<p class="normal">A band of nuns passed first--their heads bound in cloths that -had been steeped in vinegar into which gunpowder had been soaked; their holy -garments trailing on the ground, their rosaries clattering as they went along, -their faces white with terror though not with disease. These were good, pious -women, many of them young, who, until now, when the panic of dread had seized -upon them, had nursed the sick and dying under the orders of their saintly -bishop, Henri de Belsunce de Castlemoron, but who, at last, had yielded to the -fear that was upon all within Marseilles, and had fled. They had fled from their -cloisters out into the open, rushing away from the city of death, shrieking to -those who were stricken to keep off from them in the name of God and all his -Saints; even arming themselves with what were called the "Sticks of St. Roch," -namely, canes from eight to ten feet long, wherewith to ward off and push aside -the passers-by and, especially, the dogs which were supposed to be thoroughly -infected from the dead bodies at which they sniffed and sometimes tore. Nay, not -supposed only, since the creatures had already perished by hundreds from having -done so.</p> - -<p class="normal">Running by their side, endeavouring to keep up with those over -whom, but a little while ago, she had ruled with a stern, unbending power, went -the mother superior, a fat, waddling woman, whose face may have been comely -once, but was now drawn with fright and terror. Yet--with perhaps some -recollections left in her mind, even now, of the sanctity and charity that -should be the accompaniment of her holy calling--she paused on seeing the group -of worn, sunburnt, and emaciated women sitting there under the charge of their -frightened warders, and asked who and what they were?</p> - -<p class="normal">"Galley slaves," one of these warders answered; "at least, -emigrants. They go to New France. Can we pass through the city, think you, holy -mother, or reach the ships without danger? Can we go on to safety and pure -breezes?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas!" the woman answered, gathering up her skirts even as -she spoke, so as to flee as swiftly as might be after her flock, which had gone -on without pausing when she herself did so. "Alas, there are no ships. The -galleys are moored outside 'tis true, but all else have put to sea to escape. -Turn back if you are wise. Ah!" she cried with a scream, a shriek, as some other -fugitives from the city passed near her, their eyes chalky white, their faces -yellow and blotched with great livid carbuncles. "Oh, keep off! keep off!" And -she waved her long stick around her and then rushed precipitously after her band -of nuns.</p> - -<p class="normal">But still the refugees came forth, singly, in pairs, in -families. Some staggered under burdens which they bore, such as bags containing -food or jars holding water. Numbers of women carried not only babes in their -arms and folded to their breasts, but others strapped on to their backs. Some -men wheeled hand barrows before them with their choicest household goods flung -pell-mell into them; some, even, had got rough vehicles drawn by horses or -cows--in one or two instances by dogs, and in another by a pig--by the side of -which they walked while their stricken relatives lay gasping within. Yet, even -as these latter passed along, that which was most distinctive in their manner -was the horror which those who still remained unstruck testified for those who -were stricken, yet whom the ties of blood still prompted them to save. A son -passed along with his aged mother dying on the truck he pushed before him, yet -he had bound his mouth up with vinegar-steeped cloths so that her infected -breath should not be inhaled by him; a husband, whose wife was at the point of -death, bore, fastened on his chest, a small iron tray on which smoked burning -sulphur, so that he should inhale those fumes. Others, too, carried flasks and -bottles of spirituous liquors, from which they drank momentarily; some smoked -incessantly enormous pipes full of rank, coarse tobacco, and drew into their -lungs as much of the fumes as they could bear.</p> - -<p class="normal">There, too, passed flying domestics and servitors, upon whose -coarse hands sparkled rich and sumptuous rings never made to be worn by such as -they, and carrying in those hands strong boxes and jewel boxes. None need have -asked how they became possessed of such treasures as these! Imagination would -have told at once of dead or dying employers, of dark houses rifled, and of -robbery successful.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet these fugitives were such as, up to now, had escaped the -deadly breath of the pest, and were not so horrible as those stricken by that -breath. These latter were too awful to behold as they staggered along moaning, -"I burn! I burn!" and then flung themselves down to lick the rain-water off the -grass beneath them, or to thrust their parched tongues into rivulets formed by -the recent downpour. They flung themselves down, never, in many cases, to -stagger to their feet again. Exhausted they lay where they fell, and so they -died.</p> - -<p class="normal">The stream of refugees ceased not. Under the rays of the now -risen moon they poured forth continuously from the flaming city beneath them, -their faces lit also by the crimson-illuminated sky above. They came on in -numbers, running or walking, breathlessly if strong, staggering, falling, -moaning, shrieking sometimes, if already attacked by the pest.</p> - -<p class="normal">And Marion Lascelles sitting up upon the sodden hill slope, -her hands holding back her matted hair so that the soft wind now blowing from -above should not cause it to obscure her eyes, saw all these passers-by, and -felt a horror in her soul that she had never before known in her tempestuous -life. While, also, she saw something else, and whispered in the ears of the half -inanimate Laure what it was that she perceived. "Observe, dear one," she -muttered, "observe. The guards, all of them, the gaolers and gendarmes move. -They mix with that rushing crowd; see, they disappear; almost, it seems, they -dissolve into the night. One understands what they have determined to do. They -flee, too; they dare not face this thing. They depart, leaving us here. The -cowards!" And if eyes as well as lips could hurl contemptuous curses at others, -the woman of the South hurled them now at the departing captors.</p> - -<p class="normal">"For," she said a moment later, "the safety the creatures seek -they do not give us the opportunity of finding as well. They have left us -chained and manacled so that we, on our part, cannot escape."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - -<h5>"I HAD NOT LIVED TILL NOW, COULD SORROW KILL"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The night wind rose as the hours went by, so that at last the -cool breezes brought ease, and, in a manner, restoration to those unhappy women -lying or sitting upon the slope of the hill which lay to the north of -Marseilles. Gradually, under its influence, many of them began to feel more -strength coming to their wasted and aching limbs, while others, who up to now -had been dazed and stupefied at the end of their journey, began to understand -that the long and terrible march from Paris was at last concluded; that, -henceforth, there was to be no more dragging of weary, bleeding feet along -league after league of rough and stony roads.</p> - -<p class="normal">Unhappily, however, as this fact dawned upon them, so did -another and more hideous one--the awful, ghastly fact that they had but escaped -from one terror to be surrounded by a second to which the first was almost a -trifle.</p> - -<p class="normal">As their senses came back to many of them, such senses being -aroused by the continual excitement of the talk amongst those who were already -awake or had never slept since their arrival, they grasped this fact, and became -aware of what was now threatening them. They grasped the fact that death in a -more horrid garb than that which it had previously worn had to be faced, and was -around them; close to them; and about to seize them in an awful embrace.</p> - -<p class="normal">Some started to their feet shrieking as this knowledge dawned -upon them, while clanking their chains as they did so, and endeavouring to tear -from off their necks the loathsome <i>carcan</i>, or collar, in their frenzy, or -to rush away from where they were back to the great plain through which they had -passed but a day or so ago, or up to the vine-clad heights of which they had -caught a sight as they drew near to the end of their journey. Anywhere! -Anywhere, away from this new terror which threatened them. Then, even as they -wailed aloud, while some cast themselves upon their knees and prayed to be -spared from the horrible contagion into which they had advanced, the voice of -Marion Lascelles was heard speaking to them, counselling them as to what they -should do, what measures take to preserve themselves from this fresh calamity. -And, because, all along that dreary road which stretched from Paris in the north -to Marseilles in the south, this woman's strong, indomitable courage and -contempt for suffering and misfortune had cheered and comforted them, they -hearkened to her now. They welcomed, indeed, any words that fell from her lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen," she said, "my sisters in misery. Listen to me. Of -what use is it for each to try and wrest from off her neck the accursed -<i>carcan</i> that encloses it, to tear from off her wrists the accursed cordon -that binds her to her neighbour? It is impossible; not that they might be thus -easily parted with, did the warder rivet them to us in Paris. Yet, how else have -we progressed here but with them on; how progressed along dusty roads, beneath -the burning sun, the beating rains, over mountains and across valleys. We have -done this, I say to you, yet now the night is fresh and cool."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank God for that. For that," they murmured.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, thank Him for that. 'Tis well we do so, sinners as most -of us are. We need His help and blessing. But, hear me. Can we not also retreat -together, as we have advanced over all these leagues to this plague-stricken -spot? Can we not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">But no more words were required from her; already they -understood and grasped her meaning. It was simple enough, yet, heretofore, their -despair and frenzy had prevented them from conceiving that, together, they might -escape from this place, as, together, they had reached it.</p> - -<p class="normal">With cries of rejoicing and exultation they prepared to do -what she suggested; to flee at once from this awful spot. To join those who were -still pouring out of the city unceasingly, even though the depth of the night -was now upon them; to follow in the wake of those who had already gone. They -knew--those previous fugitives--they must know--where to flee for safety; to -follow them was to reach that safety themselves.</p> - -<p class="normal">Weak, enfeebled as they were, they prepared to act upon -Marion's advice; staggeringly they formed themselves once more into the lines in -which they had marched day after day and week after week; they turned themselves -about to unwind the tangled chains which ran from the first woman of the -chain-gang to the last, and placed themselves in order to at once depart. And it -seemed easier to their poor bruised bodies, easier, too, to their aching hearts, -to thus set about these preparations for seeking safety since there were now no -longer brutal gendarmes nor custodians, nor guards of any kind to lash them with -whips or curse them with foul oaths.</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore they turned back, commencing at once to retrace the -road they had come and walking in the same order as they walked from the -first--since the position of none could be altered. And by Marion's side was -Laure, as ever.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are refreshed," the former said to her companion; "you -can accomplish this? Strive--oh! strive--poor soul, to be brave! Remember, every -step we take, every moment, removes us farther and farther from the risk of this -awful thing. Be brave, dear one," and, herself still strong and brave, -unconquered and unconquerable, she placed her arm around that of her more -delicate fellow-prisoner and helped her upon the way.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will be brave," Laure answered. "I will struggle to the -end. My heart is broken, death would be welcome--yet not such a death as this. -Oh! Marion, I do not desire to die thus--like those," and she pointed to some of -the awful yellow-faced victims who were being wheeled or dragged along, or were -staggering by themselves to the mountains and open country. "Yet, surely," she -added, "the risk is as great here as in the city below, so long as we keep in -their vicinity. Is it not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, it is," the other answered. "Yet we will break off from -them ere long. Alas! these chains. If we were only free of them we could all -separate; you and I could climb that little hill together which rises over -there; we could go on and on until the feverous breath of the pest was left -behind. But we can do nothing. All must stay together."</p> - -<p class="normal">Still they went on, however--not swiftly, because amongst them -there was not one, not even Marion herself, who could progress otherwise than -slowly, owing to the fatigue that was upon them after their long march, and -owing, also, to the weight of their irons, as well as to the fact that they were -almost famished. Their last meal had been eaten at midday, and they had been -promised a full one by their late guardians on entering the gates of Marseilles. -Yet, now, they were retreating from Marseilles, and there were no guardians left -to provide for them. When, Marion wondered, would they ever eat again; how would -food be found for the mouths of all in their company? There were still some -twenty women left chained together; how could they be fed?</p> - -<p class="normal">Even, however, as she reflected on all this, another thought -arose in her mind; one that had had no existence in it for many hours, or, -indeed, days.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where is the men's chain-gang, I wonder?" she mused aloud. -"The men who, poor wretches, are in many cases our newly-made husbands. Where -can they be? They were ahead of us all the way; therefore, since we have not -passed them, and since, also, we halted within musket-shot of the city, it -follows that they, at least, have entered the doomed place--are doomed -themselves. Great God! we who survive this are as like as not to be widows again -soon," and she laughed a harsh, strident laugh that had no mirth in it, but was -born of the bitterness within her.</p> - -<p class="normal">Those words "our newly-made husbands" gave rise to thoughts in -Laure's own sad heart that she would willingly have stifled if she had possessed -the power to do so. They recalled memories that (when she had not been too -dazed--almost too delirious--to dwell upon them during the horrors of the past -six weeks) she had endeavoured to dispel. Memories of the noble Englishman who -had sacrificed his existence for her--nay! if that villain Desparre had spoken -truth, his very life--and whose sacrifice had obtained for her no more than the -state of misery in which she was now plunged.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet," she whispered, half to herself, half aloud, so that -Marion heard her words; "yet, almost I pray that he may be dead----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your husband?" the other interrupted. "You pray that he may -be dead! He who gave up all for you--the man whom you love. Whom, Laure, you -know you love?" For still Marion insisted, as she had insisted often enough -before during the journey, that Laure had come to love Walter Clarges.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes--I even pray for that--sometimes," the girl answered. -"For--for if he lives, how doubly vile must he deem me. What must he think of -me, supposing--supposing that Desparre lied--that he was not dead--that he was -not even met by that villain and his myrmidons--that the whole story was false!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What should he think!" exclaimed Marion, not, in truth, -grasping Laure's meaning. "What should he think?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What? Why think that but I used him for my own selfish -purposes to escape from marriage with Desparre, as, God forgive me, was the -case; and that, once he had left me alone in his home, I next escaped from him. -How can he know--how dream of what befell me? Who was there to tell him of what -happened in that room? Even I, myself, know nothing of what occurred from the -time I fell prostrate at Desparre's feet, until I awoke a prisoner in that--that -prison, which I only left for this," and she cast her eyes despairingly around -upon her miserable companions and upon the flying inhabitants of the stricken -city who still went on and on, their one hope being to leave the place behind.</p> - -<p class="normal">But the brave heart, the strong mind of Marion -Lascelles--neither of which could be subdued by even that which now encompassed -them--would not for an instant agree to such hopelessness as her companion -expressed. Instead, she cried:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, nay. He would not do so. Believe that Desparre lied when -he said that your husband was dead, since how could such a creeping snake as -that slay such as he was, one so noble. Believe he lived, and, thus living, -returned to find you gone. But, in doing so----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He would hate, despise, loathe me. He would deem me what I -was, base and contemptible, and so, God help me! endeavour to forget. He would -remember nothing except that he had parted with his freedom for ever to save so -vile a thing as I."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Again I say nay, Laure," and now Marion's voice sank even -lower, her tone became more deep. "Laure, I know the hearts of men--God help -<i>me</i>, too!--I have had cause to know them--bitter cause, brought about -sometimes by my own errors, sometimes by their own wickedness. And I--I tell -you, you have judged wrongly. This man, this Englishman, loved you with his -whole heart and soul; he loves you still."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas! alas! it cannot be," Laure murmured. "It is -impossible."</p> - -<p class="normal">"At first," Marion went on, "he may, it is true, deem that you -used him only as a tool. He may do so because no man who ever lived has yet -understood woman's nature--ever sounded the depths of that nature. Therefore, -not knowing, as they none of them know, our hearts, he may at first believe, as -you say, that you sacrificed his existence to your salvation. Not understanding, -not guessing in his man's blindness that, as he made the sacrifice, so the love -for him sprang newborn into your heart. Is it not so, Laure? Here in the midst -of all these horrors with which we are surrounded, here with death close at -hand, with infection in the air, ready to seize on one or all at any moment, -answer me. Speak truth as you would speak it on your death-bed. You love -him--loved him from that moment? Answer! Is it not so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," Laure said, faintly, her whisper being almost drowned -in the soft, cool breeze that came sweeping over them from the distant -mountain-tops of the Basses Alpes. "Yes, I loved him from the first--from the -moment when he took me to his house. Oh, God!" she murmured, "when he told me -that we must part, deeming that I could never love him, almost I threw myself at -his feet, almost I rushed to his arms beseeching him to fold me in them, to stay -by my side for ever. And now--now--we shall never meet again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never meet again, perhaps," said Marion, scorning to hold out -hopes to the other that she could not believe were ever likely to be realised; -"yet of one thing be sure, namely, that he will seek for you. As time goes on he -will learn the truth--how, I cannot tell, yet surely he must learn it--and -then--and then no power on earth, nothing short of the will of God will prevent -him from seeking for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And finding me dead. Here, or in the new land to which we -go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The new land to which we go!" Marion echoed, scornfully. "The -new land to which we go! I doubt if that will ever be. If it were not for these -cursed irons we should be free now--free for ever. We could disperse singly, or -in couples, wander forth over France, even seek other lands. And--and you could -write to him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah!" Laure exclaimed. "Write to him! To do that! Oh, Marion, -Marion, you are so strong, so brave! Set us free! Set us free! Set us free!" -Alas! that Marion should have spoken those words, or have let them fall on -Laure's ears, thus raising desires and expectations never to be gratified. There -was no freedom to come to them--none from so awful a captivity as that which was -now to enslave them.</p> - -<p class="normal">For, even as Laure uttered her wail for freedom, which was -born of her companion's hopeful words, the atom of liberty they possessed--the -liberty of being able to remove from this fever-tainted spot to some other that -remained still unpoisoned by the breath of the pestilence, although shackled and -chained altogether--was taken away.</p> - -<p class="normal">There came up swiftly behind them a band of men; they were a -number of convicts, drawn from the galleys lying at the Quai de Riveneuve, as -well as several of the beggars of Marseilles, known as "the crows:" beggars who -were employed and told off to act under the orders of the sheriffs in removing -the dead from the streets, in lighting nightly the fires to purge the city, and -in fulfilling the duties of the police--mostly dead themselves by this time.</p> - -<p class="normal">And in command of them were two sheriffs.</p> - -<p class="normal">"These are the women, the emigrants," one of the latter said -to the other. "'Twas certain they could not be very far behind the men." Then -the speaker, who was mounted, rode his horse up to where this group of desolate, -forlorn wanderers stood hesitating while appalled by the sudden stoppage of -their escape, and said--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good women, whither are you going? Your destiny is -Marseilles, en route for New France."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment those unhappy women stood helpless and silent, -gazing into each other's worn faces, not knowing what answer to make or what to -say. In truth they were paralysed with the fear that was upon them, namely, that -they were about to be driven into the infected city, paralysed also with grief -at their escape being cut off.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Answer," the Sheriff said, not speaking harshly. And then, -with all the eyes of her companions in misery fixed on her and bidding her -plainly enough to act as their mouthpiece, Marion said--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Those who drove us from Paris here have fled in fear of the -contagion that is amongst you. We, too, have sought to flee away from it. The -law which condemned us to transportation to New France, to be followed by our -freedom, did not condemn us to this."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You speak truth," the Sheriff said, his voice a grave and -solemn, yet not unkindly, one. "Yet you must go on with what you are sent here -for. And--and--we need women's help here, such help as nursing and so forth. You -must come with us and stay until the ships, which have put to sea in fear, -return to transport you to New France."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is tyranny!" Marion Lascelles exclaimed. "Tyranny to force -us thus!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not so," the Sheriff replied. "Not so. You will be treated -well; your freedom will begin at once. Your irons shall be struck off now. Also, -while you remain with us and work for us--heaven knows how we require -assistance--you shall have a daily wage and good food. But--you must come."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We shall die," Marion exclaimed, acting still as the -spokeswoman of all. "And our deaths will lie at your door."</p> - -<p class="normal">But still the Sheriff spoke very gently, saying that, even so, -they must do as he bid them. Then, next, he ordered some of the convicts to -stand forward and remove their chains and collars, so that even the short -distance to be accomplished ere reaching the city should be no more irksome than -possible.</p> - -<p class="normal">After which he said to the group of women, many of whom were -sobbing around him, some with fear of what they were about to encounter, and -some with joy at losing at last, their horrible, hateful iron burdens.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not weep. Do not weep. Already is our once bright, joyous -city a vale of tears. Nay, there can be, I think, no more tears left for us to -shed. I myself can weep no more. I who, in the last week, have buried my wife, -my two daughters, and my little infant babe."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! oh!" gasped Marion and Laure and all the women standing -round who heard the bereaved man's words. "Oh! Unhappy man. Unhappy man!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - -<h5>AN ARISTOCRATIC RESORT</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The little watering-place of Eaux St. Fer, which stood on the -slope of a hill some few leagues outside Montpelier, and nearer than that city -to the southern sea-board, was very full this summer; so full, indeed, that -hardly could the visitors to it be accommodated with the apartments they -required. So full that, already it had incurred the displeasure of many of those -patrons--who were mostly of the ancient nobility of France--at their being -forced to rub shoulders with, and also live cheek by jowl with, such common -persons as--to go no lower--those of the upper bourgeoisie. Yet it had to be -done--the doing of it could not be avoided; for this very year the waters of -Eaux St. Fer had bubbled forth a degree warmer than they had ever been known to -do before; they tasted more of saltpetre than any visitor could recollect their -having done previously, and tasted also more unutterably nauseous; while -marvellous cures of gout and rheumatism, and complaints brought on by overeating -and overdrinking and late hours, as well as other indulgences, were reported -daily. Even at this very moment the gossips staying at The Garland (the -fashionable hostelry) were relating how Madame la Marquise de Montesprit, who -was noted for eating a pâté of snipe every night of her life for supper, was -already free from pain and able to sit up in her bed and play piquet with the -Abbé Leri, whose carbuncles were fast disappearing from his face; while, too, -the Chevalier Rancé d'Irval had lost eight pounds of his terrible weight, and -the Vicomtesse de Fraysnes had announced that in another week she would actually -appear without her veil, so much improved was her complexion. Likewise, it was -whispered that, only a day or so before, three casks of the atrociously tasting -water had been sent up to Paris to no less a person than the Regent himself.</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore Eaux St. Fer was full to suffocation; dukes, -duchesses, and all the other members of what was even then called the old -régime, were huddled together pell-mell with bankers, merchants, even eminent -shopkeepers and tradesmen; and, except that in the principal alley, or walk, it -was understood that the nobility kept to one side of it, and those whom they -termed the "refuse" to the other, one could hardly have told which were the -people who boasted the blood of centuries in their veins, and which were those -who, if they knew who their grandfathers were, knew no more. And, after all, -when one's blood is corrupted by every indulgence that human weakness can give -way to until the body is like a barrel, and the legs are like bolsters, and the -face is a mass of swollen impurity, or as white as that of a corpse within its -shroud, it matters very little whether that blood is drawn from ancestors who -fought at Ascalon and Jerusalem or peddled vulgar wares in the lowest purlieus -of cities.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mon ami!" exclaimed one of the high-born dames, who kept to -the right side of the alley, to an aristocrat who sat on a bench beneath a tree -close by where one of the fountains of Eaux St. Fer bubbled forth its waters, -"Mon ami, you do not look well this morning. Yet see how the sun shines around; -observe how it shows the wrinkles beneath the eyes of Mademoiselle de Ste. Ange -over there, and also the paint on the face of the old Marquis de Pontvert. You -should be gay, mon ami, this morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not well," replied the personage whom she addressed. -"Neither in health nor mind. Sometimes I wish I were a soldier again, living a -life of----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Neither in health nor mind!" the lady who had accosted him -repeated. "Come, now. That is not as it should be. Let us see. Tell me your -symptoms. First, for the health. What ails that?" and, as she asked the -question, she peered into the man's dull eyes with her own large clear ones. -Then she continued, "Remember, Monsieur le Duc, that, although an arrangement -once subsisting between us will never come to a settlement now, we are still to -be very good--friends. Is it not so?" Yet, even as she asked the question, -especially as she mentioned the word "friends," she turned her face away from -him on the pretence of flicking off some dust from her farthest sleeve, and -smiled, while biting her full, red nether lip with her brilliantly white teeth.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then she turned back to him, saying: "Now for the health. What -is the worst?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Diane, I suffer. I burn----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Already!</i>" she exclaimed. And the Marquise laughed -aloud at her own cruel joke; a merry little, rippling laugh, and one more -befitting a girl of twenty than a woman nearly double that age. And her blue -eyes flashed saucily--though some might, however, have said, sinisterly. Then -she begged the other's pardon, and desired him to continue.</p> - -<p class="normal">But, annoyed, petulant at her scoff, he would not do so; -instead, he turned his white face away from where she had taken a seat beside -him, and watched the other members of his own order strolling about under the -trees, their hats, when men, under their arms, their dresses, when women, held -up in many cases by little page boys.</p> - -<p class="normal">She, on her part, did not press him to continue. She had -strolled forth that morning from The Garland, where she had been fortunate -enough to secure rooms for herself and her maid, with the full determination of -meeting Monsieur le Duc Desparre and of conversing with him on a certain topic, -her own share in which conversation she had rehearsed a thousand times in the -last seven months, and she meant to do so still; but as for his health, or his -mental troubles, she cared not one jot. Indeed, had Diane Grignan de Poissy been -asked what gift of Fate she most desired should be accorded to her old lover at -the present time, she would doubtless have suggested that a long, lingering -illness, which should prevent him from ever again being able to enjoy, in the -slightest degree, the fortune and position he had lately inherited, would be -most agreeable to her. For this man sitting by her side had, in his poverty, -been her lover, he had accepted substantial offerings from her under the guise -of her future husband, and, in his affluence, had refused to fulfil his pledge -to her--a Grignan de Poissy by marriage, a Saint Fresnoi de Buzanval by birth--a -woman notorious, famous, for her beauty even now!</p> - -<p class="normal">No wonder she hated the "cadaverous infidel"--as often enough -she termed him in her own thoughts--the man now seated by her side.</p> - -<p class="normal">Her presence in this resort of the sick and ailing was, like -that of many others, simply for her own purpose. Some of those others came to -keep assignations; some to win money off well-to-do invalids who, although -rushing with swift strides to their tombs, could not, nevertheless, exist -without gaming; some to carry on here the same life which they led in Paris, but -which life there was now at a standstill and would be so until the leaves began -to fall in the woods round and about the capital. As for her, Diane Grignan de -Poissy, she needed neither to drink unpleasant waters that tasted of iron and -saltpetre, nor to bathe in them, nor to follow any regimen; though, to suit her -own ends, she gave out that she did thus need to do so. Instead, and actually, -in all her thirty-eight years she had never know either ache or pain or ailment, -but had revelled always in superb health, notwithstanding the fact that she had -been a maid of honour once at Versailles to a daughter of the old King--that -now-forgotten "Roi Soleil!"--and had taken part since in many of the supper -parties given by Philippe le Débonnaire.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet in spite of all, she was here, at Eaux St. Fer.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently she spoke again, saying in a soft, subdued voice, -into which she contrived to throw a contrite tone--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Armand, dear friend, you are not going to quarrel with me for -a foolish word; a silly joke! Armand, the memories of the past brought me -here--to see you. I heard that you were suffering, and -also--that--that--you--could not recover from the trick put upon you by that -girl--Laure Vauxc----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Silence!" he said, turning swiftly round on her. "Silence! -Never mention that name, that episode again in my hearing. It has damned me in -the eyes of Paris--of France--for ever. It has heaped ridicule on me from which -I can never recover. It is that--that--that--which has broken me down. Neither -Tokay, nor late nights--as I cause it to be given out--nor----" He paused in his -furious words, then said a moment later, "Yet, so far as he, as she, are -concerned, I have paid the score. He is dead, she worse than dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know, I know," she murmured, her blue eyes almost averted, -so that he should not observe the glance that she felt, that she knew, must be -in them. "I know. Let us talk of it no more. Armand, forget it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Forget it! I shall never forget it. What can I do to drive it -from my own thoughts or to drive the memory of my humiliation by that beggar's -brat from out the memory of men--of all Paris!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ignore it. Again I say, forget. Thus you cause others to do -so." Then, as though she, at least, had no intention of saying aught that might -re-open, or help to re-open, the wounds caused to his vanity by the events of -the winter, she picked up idly a book he had been glancing at when she drew near -him, and which had fallen on to the crushed-shell path of the alley as they -conversed. She picked it up and began turning its fresh white pages over.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It amuses you?" she asked. "This thing?" And she read out the -title of one of Piron's latest productions, the comic opera, "Arlequin -Deucalion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One must do something--to pass the time. If we cannot see a -play, the next best thing is to read one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas," his companion exclaimed, "the plays of to-day are so -stupid--so puerile! No plot, no characters bearing truth to life. Now I! Now -I--ah!----" she broke off. "Look at that! And just as we speak, too, of plays -and playwriters. Behold, Papa de Crébillon. Mon Dieu! What is the matter with -him. He jabbers like a monkey. Yet still he bows with grace--the grace of a -gentleman."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He suffers from gout atrociously," Desparre muttered.</p> - -<p class="normal">In truth, the figure which now approached the pair seated in -the alley might have been either of the things which Diane Grignan de Poissy had -mentioned, a monkey or a gentleman. His face was a drawn and twitching one, -filled with innumerable lines and with, set into it, deep sunken eyes, while his -manners were--for the period--perfect, his bow that of a courtier, and worthy of -the most refined member of the late Louis' court. For the rest, he was a man of -over forty years of age, and was renowned already as the author of the popular -dramas "Electra," "Atreus," and "Idomeneus." By his side walked a lad, his son, -Claude Prosper, destined to be better known even than his father, though not so -creditably.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning, Monsieur de Crébillon," cried the bright and -joyous Diane--bright and joyous as she assumed to be!--while the dramatist drew -near to where she and her companion were seated beneath the acacias. "You are -most welcome. 'Tis but now we were talking of plays and dramas--lamenting, -too----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah! Madame la Marquise!" exclaimed the dramatist at the word -"lamenting," while his face twitched worse than before, since assumed horror was -added to it now. "Lamenting; no! no! madame! lament nothing. At least there is, -I trust, nothing to lament in our modern drama."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, but there is though!" the Marquise said. Then assuming an -air of playful reproof, she went on: "How is it that you all miss plot in your -productions now? Why have you no secrets reserved for the end--for the -dénouement, for the last moment ere they make ready to extinguish the lights. -Eh! Answer me that. Hardy was the last. Since then it is all pompous -declamation, heavy versification, dull pomp, and thunder. Hardy belonged to a -past day, but at least he excited his listeners, kept them awake for what was to -come--what they knew would come--what they knew must come."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame has said it----" the dramatist bowed at this moment to -three ladies of the aristocracy who passed by, while Desparre rose from his seat -to greet them with stiff courtesy, and Diane Grignan de Poissy smiled -affectionately. "Hardy did belong to a past day. We have changed all that, -Corneille changed it." At the name of Corneille he bowed again solemnly. "Yet," -he said, "plot is no bad thing. A little vulgar and straining, perhaps, yet -sufficiently interesting."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur de Crébillon," Desparre exclaimed here, he not -having spoken a word before or acknowledged the dramatist's presence, except by -a glance, "you may be seated. There is a sufficiency of room upon this bench."</p> - -<p class="normal">With a gleam from his sunken eyes--which might have meant to -testify thanks to Monsieur le Duc, or might have meant to convey contempt--was -he not already a popular favourite among the highest ranks of the aristocracy in -Paris, and, even here, in Eaux St. Fer, one of those to whom the fashionable -side of the alley was thrown open as a right!--he took his seat upon the vacant -space on the other side of the Marquise. Then, from out the hollow caverns of -his eye-sockets he regarded her steadily, while he said--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has Madame la Marquise by chance any protegé among her many -friends who has written a play with a plot? An embryo Hardy, for example. -Almost, if a poor poet might be permitted to have a thought," and again his -glance rested with contempt on Desparre; "I would wager such to be the case. -Some gentleman of her house who deems that he has the sacred fire within -him----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Supposing," interrupted Diane, "that one who is no poor -gentleman--but--but--as a matter of fact--myself--had conceived a good drama, -a--a--story so strange that she imagined it might amuse--nay--interest an -audience. Suppose that! Would it be possible to----?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Madame," exclaimed le Duc Desparre, "have you turned -dramatist. Are you about to become a bluestocking?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not?" she asked, with a swift glance that met his; a -glance that reminded him--he knew not why--of the blue steely glitter of a -rapier. "Why not? Have not other women of France, of my class, done such -things?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Frequently," de Crébillon replied, answering the question -addressed to the other. "Frequently. Yet--yet--never that I can recall in -public, before the lower orders, the people. But to pass a soirée away, to amuse -one's friends in the country. That would be another thing. A little comedy -now,--with a brilliant, startling conclusion--"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mine is not a comedy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps," questioned the dramatist, "a great classical -tragedy? With a dénouement such as was used in early days?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, a drama. One of our own times."</p> - -<p class="normal">Still, as she spoke, she kept her eyes fixed full blaze upon -de Crébillon--yet--out of the side of them--she watched Monsieur le Duc. And it -might be that the sun was flickering the shadows of the acacia leaves upon his -face and, thereby, causing that face to look now as though it were more yellow -than white. She thought, at least, that this was the tinge it was assuming. -Yet--she might be mistaken.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you not tell us, Madame la Marquise, something of this -plot, at least?" the duke asked, "give us some premonition of what this subject -is. Or prepare us for what we are to expect when this drama sees the day?"</p> - -<p class="normal">And she knew that his voice trembled as he spoke. "Nay, nay, -Monsieur le Duc," the dramatist exclaimed, "to do that would destroy the -pleasure of the representation. It would remove expectancy--the salt of such -things." Then, turning to the Marquise, he asked: "Is Madame's little play -written, or, at present, only conceived? If so, I should be ravished to read it; -to myself alone, or to a number of Madame's friends. There are many here, in -Eaux St. Fer. And the after dinner hours are a little dull; such an afternoon -would compensate for much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The plot is alone conceived. It is in the air only. Yet it is -all here," and she tapped with her finger on her white forehead over which the -golden hair curled crisply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will Madame la Marquise permit that I construct a little play -for the benefit of her friends? The saloon of The Garland will hold all she -chooses to invite. Doubtless, Monsieur le Duc will agree with me that no more -ravishing entertainment could be provided in Eaux St. Fer, which is a -little--one may say--a little <i>triste</i>--sometimes."</p> - -<p class="normal">Heavily, stolidly, Monsieur le Duc bowed his head -acquiescingly; though, had it been in his power to do so, he would have thrown -obstacles in the way of the Marquise's little plot ever falling into de -Crébillon's hands. He had seen something in that steely glitter of her blue eyes -which disturbed him, though he scarcely knew why such should be the case--yet, -also, he could not forget that this was a woman whom he had wronged in the worst -way possible to wrong such as she--by scorning her in his prosperity. Therefore -he was disturbed.</p> - -<p class="normal">Half an hour later the alley was deserted, the visitors were -going to their dinners, it was one o'clock. The Duc had departed to his, the -Marquise Grignan de Poissy was strolling slowly towards The Garland, there to -partake of hers; de Crébillon and his son walked by her side. And, as they did -so, the dramatist said a word.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Always," he remarked quietly, "I have thought that Madame la -Marquise was possessed of the deepest friendship for Monsieur le Duc."</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Vraiment!</i>" she exclaimed, transfixing him with her -wondrous eyes. "<i>Vraiment!</i> And has Monsieur de Crébillon seen fit to alter -that opinion?" To which the other made no answer, unless a shrug of his lean -shoulders was one.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_18" href="#div1Ref_18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - -<h5>"THE ABANDONED ORPHAN"<br> -PROLOGUE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The company had assembled in the saloon of the Garland and -formed as fashionable a collection of the upper aristocracy as any which could -perhaps be brought together outside Paris. Not even Vichy, the great rival of -Eaux St. Fer, could have drawn a larger number of persons bearing the most -high-sounding and aristocratic names of France. For Eaux St. Fer was this year <i> -la mode</i>, principally because of that one extra degree of heat which the -waters were reported to have assumed, and, next, because of the rumour, now -accepted as absolute truth, that the Regent had casks and barrels of those -waters sent with unfailing regularity to Paris daily. And, still, for one other -reason, namely, that here the life of Paris might be resumed; the intrigues, the -flirtations, and the scandals of the <i>Maîtresse Vile</i>--or of that portion -of it which the highest aristocracy of the land condescended to consider as -Paris, namely, St. Germain, the Palais Royal and Versailles--might be renewed; -everything might be indulged in, here as there, except the late hours of going -to bed and the equally late ones of rising, the overeating and overdrinking, and -the general wear and tear of already enfeebled constitutions. Everything might -be the same except these delights against which the fashionable physicians so -sternly set their faces.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do what you will," said those aristocratic tyrants, who -(after having preached up the place as one from which almost the elixir of a new -life might be drawn) had now followed their patients to the spot thereby to -guard over and protect them, and, also, to continue to increase their bills. "Do -all that you desire, save--a few things. No late hours, no rich dishes, no -potent wines, no heated rooms. Instead, fresh air all day long in the valleys, -or, above, on the hills; the plain living of the country and long nights of -rest; for drink, the pure draughts of the springs and of milk. Thereby shall you -all return to Paris renovated and restored."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet they were careful not to add, "And ready to commence a -fresh career of dissipation which shall place you in our hands again and, -eventually, in the tombs of your aristocratic families."</p> - -<p class="normal">Since, however, the visitors followed with more or less -regularity the prescribed regimen, the wholesomeness of the life was soon -apparent in renewed appetites, in cheeks which bloomed--almost, though not -quite--without the adventitious aid of paint and cosmetiques; in nerves which -ceased to quiver at every noise; in nights which were passed in easy slumbers -instead of being racked by the pangs of indigestion. Wholesome enough indeed, -revivifying and strengthening; a life that recuperated wasted vitality and -prepared its possessors for a new season of dissipation and debauchery at the -Regent's court. Yet, withal, a deadly dull one! Wherefore, when it was whispered -that they were invited to "a representation of a play" by "a lady of rank," -which play was, as they termed it themselves, "<i>Un secret de la Comédie</i>," -since everyone in Eaux St. Fer knew who the lady of rank was, they flocked to -the saloon of The Garland, and did so a little more eagerly than they might -otherwise have done, since there was also in the air a whisper that, in the -"representation," was something more than the mere attempts of a would-be -bluestocking to exhibit her talents for dramatic construction.</p> - -<p class="normal">De Crébillon possessed another talent besides an inventive -genius and a power of writing tragedies; he had a tongue which could whisper -smoothly but effectively, a glance which could suggest, and an altogether -admirable manner of exciting curiosity by a look alone.</p> - -<p class="normal">So they were all gathered together now, two hours after their -early and salutary, but scarcely appetising, dinners had been eaten; and they -formed a mass of gorgeously-dressed, highbred men and women, everyone of whom -were known to the others, and everyone of whose secrets were, in almost every -case, also known to each other. Yet, since each and all had a history, none -being free from one skeleton of the past (or present) at least, this was not a -matter of very much importance.</p> - -<p class="normal">In costumes suited for the watering-places--yet made by the -astute hands of the workwomen of Mesdames Germeuil or Carvel, Versac or -Grandchamp, and produced under the equally astute eyes of those authorities in -dress--the ladies entered the room where the representation was to take place, -their pointed corsages and bouffante sleeves, with their deep ruffles at the -elbows, setting off well their diamond-adorned head-dresses and their flowered -robes. As for the men, their dress was the dress of the most costly period in -France, not even excepting the days of the Great Monarch; their court-swords -gold-hilted; their lace at sleeve and breast and knee worth a small fortune; -their wigs works of art and of great cost.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mon ami," said the Marquise Grignan de Poissy to a youth who -approached her as she made her way through the press of her friends, the young -man being none other than her nephew, the present bearer of the title of the de -Poissys, "you are charming; your costume is ravishing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet," she continued, "that is but a poor weapon to hang upon -a man's thigh," and she touched lightly with her finger the ivory and gold hilt -of the court-sword he carried by his side. "There is no fighting quality in -that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear aunt," exclaimed the young marquis, glancing at her -admiringly, for, even to him, the beauty of his late uncle's widow was more or -less alluring, "my dear aunt, it professes to have no fighting qualities. It is -only an ornament such as that," and he, too, put out a finger and touched the -baton, or cane, which she carried in her hand in common with other ladies.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet this," she said, "would strike a blow on any who molested -me, even though it broke in the attempt, being so poor a thing," and her deep -blue eyes gazed into his while sparkling like sapphires as they did so.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And," he replied, not understanding why those eyes so -transfixed him, or why, at the same time, he vibrated under their glance, "this -would run a man through who molested you, even though it broke in the attempt, -being so poor a thing," and he gave a little self-satisfied laugh.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Would it? You mean that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Without doubt, I mean it," he replied, his voice gradually -becoming grave, while he stared fixedly at her, as though not comprehending. -"Without doubt, I mean it." Then he said, a moment later--speaking as though he -had penetrated the meaning she would convey: "My dear aunt Diane, is there by -chance anyone whom you wish run through? If so name him. It shall be done, -to-night, to-morrow, at dawn, for--for--the honour of our house and--your bright -eyes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No! No! No! No! I do but jest. Yet, come, sit by me, I--I am -nervous for the success of this play. I know the writer thereof----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"So do I!" he interjected.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And, see, all are in their places. De Crébillon comes on the -platform to speak the argument. Sit. Sit here, Agénor. Close by my side." Then -she muttered to herself so low that he could not hear her words. "Almost I fear -for that which I have done. Yet--Vengeance confound him!--he merits it. And -worse!"</p> - -<p class="normal">An instant later the easy tones of de Crébillon were heard -announcing--as briefly and succinctly as though he were addressing the players -at the Français ere reading to them the plot of some new drama by himself--what -was to be offered to the audience.</p> - -<p class="normal">Having opened his address with many compliments to those -assembled there and to their exalted rank, equalled only by their capacity of -judgment and their power to make or mar for ever that which would now be -submitted to them as the work of an illustrious unknown, he went on--</p> - -<p class="normal">"The scene is in two acts. The title is 'The Abandoned -Orphan.' The leading characters are Cidalise, who is the orphan, and Célie, who -has protected her. The first act exhibits the child's abandonment, the -second--but, no! Mesdames et Messieurs--that must be left for representation, -must be unrolled before you in the passage of the play. Suffice it, therefore, -if I say now that the work has been hurriedly written so as to be presented -before you for your delectation; that the actors and actresses are the best -obtainable from a troupe now happily roaming in Provence; that, in effect, your -indulgence is begged by all. Mesdames et Messieurs, the play will now begin."</p> - -<p class="normal">Amidst such applause as so fashionable an audience as this -felt called upon to give, de Crébillon withdrew from the hastily-constructed -platform which had been erected in the great saloon--which was not, in truth, -very great--the blue curtain that was stretched across from one side of the room -to the other was withdrawn, and the play began. Yet not before more than one -person in the audience had whispered to himself, or herself, "At whom does she -aim?" Not before, too, more than one had turned their eyes inwardly with much -introspection. And one who heard de Crébillon's words gave a sigh, almost a gasp -of relief. That one was Monsieur le Duc Desparre. To his knowledge he had never -abandoned any infant.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was, naturally, no scenery; yet, all the same, some -attempts had been made to aid dramatic illusion. The landlord had lent some bits -of tapestry to decorate the walls, and some chairs and tables. In this case only -the commoner sort were required, since la scene depicted a room not much better -than a garret. And in this garret, as the curtain was pulled aside, was depicted -Célie having in her arms a bundle supposed to be the child, Cidalise, while on -the bed lay stretched the unhappy mother, dead.</p> - -<p class="normal">With that interminable monologue, so much used by the French -dramatists of the period, and so tolerated by the audience of the period, Célie -delivered in blank verse a long recitation of what had led to this painful -scene. Fortunately, the actress who played this part was (as happened often -enough in those days, when the wandering troupes were quite as good as those -which trod the boards of the Parisian stages, though, through want of patronage -or opportunity, they very often never even so much as entered the capital) quite -equal to its rendition, she having a clear distinct diction which she knew -thoroughly well how to accompany with suitable gesture. Also, which caused some -remark even amongst this unemotional audience, she bore a striking likeness to -the highbred dame who was the authoress of the drama. The woman was tall and -exquisitely shaped; her primrose-coloured hair--coloured thus, either by art and -design, or nature--curled in crisp curls about her head; her eyes were blue as -corn-flowers. Wherefore, as they gazed on her, there ran a suppressed titter -through that audience, a whispered word or so passed, more than one head turned, -and more than one pair of eyes rested inquiringly on Diane Grignan de Poissy -sitting some row or so of chairs back from the platform. And there were some -whose eyes sought the countenance of le Duc Desparre and observed that his face, -although blank as a mask, showed signs of aroused interest; that his eyes were -fixed eagerly on the wandering mummer who enacted Célie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Tis thee," whispered Agénor to his aunt. "'Tis thee!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. It is I," she whispered back. In solemn diction, the -woman unfolded her story. The story of an innocent girl betrayed into a mock -marriage, a fictitious priest, desertion followed by death, and her own -determination to secure the child and to rear it, and, some day, to use that -child as a means whereby to wreak vengeance on the betrayer because he was such -in a double capacity. He had sworn his love to Célie, to herself, as well as to -the unfortunate woman now lying dead; he had deceived them both. Only the dead -woman was poor; she was rich. Rich enough, at least, to provide in some way for -that child, to keep it alive until the time came for producing it. "As I swear -to do," Célie cried in rhyme, this being the last speech, or tag, of the -prologue, "even though I wait for years. For years." Then she called on Phœbus -and many other heathen divinities so dear to the hearts of the French -dramatists, to hear her register her vow. And, thus, the prologue ended amidst a -buzz from the audience, loud calls for Célie, for de Crébillon, for the author. -Expectancy had been aroused, the most useful thing of all others, perhaps, to -which a prologue could be put. De Crébillon led on the blue-eyed, golden-haired -actress, and she, standing before the most exalted audience which had ever -witnessed her efforts, considered that her fortune was as good as made. -Henceforth, farewell, she hoped, to acting in barns and hastily-erected booths -in provincial towns and villages, to the homage of country boors and simple -country gentlemen. She saw before her . . . what matters what she saw! In all -that audience none, except a few of the younger and most impressionable of the -men, thought of the handsome stroller; all desired to know what the drama itself -would bring forth.</p> - -<p class="normal">For none doubted now (since they knew full well from de -Crébillon's whispered hints and suggestive glances who the author was) that -Desparre was the man pointed at as the betrayer of the woman who had been seen -stretched in the garret. All remembered that, for years, even during the life of -the old king, his name had been coupled with that of the Marquise. And they -remembered that she, who was once looked upon as the certain Duchesse Desparre -of the future, had never become his wife; that instead, he had meant to wed with -a woman who had emerged none knew whence except that it was from the gutters of -the streets--from beneath a gambler's roof; and that even such a one as this had -jilted him! Jilted him who sat there now, still as a statue, white as one, too. -Looking like death itself!</p> - -<p class="normal">What were they about to see? A denunciation of this man by his -abandoned child to that intended bride born of the gutter, a denunciation so -fierce and terrible that even she, that creature of nothingness, shrank from him -as something so base--so <i>scabreux</i>, as they termed it in their -whispers--that she dared not share his illustrious name! Was that what was now -to be depicted before them? Was that the true reason for the scandal with which -all Paris had rung since the cruel months of winter; of which people still spoke -apart and in subdued murmurs? Was the abandoned orphan, or rather her -representative, to speak her denunciation on that platform? Was that woman of -the people to fly from him before their eyes? Was the Duc Desparre to be held up -before them here, on this summer day, in the true colours which all knew him to -possess, but which all, because he was of their own patrician order, endeavoured -to forget that he thus possessed?</p> - -<p class="normal">If so, then Diane Grignan de Poissy's vengeance was, indeed, -an awful one! If so, then God shield them from having their own secrets fall -into her possession, from having her vengeance aroused against them, too!</p> - -<p class="normal">As had been ever since the days of Hardy, of Corneille, of -Moliere, their attention was now drawn to the fact that the actual play was -about to commence by three thumps upon the stage from a club, and, once more, -they settled down to the enjoyment of the spectacle; the buzz amongst them -ceasing as again the curtain was drawn back. They prepared for the denunciation! -Yet, still, in their last whispers to each other ere silence set in, they asked -how that denunciation was to take effect? There were but two female characters, -Célie, the protectress, Cidalise, the orphan. Where then was the character of -the woman to whom the man was to be denounced; the woman who should represent -before them that creature of the lower orders who, in actual fact and life, had -last winter fled from Desparre--the blanched figure sitting before them--sooner -than become his wife and a duchess?</p> - -<p class="normal">Perhaps, after all, they thought and said, they had been -mistaken--perhaps, after all, it was not a true representation of Desparre's -degradation which was about to be offered to them! Perhaps they had misjudged, -overrated, the vengeance of Diane!</p> - -<p class="normal">Well! they would soon see now. The curtain was withdrawn, the -scene was exposed, and it represented a pretty <i>salon</i> adorned for a -festivity--a betrothal.</p> - -<p class="normal">The play began.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_19" href="#div1Ref_19">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4> - -<h5>"THE ABANDONED ORPHAN"<br> -DRAMA</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The usual guests who figure at stage weddings had assembled in -the salon. Evidently, the audience whispered, one to another, it was a marriage -contract, at least, which was about to be signed--or, perhaps, an assemblage of -relatives at the bride's house ere setting forth to the church. No doubt of -that, they thought, else why the love-knots at ladies' wrists and breasts--quite -clean and fresh because, somehow, the poor strolling players who represented -high-born dames had been provided with them by the giver of the -entertainment--and why, also, had the gentlemen got on the best suits which the -baggage waggon of their troupe contained?</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore, after seeing all this, the actual high-born dames -and men of ancient family in the audience gave many a sidelong glance at each -other, while the former's eyes frequently flashed leering looks over their -enamelled cheeks and from beneath their painted eyelashes and eyebrows. For all -recalled that, in the real drama which had happened in Paris in the winter -months--the real drama over which Baron and Destouches and Poinsinet (who should -never have been an author, since he was born almost a gentleman), and other -grinning devils of the pen, had made such bitter mockery in verse and prose--in -that real drama, a marriage, renounced and broken, had formed the main incident. -Recalling all this, they settled down well into their seats, eager and excited -as to what was to come.</p> - -<p class="normal">Enter amongst the guests, Célie. The handsome woman was made -up to look a little older now. Yet, "the deuce confound me!" said the venerable -Marquise de Champfleury, a lady who, fifty years before, had been renowned for -her <i>bonnes fortunes</i> in the Royal circle, "the deuce confound me! she -resembles Diane more than ever." Which was true, and was, perhaps, made more so -by the fact that the woman was now wearing a costly dress which Diane Grignan de -Poissy had herself worn more than once at Eaux St. Fer before all her friends, -but which she had now bestowed upon the wandering actress. The latter was, -indeed, so like Diane, that again and again the revered marquise uttered her -oaths as she regarded her.</p> - -<p class="normal">To Célie there entered next Cidalise, young, slender, pretty, -yet--because sometimes the troupe were starving and had naught to eat but that -which was flung to them in charity, or a supper of broken victuals given them by -an innkeeper in return for a song or performance before a handful of provincial -shopkeepers--thin, and out of condition. Nevertheless, she could deliver her -lines well, and speak as clearly as Charlotte Lenoir had done, or as La Gautier -did now--and would have become a leading actress, indeed might become one yet, -if she could only get a foothold in Paris.</p> - -<p class="normal">In short, sharp sentences, such as the French dramatists loved -to intersperse with the terribly long monologues which, in other places, they -put into the mouths of their characters, Célie asked her if she was resolved to -carry out her contract and marry this man, this Prince, who desired her for his -wife? Yes, Cidalise replied, yes. Not because she loved him, but because her -origin was obscure, her present surroundings revolting. Was not her uncle a -gambler! At this there was a movement amongst the audience; many exquisitely -painted fans were fluttered, a rustle of silk and satin and brocade was -perceptible. And, also, eyes gleamed into other eyes again, but none spoke. Even -the old Marquise de Champfleury swore no more. The aged trifler had become -interested, a novelty which had not occurred to her--unless in connection with -herself and her food and her health--for a long time.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, because when all is said, these were ladies and -gentlemen, not one stole a glance in the direction of Monsieur le Duc.</p> - -<p class="normal">Had they done so they would have seen that he sat motionless -in his seat, with his eyes half closed, yet glittering, as they gazed at the two -women on the stage.</p> - -<p class="normal">Two more figures were now upon the scene. His Highness, the -Prince, the bridegroom predestinate, and also the uncle of Cidalise; the first -called Cléon, Prince de Fourbignac, the second, Dorante. They loved such names -as these, did those old French dramatists. Yet what was there about the man who -played the Prince which awoke recollections in the minds of all the audience of -another man they had once seen or known who was not the Duc Desparre, but -someone very like him? How--how was that likeness produced? The vagabond, the -stroller who enacted the illustrious personage, was a big, hectoring fellow, -with a short-clipped, jet black moustache; an individual who looked more -accustomed to the guardroom than a salon, to a spadroon clanking against his -thigh--perhaps sticking out half a foot through its worn-out scabbard--than to a -clouded cane which he now wielded, even though in a salon. His clothes, -too--they were the best that could be found in the frowsy, hair-covered trunk -which carried the costumes of the "first gentleman" of the troupe--seemed more -fitted to some bully or sharper than to an exquisite. So, too, did his -expressions, his "Health, belle comtesse!" to one high-born (stage) lady, his "<i>Rasade</i>" -to another whose glass touched his as she wished him felicity; so, too, did his -vulgar heartiness to all.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A Prince!" the real aristocrats in front muttered to -themselves and each other, yet remembered that the words he uttered must for -sure have been put into his mouth either by the authoress, or her collaborateur, -De Crébillon. Only, why and wherefore? And still they were puzzled, since many -of them could recall in far back days some fellow very much like the creature -who was now strutting about the stage and kicking a footman here and there, -slapping the bare shoulders of female guests, and giving low winks to his male -friends.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was some art in this, they muttered; some recollection -which it was intended to evoke. Whom had they ever known like this? What fellow -who, for some particular reason, had been admitted to their august society--a -society in which, to do them justice, they behaved admirably and with exquisite -grace so long as their actions were public, no matter how much they atoned for -that behaviour by extremely questionable conduct in private?</p> - -<p class="normal">Then they remembered all, memory being aroused by none other -than the respected Marquise de Champfleury.</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Me damne!</i>" she whispered, changing her form of -exclamation somewhat--probably for fear of being monotonous. "<i>Me damne!</i> -does no one recall our friend when a beggarly captain on the frontier? <i>Hein!</i> -he was the second, heir then, wherefore we permitted his presence sometimes. -Yet, only sometimes, God be praised! Had he not been an heir, our lackeys should -have kicked him down the street. You remember; you, Fifine, and you, Finette? -Heaven knows you are both old enough to do so!"</p> - -<p class="normal">After which the amiable aristocrat ceased her pleasing -prattle, and attended to the development of the drama before them.</p> - -<p class="normal">They were all doing that now, eagerly, absorbingly, and even -more especially so since the fine memory of the old Marquise had recalled to -them, or most of them, the time when Desparre stamped about their salons -roughly, and, because he was the second heir to the dukedom and almost sure to -succeed to it some day, treated them all to a great deal of what they termed -privately in disgust, "his guardroom manners." And, in remembering, they thought -what good fortune it was for Diane (if it was not the outcome of astute -selection) to have secured this rough fellow to personate the man she was -undoubtedly bent on exposing--the man who now sat staring at the stage with his -face as set as a mask, and as expressionless.</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile, the play went on. The signing of the contract -which, all recognised now, was the ceremony to be performed, was at hand. First -came the bridegroom, who--having ceased his tavern buffooneries--so becoming to -a Prince! and in the distribution of which he had included Cidalise, who, with -well-acted horror, shrank from him every time he approached her--drew near the -table at which the notary and his clerk sat, and, having slapped the former on -the back, affixed his signature with a great deal of gesticulation, and then -handed the quill with ostentatious politeness to his future Princess.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sign, dear idol," he whispered in a stage whisper, "sign. I -await with eagerness the right to call thee mine." Only he marred somewhat these -affecting words by winking at another girl who stood by Cidalise.</p> - -<p class="normal">On either side of that Iphigenia were grouped now Célie and -Dorante--an old grisly actor this, round shouldered and ill-favoured, who had -forgotten to shave himself that morning, or who, perhaps, imagined that, as he -represented a Parisian gambler, it was a touch of nature to go thus -unclean--Cléon being of course next to Cidalise. And to her, Célie spoke -clearly, so clearly that her voice was heard by everyone of the audience present -in the salon of The Garland as she said "Sign, Cidalise." Then she stood with -her large blue eyes fixed full on Cléon, while the expression in them told the -spectators as plainly as words could have done that the great moment was at -hand, that the dénouement was coming.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sign," she said again.</p> - -<p class="normal">Taking the pen, the girl signed, repeating in stage fashion -the letters of the name "Cidalise," so that the audience, who could not see the -characters, should understand that they were being written down.</p> - -<p class="normal">"So," exclaimed Célie, her eyes still on Cléon, "So, Cidalise. -Continue."</p> - -<p class="normal">"D. O. R.," murmured the bride as she pretended to write -again, when, suddenly, breaking in upon hers was heard the voice of the leading -actress. "No! Not that. If you sign further you must use another name." Then, -turning to Cléon she hissed rapidly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Lâche!</i> You abandoned one woman and deserted another. -My time has come."</p> - -<p class="normal">Aroused thoroughly, the audience bent forward in their chairs. -The Marquise de Champfleury drew a quick breath, but cursed no more. Agénor -Grignan de Poissy felt his aunt's hand tighten convulsively on his. Now, not one -of the painted patricians glanced at the other; all eyes were on the stage, -except one pair--those of Diane--and they were fixed on Desparre!</p> - -<p class="normal">"What must I sign?" whispered Cidalise, trembling, and playing -her part as the audience said afterwards, <i>à ravir</i>. "What? What?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Demand of thy uncle--uncle, mon Dieu! Demand of Dorante. -Speak, Dorante."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thy real name," replied Dorante slowly, effectively, "is De -Fourbignac."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thou canst not marry him," and now the woman who represented -Célie was superb, as, with finger extended and eyes ablaze, she pointed at -Cléon, (she got to Paris at last and became the leading lady at the Odéon!). "He -is thy father. Even as he deserted me, so, too, he deserted thy mother, leaving -her to die of starvation. Villain! -<i>maraud!</i>" she exclaimed, turning on Cléon. "What did I promise thee? Thus -I fulfil my vow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And thus I avenge myself," cried Cléon, tugging at his -rapier. "Thus, traitress----"</p> - -<p class="normal">But the actor did not finish his speech. From outside the wall -of the salon was heard ringing the great bell of The Garland; the bell which was -a signal to all who resided at the inn that now was the time when the noblesse, -in contradistinction to those of the commercial world, repaired to the wells of -Eaux St. Fer, there to take their glass of those unutterably filthy, but -health-giving waters. Perhaps it was an arranged thing; arranged by the vengeful -Diane, or the spiteful De Crébillon. Perhaps, too, it was arranged that, as the -bell ceased to ring, the old Comte de la Ruffardière, a man who was of the very -highest position even among so fashionable an audience as that assembled there, -should rise from his chair and say, in a voice exquisitely sweet and silvery:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mesdames et Messieurs,--you hear that bell. Alas, that it -should--although we are desolated in obeying it--that it should be able to call -us away from this most ravishing drama. Yet, my dear friends, we have our -healths, our most precious healths, to consult. If we miss our revivifying glass -what shall become of us? Madame," addressing the representative of Célie, -"Monsieur," to Cléon, "Mademoiselle," to Cidalise--his manners were of a truth -perfect--not for nothing had he handed the Grand Monarch his shirt for forty-two -nights in every year (by royal appointment), and watched his august master's -deportment both in public and private--"we are penetrated, we are in despair, at -having to depart ere this most exciting play is at an end. A play, my faith! it -is a tragedy of the first order. Yet, yet, it must be so. We are all -invalids--sufferers. Alas! the waters the waters! We must partake of the -waters!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he bowed again, solemnly to each actress, in a friendly -way to the representatives of Cléon and Dorante, comprehensively to all. And, -strange to say, not one of those gifted Thespians seemed at all surprised, nor -in the least offended, at the departure of the audience, which was now taking -place rapidly. On the contrary, the shrinking, persecuted Cidalise, that -distinguished heroine and once-about-to-be sacrificed one, tapped him lightly on -his aged cheek with her bridal fan as he stepped on to the foot-high stage, and -whispered, "be still, <i>vieux farceur</i>," while Célie regarded him with a -mocking smile in her blue eyes. Nor did Cléon refuse a fat purse which, -surreptitiously, the old courtier dropped into his hand, but, instead, murmured -his thanks again and again.</p> - -<p class="normal">The audience had indeed departed now amidst rustlings of silks -and satins, the click-clack of light dress swords upon the parquet floor, and -the sharp tap of high heels. Diane, with her nephew, had slipped out even as De -la Ruffardière commenced his oration; scarcely any were left when he had -concluded it and his withered old cheek had received the accolade of Cidalise. -And, it was strange! but not one had looked at--in solemn truth, all had avoided -looking at--the only person who seemed to make no attempt to move. Desparre!</p> - -<p class="normal">Desparre, who sat on and on in his seat, motionless as ever, -and always stone, marble white; his eyes glaring through their drooping lids at -the little stage on which the battered old courtier was whispering his -compliments.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently however, the latter turned and descended the -foot-high platform, casting his eyes,--for him, timidly and, undoubtedly, -furtively--at the silent, motionless figure sitting there. Then he turned round -to the actors and actresses who, themselves, had observed Desparre, while, in a -totally different tone from that in which he had previously addressed them, he -said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Begone. Quit the stage. Your parts are played. And," he -muttered to himself, "played with sufficient effect."</p> - -<p class="normal">As they obeyed his orders--he watching them depart from the -scene of what was undoubtedly their triumph (never before had those wandering -comedians achieved such a success--in more ways than one), he went over slowly -to where the Duke sat and touched him gently on the shoulder. The withered, -battered old roué, who had known the secrets and intrigues of the most -intriguing court that ever existed in Europe, had still something left that did -duty for a heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come, Desparre. Come," he said. "The company has broken up. -It is time to--to--to take the waters."</p> - -<p class="normal">But Monsieur le Duc, sitting there, his eyes still fixed on -the stage, made him no answer, though his lips moved once, and once he turned -those eyes and gazed at the old Chevalier by his side.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come, Desparre," the other repeated. "If not the waters, at -least to your apartments. Come."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, old and feeble though he was, he placed his hands under -Desparre's shoulders and endeavoured to assist him to rise.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_20" href="#div1Ref_20">CHAPTER XX</a></h4> - -<h5>"THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"If," said Lolive, the Duke's valet, to himself later that -day, "he would speak, would say something--not sit there like one dead, I could -endure it very well. But, mon Dieu! he makes me shudder!"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was not strange that the shivering servant should feel -afraid, though he scarce knew of what. One feels not afraid of the actual -dead--they can harm us no more, even if they have been able to do so in -life!--unless one is a coward as this valet was; yet, still, the brave are -sometimes appalled at the resemblance of death which, on occasions, those who -are yet alive are forced to assume, owing to some strange stroke that has -attacked either heart or nerve or brain. And such a stroke as this, subtle and -intangible, was the one which had fallen upon Desparre.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was alive, Lolive knew; he could move, he felt sure; -almost, too, was he confident that his master could speak if he chose. Yet -neither did he move nor speak. Instead, he did nothing but sit there immobile, -before the great cheval glass, staring into it, his hands lying listless in his -lap, his face colourless and his lips almost as much so.</p> - -<p class="normal">Once, the valet had made as though he was about to commence -undressing Desparre after having previously turned down the bed and prepared it -for his reception, but, although the latter had not spoken, he had done what was -to the menial's mind more terrifying. He had snarled at him as an -ill-conditioned cur snarls at those who go near him, while showing, too, like a -dog, his discoloured teeth with, over them, the lips drawn back and, thereby, -exhibiting his almost white gums. And with, too, his eyes glistening horribly.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the man had withdrawn from close vicinity to that master -and had busied himself about the room, while doing anything rather than again -approach the chair in which the stricken form was seated. Also, he lit the wax -candles in all the branches about the room; on the dressing table, over the bed, -and in girandoles placed at even distances on the walls, while receiving, as it -seemed to him some comfort from the light and brightness he had now produced. -For some reason, which, as with his other fears, he could not have explained, he -feared to be alone in the gathering darkness with that living statue.</p> - -<p class="normal">Summoning up again, however, his courage, he approached once -more his master and pointed to the latter's feet and to the diamond-buckled -shoes upon them, then whispered timorously that it would be well if Monsieur -would at least allow those shoes to be removed. "Doubtless Monsieur was tired," -he said; "doubtless also it would relieve Monsieur."</p> - -<p class="normal">But again he drew back trembling. Once more that hateful snarl -came on Desparre's face, and once more there was the drawn-back lip. "What," the -fellow asked himself, "what was he to do?" Then, suddenly he bethought him of -the fashionable doctors from Paris of whom Eaux St. Fer was full; he would go -and fetch one, if not two of them. Thereby, at least, he would be acquitted of -failing in his duty if the Duke died to-night, which, judging by his present -state, seemed more than likely.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thinking thus, he let his eyes wander round the room, while -meditating as he did so. Near to the bedside was a locked cupboard in which he -had placed, on their arrival, a large sum of money, a sum doubly sufficient to -pay any expenses Desparre might incur during his course of waters; in a valise, -bestowed in the same cupboard, was a small coffer full of jewellery of -considerable value. And, upon the walls of the lodging, was the costly tapestry -which, in accordance with most noblemen and all wealthy persons in those days, -Desparre had brought with him, so that the often enough bare and scanty lodgings -to be found at such resorts as Eaux St. Fer might be rendered pleasant and -agreeable to the eyes. This he too regarded, remembering as well the costly -suits his master had with him; the wigs, each costing over a thousand livres, -the lace for sleeves and breast and for the steinkirks and other cravats, and -the ivory-hilted Court sword in which was a great diamond. He recalled all the -costly things the room contained.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he should die to-night," he muttered inwardly--"to-night. -None would know what he brought with him and what he left behind. None, but I. -No other living soul knows what he possessed. He hated all his kinsmen and -kinswomen. None know. I will go seek the doctors; yet, ere I do so--I will--will -place these things out of sight. They must not see too much."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the knave began moving about the room, "arranging" -things, while, even as he did so, he recalled a cabaret in Paris where heavy -gambling went on as well as eating and drinking, which was for sale for two -thousand crowns. If he had but that sum! And--and--Desparre might die to-night! -Wherefore, his eyes stole sideways towards the spectral figure seated -there--powerless, or almost so.</p> - -<p class="normal">He might die to-night! Might die to-night! Well! Why not? Why -might he not die to-night? The doctor--the leading one from Paris--should visit -him. Yes, he should do that. He knew that doctor; he had seen him called in -before to gouty, or paralysed, or dropsical men and women whose servant he -himself had once been. And he knew the fashionable physician's formula--the -cheering words, accompanied, however, by a slightly doubting phrase; the -safe-guarding of his own reputation by a hint to others that--"all the -same"--"nevertheless"--"it might be--he could not say. If there were any -relatives they should be warned--not alarmed, oh, no! only warned," and so -forth. Well! the doctor should come to see the Duke. Doubtless he would say some -such thing before himself and the landlord, who, he would take care, should also -be in the room. That would be sufficient. If the Duke did die to-night suddenly, -as he might very well do--as he would do--why then he, Lolive, was safe. The -doctor's words would have saved him.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was sure now that Monsieur would die to-night. Quite sure. -So sure that he knew nothing could save the Duke. He would die to-night; he even -knew the time it would happen; between one and two of the clock, when every soul -in Eaux St. Fer would be wrapped in sleep, even to the servants. Then, about -that hour--perhaps nearer two than one--the Duke would die. And the cabaret, the -disguised gambling hell, would be his in a month's----</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lolive," uttered a voice from behind him. "Lolive!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The man started; stopped in what he was doing; then dropped a -dressing case with almost a crash on to the shelf of a wardrobe, in which he was -placing the box and its contents, and withdrew his own head from the inside of -the great bureau. He scarcely dared, however, to turn that head round to the -spot whence the voice issued, since he knew that he was white to the lips; since -he felt that he was trembling a little. Yet--he must do it--it had to be -done--it was his master's voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">Therefore he turned, gazing with startled eyes at Desparre who -was now sitting up more firmly in his chair, and saw that some change had come -to him, that he had regained speech as well as sense, that he would not die, -could not by any chance be made to die, that night. The possession of the -cabaret was as far off as ever now!</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, Monsieur, the Virgin be praised," he exclaimed fawningly -and with a smile of satisfaction, as he ran forward to where Desparre sat, still -rigid, though not so rigid as before. "Monsieur is better. What happiness! -Monsieur will go to bed now."</p> - -<p class="normal">While, even as he spoke, he regained courage; confidence. Sick -men had died before now in their beds, in their sleep. Such things had been -often heard of: they might--would, doubtless--be heard of again.</p> - -<p class="normal">His master spoke once more, the voice, harsh, bitter, raucous, -yet distinct.</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Malotru!</i>" Desparre said, while, as he did so, his eyes -gleamed dully at the other, "you thought I was dead, or dying. Eh, dog? Well! it -is not so. Go--descend at once. Order my travelling carriage. We depart -to-night, in an hour--for--Marseilles."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For Marseilles?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ask no questions. Go. Hangdog I Go, I say. And come not back -until you bring me news that the carriage is prepared. Go, beast!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The horses, Monsieur; the coachman! He sleeps----"</p> - -<p class="normal">But there the valet stopped. Desparre's eyes were on him. He -was afraid. Therefore he went, murmuring that Monsieur should be obeyed.</p> - -<p class="normal">Left alone, Desparre still sat on for some moments in his -chair, listless and motionless. Then, slowly, he raised himself by using his -hands upon the arms of the chair as levers; he stood erect upon his feet. He -tried his legs, too, and found he could walk, though heavily and with a feeling -as if he had two senseless columns of lead beneath him instead of limbs. Still, -he could walk.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The second time," he muttered to himself, as he did so. "The -second time. What--what did the physician tell me? What? That, if the first -stroke did not kill neither would the second, but that--that the third was -certain, unfailing. If that could not be avoided, all was lost. All! No longer -any hope. This is the second, when will the third come? When? Perhaps--when I -stand face to face with her again. With Cidalise! My God! When she blasts me to -death with one look. Cidalise! Laure!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He resumed his seat, resumed, too, his dejected musings.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was well done. Fool that I am never to have remembered -that Diane was implacable. Cidalise! Ha! I recollect. It was my pet name for the -woman I left behind in Paris when hastily summoned away. I loved that woman. -She--she--Diane must have known--have taken the child, have reared it. And I -should have married her--my own child! Oh, God! that such awful, impious -vengeance could be conceived. That, having found out how, all unknowing, I loved -the girl, she--she--she--that merciless devil--would have stood by and let me -marry her--my child. My own child. The child of Cidalise."</p> - -<p class="normal">Again he sat back in his chair. To an onlooker it would have -seemed as though it was still a statue sitting there before him. Yet he was -musing always and revolving horrible matter in his mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Baulked thus," he reflected; "she evolved this scheme of -revenge to expose me to all. To tell me, too, that I have consigned my own child -to a living death, to exile in a savage land, to the chain gang. And, I have -gloated over it, not knowing. Not knowing! I have pictured the woman whom I -deemed to have outraged me as trudging those weary leagues with the carcan round -her neck, the chains about her limbs. And she was my own child! My own child! My -own child!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Again he paused, thinking now of what lay before him. Of what -he had to do. What was it? Yes, he remembered his orders for the carriage to be -prepared. He had to hasten to Marseilles at once, as fast as that coach (known -as a "berceuse"), as that luxurious sleeping carriage could be got there, and -then to intercept the cordon of women who were to be deported; to find her, to -save her. And--and--and, if they had already reached that city and left for New -France--if they had sailed--what to do next? What? Why, to follow in the first -vessel that went. To save her! To save her! To save her if she had not fallen -dead by the roadside, as he knew, as all France knew, the women and the men did -often enough fall dead on those awful journeys.</p> - -<p class="normal">But if he found her; if God had spared her; if she still -lived! What then? What had he then to do? To stand before her whom he had most -unrighteously sent to so cruel a doom, to acknowledge himself so vile, so deep a -villain that life was too good for such as he; yet, also, to purge himself in -her eyes of one, of two, crimes. To prove to her that he knew not that her -mother, ere dying, had ever borne him a child; to prove to her that he had never -dreamt, when he proposed to marry her, that he was so near committing the most -hideous crime that could be perpetrated. And afterwards--afterwards--then--well, -then, she might curse him as he stood before her, or the third stroke that he -knew would--must come--might come then. What mattered; nothing could matter -then. He would have saved her. That was enough.</p> - -<p class="normal">Why did not the menial come to tell him the berceuse was -ready--the great cumbersome form of carriage which Guise had invented fifty -years before, so that one might sleep in their beds even while they travelled on -and on through day and night, and also take their meals therein--the commodious -carriage which had been built for himself in exact imitation of that possessed -by the present young Duc de Richelieu et Fronsac.</p> - -<p class="normal">Young Richelieu! What a scoundrelly ruffian he was, he found -himself meditating; what a villain, what a seducer; how he would have revelled -in the idea of a man marrying his own daughter after leaving the mother to -starve, how----. He broke off in these musings to curse Lolive and all his pack -of pampered servants, coachmen and footmen, who were snoring still in their -beds, and to curse himself; to wonder when the third stroke would come and how: -to wonder also if it would be when he stood before his wronged daughter. To muse -if he would fall dead, writhing at her feet--to----</p> - -<p class="normal">Lolive re-entered the room. The berceuse was ready, the horses -got out of the stables. Would Monsieur have all his goods packed and taken with -him, also his jewellery, or--or should he wake the landlord and confide -everything to him until--until Monsieur's return? Only, Lolive thought to -himself, Monsieur might, in truth, never return. He was ill, very ill; he might -die on the road to Marseilles. He hoped that, at least (though he did not say -so), the Duke would not take the money and the jewellery with him. Thus, he -could find it later!</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take," said Desparre, his eyes glinting hideously, as Lolive -thought, "take all that is of small compass and of value. Give it to me, I will -bestow the money and jewellery where it will be safe in the carriage. Give it to -me."</p> - -<p class="normal">With a smothered oath, the valet did as he was bidden, -Desparre placing the jewellery in the pockets of his vast travelling cloak, and -the money about him, and bidding Lolive pack the clothes, the wigs and the -swords at once, and swiftly. And the pistols; they, too, should go.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are highwaymen, brigands, upon the road, Lolive," he -muttered, fixing the valet with his eye. "Thieves everywhere. It may befall that -I shall have to shoot a thief on the way. I had best be armed--ready."</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore he took the box containing his silver-hilted pistols -upon his knee, and, with the lid up, sat regarding the man as he hastily packed -all that was to accompany them on the journey to Marseilles.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My God!" the fellow muttered, "he makes me tremble. Can this -man, half alive, half dead, divine my thoughts?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The boxes were packed at last with their changes of linen and -clothes; once more Desparre was left alone. Lolive was despatched to arouse the -landlord and to inform him that Monsieur had to depart at once for Marseilles on -important matters, but that his room was to be retained for him and his -furniture and other things taken proper care of. And the valet was also bidden -to say that the Duke did not require the presence of the landlord to see him -depart. The reason whereof being that Desparre felt sure that the man knew as -well as all in Eaux St. Fer knew what had befallen him that day; and how a play -had been produced by a vengeful woman for the sole purpose of holding him up to -the derision, the execration, of all who were in the little watering-place, -nobility and others, as well as the "refuse" who had not been admitted to the -representation but were aware of what had happened.</p> - -<p class="normal">Everyone knew! He could never return here, nor to Paris. If he -found his child, if he saved her, then--then he must go away somewhere, or--or, -perhaps, then the third stroke would fall. Well, so best. He would be better -dead. He could not live long; he understood by the doctor's manner that his doom -was pronounced, assured. Better dead!</p> - -<p class="normal">Upon the night air, up from the street below, he could hear -the rumble of the berceuse on the stones as it approached the door of the house -where he lodged; he could also hear the horses shaking their harness, and the -mutterings of the coachman and the footman at being thus dragged forth from -their beds at night.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was time to go--time for Lolive and the footman to come up -with the carrying chair, which he used now when stairs had to be either ascended -or descended, not so much because he could not walk as because he did not care -to do so. He could have got down those stairs to-night, he knew, even after this -second shock, this further and last warning of his impending end--only he would -not. These menials, these dogs of his, would have heard from Lolive of that -stroke--they would be peering curiously at him out of their low, cunning eyes to -see whether he were worse or not.</p> - -<p class="normal">Therefore, he let them carry him down and place him on his bed -in the sleeping carriage, while all the time but one thought occupied his mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">That thought--what he would find at the end of his journey, -and whether he would find his child alive or dead?</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_21" href="#div1Ref_21">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4> - -<h5>A NIGHT RIDE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The berceuse had passed through Aix and was nearing -Gardanne-le-Pin, leaving to its right the dead lake known as l'Etang de Berre, -while, rising up on its left, were the last and most southern spurs of the Lower -Alps.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was drawing very near to Marseilles. Inside that travelling -carriage, which comprised, as has been said, a sleeping apartment and -sitting-room combined, as well as a cooking place and a bed for the servant, all -was very quiet now except for the snores of the knavish valet, Lolive, which -occasionally reached the ears of the white-faced, stricken man in the inner -compartment; the man who, in spite of the softness of the couch on which he lay, -never closed his eyes, but instead, whispered, muttered, continually to himself: -"If I should be too late. God! if the transports should have sailed!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Behind, and just above where his head lay upon the pillow of -that couch, there was let into the panel of the carriage a small glass window -covered by a little curtain, or pad of leather, a convenience as common in those -days as in far later ones, and, through this, Desparre, lifting himself at -frequent intervals upon one elbow, would glance now and again as a man might do -who was desirous of noting--by the objects which he passed on the road--how far -he had got upon his journey. Yet, hardly could this be the case with him now, -since the route the berceuse was following was one over which he had never -travelled before. In the many journeys he had made, either with the regiment in -which he had served so long or when riding swiftly to rejoin it after leave of -absence, this road had, by chance, never been previously used by him. What, -therefore, could this terror-haunted man be in dread of seeing, when, lifting -the leather pad, he placed his white face against the glass and peered out; what -did he see but the foliage of the warm southern land lying steeped in the rays -of the moon, while no breeze rustled the leaves that hung lifelessly on the -branches in the unstirred, murky heat of an almost tropical summer's night; or -the white, gleaming, dusty road that stretched behind him like a thread as far -as his eyes could follow it?</p> - -<p class="normal">In truth, he expected to see nothing; he knew that there was -nothing to come behind him which he need fear, unless it were some mounted -robber whom he could shoot, and would shoot, from the interior of his -carriage--from out that window--with his silver-mounted pistols--as he would -shoot a mad dog or a wolf that might attack him; he knew that there was no human -creature on earth who could molest him or bar his way. He had made that safe, at -least, he told himself, though, even in the telling, in the recalling how he had -done it, he shuddered. Still, it was done! The Englishman who had thwarted him, -as he then considered, but for whose interference he now thanked the Being whom, -even in his evil heart, he acknowledged as God, was dead; had been left lying -dead upon the stones of Paris months ago. Dead, after saving him from another -infamy which he would have added to all the horrors of his past life, though, in -this case, unknowingly. And Vandecque--ay, Vandecque--the man who could have -told so much, who could have told how that Englishman had been hacked and done -to death so that his patron's vengeance might be glutted both on him and the -woman he had once meant to marry. Well! Vandecque was safe. Neither could that -gambler rise up to denounce him, nor could he ever stand before the world and -point to Desparre as the murderer of the man who had married his adopted niece. -He, too, was disposed of. Yet, still, the traveller glanced ever and anon -through that window as the berceuse rolled on, not knowing why he did so nor -what he feared, nor what he expected to see.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Laure, his own child! His daughter!" he mused again, as he -had now mused for so long. The child of the one woman he had ever really -loved--of a woman who had fondly loved him, who had believed and trusted in him. -And he, called away suddenly to join his regiment to take active service, had -never even known what had befallen her, had never even dreamt that she was about -to become a mother. He had not known that she had been cast forth into the -streets by her parents to die, but had, instead, deemed that she was false to -him from the moment he left Paris, and had, therefore, hidden herself away from -him ever afterwards.</p> - -<p class="normal">Well! he was innocent of all this--innocent of all that had -befallen her and their child, innocent of what a hideous, hateful crime his -marriage would have been: yet guilty, blood-guilty in his vengeance on that -child after she had escaped from marrying him. Guilty of sending her to the -prison under a false charge of attempted murder--of banishing her to a savage, -almost unknown land. Guilty of murder in yet another form than that which he had -meted out to her husband--of the cruel, wicked murder of an innocent woman. And -now he had learnt that this woman was his own child, his own flesh and blood!</p> - -<p class="normal">And he might be too late to save her. The transports had -probably sailed, or--and again he shuddered--she might have fallen dead on the -road in that long, dreary march from Paris to the South. He knew well enough -what the horrors were that the chain-gangs experienced in their journeys towards -the sea-coast towns--nay, all France knew. They had heard and talked for years -of how the convict men and women dropped dead day by day; of how, each morning, -the cordon resumed its march with some numbers short of what it had been on the -previous morning--of how bodies were left lying by the wayside to bake in the -sun and to have the eyes picked out by the crows until the communes found and -buried them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Awful enough would have been his vengeance had she been an -ordinary woman who had despised and scorned him. But, as it was, she was his own -daughter!</p> - -<p class="normal">Would he be in time to save her? Or, if not, would he still -find her alive if he should follow her to New France? And if so, if he could -save her either at Marseilles or in that town now rising at the mouth of the -Mississippi, then--then--well then, instead of hating Diane Grignan de Poissy -for the revenge she had taken on him, he would bless her, worship her for at -last revealing the secret she had so cherished as an instrument of future -vengeance.</p> - -<p class="normal">In that night, as he thought all these things, a revolution -took place in the soul of Armand Desparre; he was no longer all bad. Vile as he -had been and execrable, a man who had trifled with women's hearts, who had -received benefits from at least one woman under the pretence of becoming her -husband eventually; a man who had been a very tiger in his rage and hate against -those who had thwarted him, and a shedder of blood, yet now--now that his evil -life stood revealed clearly before him, he shuddered at it. On this night he -registered a vow that, if he lived, he would make amends. His child should be -rescued if it were possible, even though he, with paralysis staring him -threateningly in the face, should have to voyage to the other side of the world -to save her. That, at least, should be done. As for the Englishman murdered at -his instigation who was that child's husband, nothing could call him back to -life from the Paris graveyard in which he had doubtless been lying for months; -while for Vandecque--but of Vandecque he could not dare to allow himself to -think. His fate, as an accomplice removed, was too terrible, even more terrible -than his vengeance on Laure Vauxcelles, as she had come to be called.</p> - -<p class="normal">Unknowingly, Diane Grignan de Poissy had gone far by what she -had done--by the vengeance she had been nursing warm for years to use against -him if he proved faithless to her--towards enabling him to whiten and purify his -soul at last.</p> - -<p class="normal">Again, as it had become customary for him to do since he had -lain in the travelling carriage, and from the time of quitting Eaux St. Fer, he -lifted the cover of the little window and glanced out. And it seemed to him that -the night was passing away, that soon the day-spring would have come. The stars -were paling and already the moon sank towards the northwest; he saw birds moving -in the trees and pluming themselves and heard them twittering; also it had grown -very cold. Sounding his repeating clock it struck four. The August dawn was near -at hand. A little later and a grey light had come--daybreak.</p> - -<p class="normal">The route stretched far behind him; for half a league he could -see the white thread tapering to a point, then disappearing sharply and suddenly -round a bend of the road which he remembered having passed. And as he gazed, -recalling this and recollecting that at that bend he had noticed a -lightning-blasted fir tree growing out of a sandy hillock, he saw a black speck -emerge from behind the point, with, beneath it, a continual smoke of white dust. -Then the speck grew and grew, while the smoke of dust became larger and larger -and also whiter, until at last he knew that it was a horseman coming on at a -swift rate, a horseman who loomed larger and larger as each moment passed and -brought him rapidly nearer to the lumbering berceuse in which the watcher sat.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He rides apace," Desparre muttered; "hot and swiftly. He -presses his hat down upon his head as the morning breeze catches it and hurries -forward. It is some courrier du Roi who posts rapidly. One who rides with -orders."</p> - -<p class="normal">Observing how well the man sat his horse, his body appearing -as though part of the animal's own, and how, thereby, the creature skimmed -easily along the road and overtook the berceuse more and more every moment, he -decided that this was some cavalry soldier, young and well trained, whose skill -had been acquired first in the schools and then, mayhap, on many a battlefield. -Whereon he sighed, recalling how he himself, in other days, had ridden fast -through summer nights and dewy dawns, with no thought in his mind but his duty -and--his future! And now--now!--he was a broken-down invalid; a man whose soul -was black and withered with an evil past. Would he ever----?</p> - -<p class="normal">He paused in his reflections, scarcely knowing why he did so -or what had caused their sudden termination. Yet he realised that something -quite different from those reflections had come to his mind to drive them -forth--some idea totally removed from them. What was it? What was he thinking -of? That--he comprehended at last, after still further meditation--that this -form following behind, enshrouded in its long riding-cloak, was not strange to -him; that he had seen those square shoulders, which that cloak covered but did -not conceal, somewhere before. Yet, what a fantasy must this be! There were -thousands of men in France with as good a figure as this man's, as well-knit a -frame, as broad and shapely shoulders.</p> - -<p class="normal">Perhaps he was going mad to imagine such things; perhaps -madness sometimes preceded that paralysis with which he was threatened and which -he feared so much! Yet, at this moment, when now the sun rose up bright and warm -from beyond where the Rhone lay, and threw a long horizontal ray across the road -that both he and the horseman were travelling at a rapidly decreasing distance -apart, the rider put up his hand, unfastened the hook of his cloak, and, taking -the latter off, rolled it up and placed it before him on the saddle. Whereby he -revealed a well-shaped, manly form, clad in a dark riding suit passemented with -silver galloon. Yet, still, his face was not quite visible since the laced -three-cornered hat was now tilted well over it to keep the rays of the bright -morning sun from out his eyes, into which they now streamed as the road made -another turn.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not mad," Desparre whispered to himself. "I have seen -that form before. Yet where? Where?"</p> - -<p class="normal">This he could not answer. He could not even resolve in his own -mind whether the knowledge that he was acquainted with that on-coming figure -disturbed him or not, yet he turned his glance away from the eyehole of the -carriage and cast it on a shelf above the couch. A shelf on which lay the box -wherein reposed his silver-hilted pistols.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he returned to the little window, holding the leathern -flap so lowered with a finger raised above his head, that he could gaze forth -while exposing to view little more of his features than his eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">The horseman was overtaking him rapidly, he would be close to -him directly, so close that his face must then be plainly discernible; he would -be able to discover whether he had been deceived into that quaint supposition -that the figure was actually known to him, or whether, instead, he was -cherishing some strange delusion. Doubtless the latter was the case! Yet, all -the same, the finger let down the flap a little more, so that there was now only -a slit wide enough to enable his eyes to peer through the glass.</p> - -<p class="normal">At this moment the road took still another turn and, in an -instant, the rider was lost to his view. Then, next, that road rose -considerably, whereby the berceuse was forced to creep up the incline at a pace -which was less than a walk. The man behind him must, therefore, come up in a few -minutes; even his horse would, at a walking pace alone, overtake his own animals -as they struggled and dragged at the heavy lumbering carriage behind them.</p> - -<p class="normal">But still he kept the flap open with his upraised hand, and -still he peered forth from the window, it being darkened and blurred by the -moisture from his nostrils. Then, suddenly, the carriage stopped, the horses -were doubtless obliged to rest for an instant from their labours, and, a moment -or so later, the horseman had come round the corner and up the inclined road at -a trot, he reaching almost the back of the berceuse ere pulling up. At which -Desparre dropped the flap as though it had been molten steel which seared his -hand; dropped it and staggered back on to the couch close by, whiter than -before, shaking, too, as if palsied! For he had not been deceived in his surmise -as to recognising the horseman's figure; he knew now that he had not. He had -seen the man's face at last! And it was the face of the man whom Desparre -thought to be long since lying buried in some Paris graveyard, the face of the -man who had married Laure; the husband of the woman he had caused to be sent out -an exile to the New World. That man, alive--strong--well!</p> - -<p class="normal">"What should he do? What? What? What?" he asked himself, as he -recognised this rider's presence and its nearness to him and observed that he -could hear the horse's blowings, as well as the great gusts emitted from its -nostrils and the way it shook itself on slackening its pace on the other side of -the back panel of his carriage. What? He could not get out and fight him in his -diseased, enfeebled state, brought on by a year of hot and fiery debauch in -Paris following on years of coarser debauches when he had been a poor man; he -would have no chance--one thrust and he would be disarmed, a second and he would -be dead, run through and through. Yet he knew that, if the man outside but -caught a glimpse of his face, death must be his portion. They had met often at -Vandecque's and at the demoiselle's Montjoie; almost he thought that the -Englishman had recognised him as he concealed himself in the porch of the house -in the Rue des Saints Apostoliques--if he saw his features now, he would drag -him forth from the carriage, throttle him, stab him to the heart. Doubtless he -would do that at once--these English were implacable when wronged!--doubtless, -too, he was in pursuit of him, had sought him in Paris, followed him to Eaux St. -Fer, was following him to Marseilles. For, that he should be here endeavouring -to find his wife he deemed impossible. She had been almost spirited away to the -prison of St. Martin-des-Champs and there were but one or two knew what had -become of her; while those who did so know had been--had been--well--made -secure.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had followed him, and--now--he had found him! Now! and -there was but an inch, a half inch of carriage panel between them; at any moment -he might hear the man's summons to him to come forth and meet his doom. And he -would be powerless to resist--he was ill, he repeated to himself again, and his -servants were poltroons; they could not assist him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thinking thus--glancing round the confined spot in which he -was cooped up--wondering what he should do, his eyes lighted on the pistol box -upon the shelf.</p> - -<p class="normal">The pistol box! The pistol box! Whereon, seeing it, he began -to muse as to whether a shot well directed through that small window--not now, -in full daylight, but later, in some gloomy copse they might pass through--would -not be the shortest way to end all and free himself from the enemy whom he had -already so bitterly wronged.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_22" href="#div1Ref_22">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4> - -<h5>THE STRICKEN CITY</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Whatever effect such musings might have brought forth, even to -bloodshed, had Walter Clarges continued to ride close behind the carriage -containing his enemy--of which fact he was, in actual truth, profoundly -unconscious--cannot be told, since, scarcely had Desparre given way to those -musings, than events shaped themselves into so different a form that the idea -with regard to the pistols was at once abandoned.</p> - -<p class="normal">For, ere the summit of the ascent, which was in itself a -trifling one, had been reached by both the berceuse and the rider following it, -Desparre was surprised--nay, startled--to discover that the man he dreaded so -much was not by any possibility tracking him; that the pursuit of him was not -his object.</p> - -<p class="normal">Clarges had ridden past the carriage almost immediately after -coming up with it; he had gone on ahead of it--and that rapidly, too--directly -after reaching level ground once more.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Startled" is, indeed, the word most fitting to express the -feelings of the man who had but a moment before been quivering with -excitement--with nervous fear--within his carriage, not knowing whether his end -was close at hand or not. He had felt so sure that the presence of that other, -in this region so remote from where they had ever met before, could only be due -to the fact that Clarges was in search of and in pursuit of him, that, when he -discovered such was not the case, his amazement was extreme. Since, if Clarges -sought not him, for whom did he look? Was it the woman who had become his wife? -Yet, if so, how did he know that she was, had been, near this spot, even if, by -now, already gone far away across the sea whose nearest waters sparkled by this -time in the morning sun. For Marseilles was close at hand; another league or so, -and Desparre would have reached that city--would know the worst. He would know -whether his child had departed to that distant, remote colony, or had died on -the roadside ere reaching the city. But his freedom from the presence of that -man, of that avenger--even though it might be only momentary--even though the -Englishman might only have taken a place in front of the horses instead of -riding behind the carriage--enabled him to reflect more calmly now on what the -future would probably bring forth when he came into contact with his enemy--as -come he must. In those reflections he began to understand that vengeance could -scarcely be taken upon him, sinner though he was. Clarges had married the -daughter--he could not slay the father. No! not although that father had plotted -to slay him--had in truth, nearly slain him by the hands of others. Not although -he had himself taken such hideous vengeance on that daughter, not knowing who -she was.</p> - -<p class="normal">But, did the Englishman know all, or, if he were told of what -was absolutely the case, would he believe, would----?</p> - -<p class="normal">A cry, a commotion ahead, broke in upon his meditations, his -hopes of personal salvation from a violent death. The carriage stopped with a -jerk and he heard sudden and excited talking. What was the reason? Had Clarges -suddenly faced round and ordered the coachman to halt ere he proceeded to -exercise his vengeance on the master--had he? What could have happened? A moment -later, the valet, aroused from his heavy, perhaps guilty, slumbers, had thrust -aside the curtain which separated the bed-chamber (for so it was termed) from -the fore part of the berceuse, and was standing half in, half out, of the little -room, undressed as yet and with a look of agony; almost, indeed, a look of -horror, on his features.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! Monsieur, Monsieur le Duc," he gasped, "there is terrible -news. Terrible. We cannot go forward."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Cannot go forward!" Desparre ejaculated. "Why not? Has that -man--that man who passed us endeavoured to stop the carriage?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Monsieur. No. But--but they flee from the city; in -hundreds they flee. There are some outside already, Marseilles is----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stricken with the pest. They die like flies; they lie in -thousands unburied in the streets. It is death to enter it. Nay, more," and the -man shook all over, "it is death to be here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My God! Marseilles stricken again. Yet we must go on. We -must, I say. Where is that--that cavalier who overtook--rode past us?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has gone on, Monsieur le Duc. He would not be stayed, -though warned also. The people, the fugitives--there are a score at the inn a -few yards ahead of where we are--warned him to turn back ere too late, and told -him it was death to approach the city; that, here even, so near to it, the air -is infected, tainted, poisonous! He heeded them not but said his mission was -itself one of life or death, and that this news made that mission--his reaching -the city at once--even more imperative. Oh! Monsieur le Duc, for God's sake give -the orders to turn back."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fool, poltroon, be silent So, also, by this news, if it be -true, is my reaching the city become more imperative. Where is this crowd, this -inn you speak of?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was natural he should ask the question, since the -bed-chamber of the berceuse had no other window but the little one at the back -out of which its occupant could gaze.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where," he repeated, "is the crowd--the inn?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Close outside, Monsieur; but, oh! in the name of all the -Saints, go not forth. It is death! It is death!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is death if I do aught but go on," the Duke muttered to -himself; "death to her if she is there and cannot be saved." And, at that -moment, Desparre was at his best. Even this man of vile record was dominated by -some good angel now.</p> - -<p class="normal">As he spoke, he pushed the valet aside and, shambling through -the still smaller compartment outside the curtain in which the fellow slept and -cooked, he appeared on the little platform beneath where the coachman and a -footman sat, and from which it was easy by a step to reach the ground.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is this I hear of the pestilence at Marseilles?" he -asked, as, seeing in front of him an inn before which his carriage was drawn up, -as well as a number of strange, sickly-looking beings huddled about in front of -it--some lying on wooden benches running alongside tables and some upon the -ground--he addressed them. "What? Answer me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet he knew that no answer was required. One glance at those -beings told all, especially to him who had once known the pest raging in -Catalonia and had seen the ravages it made, and once also at Bordeaux. Those -chalk-white faces, those yellow eyes and the great blotches beneath them, were -enough. These people might not be absolutely stricken with the pestilence, yet -they had almost been so ere they fled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We have escaped," one answered, "though it may be only for a -time. It is in us. We burn with thirst, shiver with cold. On such a morn as -this! Marseilles is lost! Already forty thousand lie dead in her; they pile -quicklime on them in the streets to burn them up. At Aix ten thousand are -dead--at Toulon ten thousand; thousands more at a hundred other places. Turn -back. Turn back, whosoever you are; be warned in time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Man," Desparre answered, "we have passed by Aix, yet we are -not stricken. I must go on," and his white face blanched even whiter while his -eyes rested on those unhappy people. Yet all the same, he did not, would not, -falter. He had vowed that his attempt to save his child should act as his -redemption if such might be the case; he would never turn back! No, not though -the pest awaited him with its fiery poisonous breath at the gates; not even -though the Englishman stood before him with his drawn sword ready to be thrust -through his heart. He would go on.</p> - -<p class="normal">He felt positive, something within warned him, that his hour -was not far off. And also some strange presentiment seemed to tell him that by, -or through, the pest his death was to come--not by the man whom he had himself -striven to slay.</p> - -<p class="normal">Partly he was wrong, partly he was right. An awful penalty -awaited him for his misdeeds as well as through his misdeeds, though how the -blow was to be struck he had not truly divined.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who," he asked, still standing on the platform of his -carriage with his richly-embroidered sleeping gown around him, "are there -besides the Marseillais? Are--there--any--strangers?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Strangers. Nay, nay! Strangers. Bon Dieu! Does Monsieur think -strangers seek Marseilles now, when even we, the Marseillais, flee from it? When -we leave our houses, our goods, sometimes our own flesh and blood, behind? Who -should be there?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The commerce is great," he replied. "To all parts of the -world go forth ships laden with merchandise. All traffic, all commerce cannot be -stopped, even by such a scourge as this!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not stopped!" the man replied. "Monsieur, you do not know. It -is impossible that monsieur should understand. There are no ships; they lie out -at sea. They will not approach. None, except the galleys. Their cargo counts -not."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment the Duke made no reply, while his eyes wandered -from that group of fugitives to the people gazing forth from the inn window; to, -also, his own servants looking paralysed with fear as they stood about, all -having left the berceuse temporarily and crossed to the other side of the road -so as not to be too near to the infected ones; then he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"There left Paris some weeks ago--many weeks now--two gangs -of--of emigrant convicts for--for the New World. One cordon was of men, the -other of--of women. Have they, are--are they there in that great pest house?" -And he drew in his breath as he awaited the reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The men are there."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My God!" he whispered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They arrived yesterday."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have they sailed--put to sea? For New France?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know not. There are, I tell monsieur, no ships. Those which -were to transport those gallows' birds would not perhaps come in. They may have -gone elsewhere."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And the women?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know not. If they are there, they will work in the -streets--the men at burning and burying. The women at nursing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have many persons there succumbed?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Many! Of those in the town almost half; at least a half."</p> - -<p class="normal">Desparre asked no more questions but turned away, shaking at -that last reply. Yet a moment later he returned to where the fugitives were (he -was so white now that one whispered to another that already he was "struck"), -took from his pocket a purse, and, shaking from it several gold pieces into his -hand, held them out towards the poor creatures. Yet, even as he did so, he -paused a moment, saying:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, do not come for them--there!" And he threw the coins -towards where the people were huddled together.</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment they seemed astonished, even though he muttered, -"Doubtless they will be of assistance," and he noticed that only one man in the -small crowd picked them up--he with whom he had first conversed. But he saw a -man whose head was out of the window smile, if the look upon his wretched face -could be called by that name, whereby he was led to believe that the man who had -last spoken was some rich merchant flying from the stricken city, even as the -poorest and most humble fled. He understood that wealth made no difference in -such a case as this.</p> - -<p class="normal">He gave now the orders to proceed towards Marseilles, bidding -his coachman and footman resume their places on the box, and his valet re-enter -the berceuse. Instead, however, of doing so, they remained standing stolidly -upon the farther side of the road muttering to themselves, shaking their heads, -and looking into each other's eyes, as though seeking for support in their -disobedience.</p> - -<p class="normal">At last the coachman spoke, saying:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur le Duc, we cannot go on. We--we dare not. This is no -duty of ours--to risk our lives in this manner. No wages could repay us for -doing that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must go on," Desparre said; "you must conduct me to the -gates of Marseilles. Beyond that, I demand no more. It is but two leagues. If I -were not sick and ailing I would dismiss you here and walk into the city by -myself. As it is, you must finish the journey. If not----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If not--what?" demanded the footman, speaking in an almost -insolent tone. "What, Monsieur le Duc? These are not feudal days; there is no -law here. All law is at an end, it seems; and--and, if it were not, no law ever -made can compel us to meet death in this manner."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment Desparre looked at the man, his eyes glistening -from his pallid, sickly face; then he turned and slowly entered the berceuse. A -moment later he reappeared upon the platform, and now he held within his hands -his pistols. He was, however, too late. Whether the men had divined what he had -intended to do and how he meant to coerce them, or whether they recognised that -here was their chance--which might be their last one--of escaping from the -horrible prospect of death that lay before them, at least they were gone, They -had fled away the moment his back was turned, and had disappeared into a copse -lying some distance from the road.</p> - -<p class="normal">There remained, however, as Desparre supposed, Lolive; yet he -recollected that he had been in neither of the compartments as he entered them. -In an instant he understood that the man was gone too. The fellow had slid into -the inn while his master had been inside the berceuse, and, passing swiftly -through it to the back, had thereby made his own escape also.</p> - -<p class="normal">Desparre would, in days not so long since past, have given way -to some tempestuous gust of rage at this abandonment of him by his domestics, -creatures who had been well paid and fed, even pampered, since they had been in -his service and since he had come to affluence--he would have endeavoured to -find them, and, had he done so, have shot them there and then. Yet now, either -because he was a changed man in his disposition, or because his physical -infirmities were so great, he did nothing beyond letting his glance rest upon -the people standing about who had been witnesses of the desertion. Then, at -last, he addressed them, haltingly--as he ever spoke now--his words coming with -labour from between his lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am," he said, "a rich man. And--and--there is one in -Marseilles dear to me, one whom I must save if I can. She is," the pause was -very long here, "my daughter, and--heretofore--I have treated her evilly. -I--must--see her if she be still alive; I must see her. If any here will drive -my carriage to Marseilles he may demand of me what he will. Otherwise, I, -feeble, sick, as I am, must do it myself. Even though I fall dead from the box -to the ground in the attempt."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment none spoke. None! not even those who, a short -time back, would have performed so slight a task for a crown and have been glad -to do it. Not one, though now, doubtless, a hundred pistoles would be -forthcoming if asked from a man who travelled in so luxurious a manner. They -knew what was in that city; they had had awful experience of the poisonous, -infected breath that was mowing down thousands weekly, and, though some in the -little crowd were of the poorest of the population, they did not stir to earn a -golden reward. Gold, precious as it was, fell to insignificance before the -preservation of their lives, squalid though such lives were even at the best of -times.</p> - -<p class="normal">A silence fell upon all; there was not one volunteer, not one -who, meeting Desparre's imploring glance as it roved over them, responded to -that glance. Then, suddenly, the man who had conversed with Desparre when last -he appeared on the platform, the one who had taken no notice of the coins the -latter tossed out in his sudden fit of charity, came forward and took in his -hands the reins lying on the backs of the horses, and began to mount to the -deserted box.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will drive you to the gates," he said quietly, "since your -misery is so extreme. Yet, in God's grace, it must be less than mine. You may -find this daughter of whom you speak alive even now--but for me--God two of mine -are gone. I shall never see them again. As for your money, I need it not. I -would have given a whole fleet of ships, a hundred thousand louis--I could have -done it very well and not felt the loss--to have saved my children's lives. Oh! -my children! My children! My children!" and, as he shook the reins, he wept -piteously.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_23" href="#div1Ref_23">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4> - -<h5>WITHIN THE WALLS</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Midnight sounded from the tower of the ancient cathedral of -Marseilles--the deep tones of the bell, in unison with all the bells of the -other churches in the stricken city, being borne across the upland by the soft -breeze from off the Mediterranean to where the women of the cordon stood--and -those women were free at last from one awful form of suffering. The hateful -collar was gone from off their necks; the chains that looped and bound them -together had fallen from their wrists under the blows of the convicts, and lay -in a mass upon the ground. They could hold up their heads and straighten the -backs which had been bowed so long by the weight of the collar; they could -stretch their limbs and rejoice--if such women could ever rejoice again at -aught!--that they might raise their arms unencumbered by either steel or iron -shackles. Yet, around their necks, around their arms, were impressed livid marks -that, if they should live, it would take months to efface. More months than it -had taken to produce the impression which the things had stamped into their -flesh.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the order was given by the Sheriff, that broken-hearted -man, that they should descend into the city; the very tones in which it was -uttered--so different from the harsh, cruel commands of the men who had escorted -the forlorn women from Paris!--being almost enough to make compliance with that -order easy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come," said Marion Lascelles to Laure, "come, dear one. Even -though we march into the jaws of death, at least we go no longer as slaves, but -as freed women. Let be. Things might be worse. Had those cowardly dogs, our -warders, stayed by our side we should have been whipped or cursed into this nest -of pestilence."</p> - -<p class="normal">So they went on, following their sorrowful guide; the men of -the galleys marching near them and relating the awful ravages of the plague -which had stricken the city. Yet not without some exclamations of satisfaction -issuing from the lips of those outcasts and mingling with their story, since -they dilated on the freedom which was now theirs--except at nights when they -were re-conducted to the galleys moored by the Quai de Riveneuve; and on, also, -the better class of food which--at present! but at present only--they were able -to obtain. Upon, too, the almost certain fact of their being entirely pardoned -and released when the pestilence should at last be over.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will that come to us--if we live?" murmured Laure to the man -who walked by the side of her and of Marion. "Will anything we do here, and any -dangers to life we encounter, give us our pardon; save us from voyaging to that -unknown land?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will it, <i>ma belle!</i>" answered the convict--a brawny, -muscular, fellow, who would have been a splendid specimen of humanity but for -the fact that he was gaunt and yellow and hideously disfigured by the white -cloth steeped in vinegar which he wore swathed round his lower jaw, so that he -might continuously inhale the aromatic flavour with each breath he drew. "Will -it! Who can doubt it! And, if not, why--name, of a dog!--are we not free -already?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Free! How?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In a manner we are so. What control is there over us--over -you, especially? You will live in the streets--or, if you prefer it, in any -house you choose to enter; have a care, though, that it is one from which the -healthy have fled in fear, not one in which the dead lie poisoning the air. At -any moment you can hide yourselves away. While for us--well, there will come a -night when we shall not return to the galleys. That is all."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has," asked Marion, "a chain of male emigrants entered -Marseilles but a few hours before us? They should have done so, seeing that they -were not more than a day in advance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes. They have come. Yet their fortune was different; -better or worse than yours, according to how one regards it. One of the merchant -ships was still in the port--off the port--a league out to sea, and, well, they -risked it. They took the human cargo; they are gone for New France. Had you a -man amongst them whom you loved, my black beauty?" he asked, gazing into the -dark eyes of Marion, those eyes whose splendour not all she had gone through -could dull.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My husband was amongst them," she replied quietly; while, to -herself, she added: "Poor wretch! He did little enough good in marrying me. Yet -this leaves me free to devote myself to her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your husband," the convict exclaimed with a laugh. "Your -husband? Good! he will never claim you. You can take another if you desire--the -first one who falls in love with those superb glances."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Vagabond! be still," she answered, with such a look from the -very eyes he had been praising that the man was silent.</p> - -<p class="normal">They were by now close to the northern gate of Marseilles; and -here for a little while they halted, the Sheriff, whose name was Le Vieux--and -who is still remembered there for his acts of mercy and goodness to -all--addressing some archers who formed a group outside the gate, and bidding -them produce food and wine, as well as some vinegar-steeped cloths for the neck -of each woman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who are they?" asked another Sheriff, who came up at this -moment, while he scanned the worn and emaciated women and ran his eyes over -their dusty and weather-stained clothes. "Surely you are not bringing to our -charnel house the refugees from other stricken towns? Not from Toulon and -Arles?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay," replied Le Vieux, "not so. But women who may, by God's -grace, be yet of some service to those left alive. If there are any!" he added -ominously. Then he asked: "What is the count to-day?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The other shrugged his shoulders ere he replied:</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no count. It is abandoned. Who shall count? The -tellers die themselves ere the record is made. Poublanc made a list -yesterday--now----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is not dead? My God I he is not dead?" The other nodded -his head solemnly. After which he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"He lies on his doorstep--dead. He was struck this -morning--now----!"</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">It was a charnel-house to which the Cordon entered! The second -Sheriff had spoken truly!</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, at this time, but half of the ninety thousand<a name="div4Ref_04" href="#div4_04"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -who were to die in Marseilles of this pestilence had achieved their doom. Still, -all was bad enough--awful, heart-rending! Not since ten thousand people died -daily in Rome, in the first century of the Christian era, had so horrible a -blight fallen upon any city. Nor had any city presented so terrible a sight as -did Marseilles now when the women entered it, while glancing shudderingly to -right and left as they passed along.</p> - -<p class="normal">The dead lay unburied in the streets where they had -fallen--men, women, and children being huddled together in heaps; it seemed even -as if, after one heap had lain there for some hours, another had fallen on top -of it, so that one might suppose that these second layers of dead represented -those who, coming forth to search for their kindred and friends, had in their -turn been stricken and fallen over them. There were also the bodies of many dogs -lying stretched by the sides of the human victims, it being thought afterwards -that they had taken the infection through sniffing at and caressing those who -were dear to them. Yet--heart-rending as such a sight as this was to see, and -doubly so as the women regarded it, partly under the rays of the moon and partly -by aid of the flames of the fires which had been lit to destroy the contagion if -possible--there was still worse to be witnessed.</p> - -<p class="normal">This was the sight of those still left alive.</p> - -<p class="normal">The women who had once formed the chain of female emigrants, -and who, unfettered at last, marched along in company towards a spot where the -Sheriff had said they would be able to sleep in peace for the remainder of the -night, were now passing down a public promenade which ran for some three hundred -yards through the principal part of the city. This promenade was known as Le -Cours, and was bordered on each side by trees, mostly acacias and limes, which -in summer threw a pleasant shade over the sitters and strollers during the day -time, and, in the evening of the same season, had often served as a place for -summer evening fetes to be held in, for open-air balmasqués, and as a rendezvous -for lovers. Now the picture it presented was frightful!</p> - -<p class="normal">In its midst there was a fountain with water gushing from the -lips of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs into a basin beneath, and at that fountain the -moon showed poor stricken men drinking copiously to cool their burning thirst, -or leaning over the smooth sides of the basin and holding their extended tongues -in the water. Or they lay gasping with their heads against the stone-work, in -their endeavours to cool the heat of their throbbing brains, and to still, if -might be, the splitting headaches which racked them. For clothes, many had -nothing about them but a counterpane snatched hastily from off a bed ere they -had rushed forth in agony unspeakable; often, too, when they had left their -houses fully dressed, they had torn off their apparel in their inability to bear -the warmth imparted by the garments. Yet numbers of them were not poor--if -outward signs were sure testimony of wealth. One woman--young, perhaps -beautiful, ere stricken by the disfiguring signs of the pest--was resplendent on -breast and neck and hands with jewels that glittered in the moonbeams. Doubtless -she had seized all she owned ere rushing from her house in misery!</p> - -<p class="normal">If death levels all, so, too, had the pest in this desolated -city plunged into strange companionship persons who, in other days, would never -have been brought together. Hard by this bedizened woman was another, a woman of -the people--perhaps a beggar, or a work girl, or a washer-woman at the best--who -screamed and wailed over a dead babe lying in her lap. At her side was an old -man, well clad and handsomely belaced, who shrieked forth offers of pistoles and -louis' to any who would ease him of his pain, and then suddenly paused to call -to him a dog hard by, to utter endearing words to it, and to endeavour to -persuade it to draw near to him and quit the spot on which it lay writhing. A -beggar, too! an awful thing of rags and patches! sat gibbering near them, and -held out a can into which a monk passing by poured some soup, as he did into -many others--yet, no sooner had the man put the stuff to his mouth than he -hurled away the can, shrieking that the broth burned him to the vitals.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is the end," muttered Marion to herself, her dark eyes -roving over all and seeing all as the women passed along--themselves now hideous -in their vinegar-steeped wrappings--"the end of our journey!" Then she glanced -down, frightened, at Laure, to see if she had heard her words. And she observed -that this woman of gentler nature was walking by her side with her eyes closed, -while supported and guided only by her own tender arm. The sight was too awful -for Laure to gaze upon.</p> - -<p class="normal">The alley led into a street called La Rue de la Bourse, a -broad and stately one, full of large commodious houses such as the merchants of -Marseilles had been accustomed to inhabit for some centuries. Now, it was -deserted by all living things, while, at the same time, the dead lay in the -streets as thick as autumn leaves. Huddled together they lay; some with their -faces horribly distorted, some almost placid as though they had died in their -sleep, some with their heads broken in! These were the people who had leapt from -their windows in a frenzy of delirium or in an agony of pain; or, being dead, -had been flung forth from those windows by the convicts and galley-slaves who -had been sent into the houses to free them from the poisonous bodies of those -who had expired.</p> - -<p class="normal">Marion noticed, too, that the still living were driven off the -thresholds of some houses to which they clung--one man, who looked like the -master of the abode, was pouring cold water from a bucket down the steps, so -that none would be likely to lie there. And, next, she heard a piteous dialogue -between two others.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is my own house--my own house!" a man, writhing in a porch -close to where she was, gasped to another who parleyed with him from a door open -about half a foot. "Oh, my son! my son! let me die here on my own doorstep, if I -may not enter."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the son answered, his tones being muffled by the aromatic -bandages around his face:</p> - -<p class="normal">"My father, it cannot be. Not because I am cruel to you, but -because I must be kind to others still unstruck. Your wife and mine, also myself -and my babes, are still free from the fever. Would you slay all, yet with no -avail to yourself? My father, think of us," and he shut the door gently on the -man while beseeching him once again to begone and to carry the contagion he bore -about him far away from the house which contained all that should be dear to -him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Brute!" cried Marion, hearing all this. "Brute! Animal!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, because of her warm, impetuous Southern nature, she -hurled more than one curse up at the window from which she saw the son's white -face looking forth by now.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, nay," murmured the dying old man, while understanding. -"Nay, curse him not, good woman. He speaks well. Why should I poison them? -And--I am old, very old. I must have died soon in any hap. It matters not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are houses here," whispered the convict, who still -walked by Marion's and Laure's side, "at the end of the street, which are, by -some marvel, unaffected. Yet, also, they are deserted, because they are so near -to the poisoned ones. Seek shelter in one for the night, I counsel you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Show me one of such," said Marion. "If there is room enough -for all of us," and she indicated with her eyes that she referred to the other -women who had marched in company from Paris.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Follow me, then. There is a house at the end, the mansion of -one of our richest merchants. Yet he and all are gone; they have escaped safely -in one of his ships to sea. He will not return for months; not until the city is -free and purged. 'Twould hold a regiment," he added. Then he led the way down -towards the house he spoke of.</p> - -<p class="normal">"To-morrow," he continued, "the Sheriffs will ask me where you -are disposed of, and I must say, since you will be required to lend aid. -Meanwhile, sleep well, all you women. Above all, when you are in, shut fast -every window so that no air enters the house to infect it. Forget not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Be sure I will remember," Marion replied. "As well as to shut -the doors," she added, not liking too much the looks of this stalwart, though -gaunt ruffian, and mistrusting his familiarity, in spite of the services he had -more or less rendered them.</p> - -<p class="normal">But the man only laughed, yet with some slight confusion -apparent in his manner, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! you are too much of my own kind to have any fear. You -women have nothing to be robbed of--nothing to lose. And--Marseilles is full of -everything which any can desire, except food and health. Here is the house. If -you like it not, there are many others."</p> - -<p class="normal">Casting her eyes up at what was in truth a mansion, Marion -answered that it would do very well. Then she advanced up the steps towards it, -still leading and supporting Laure, and bidding all the other women follow her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My sisters," she cried, "here is rest and shelter from the -poisoned air of the city. And there should be good beds and couches within. Ah! -we have none of us known a bed for so long. We should sleep well here."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereupon one and all filed in after her, uttering prayers -that the pestilence might not be lurking within the place and making it even -more dangerous than the open air.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fear not," the man replied. "Fear not. The owner fled at the -first outbreak. Not one has died here unless--unless some have crawled in to do -so. It is untainted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," said Marion to him, "begone and leave us. To-morrow we -will do aught that we are bidden. You will find us here," and as he stood upon -the steps of the house, she closed the door.</p> - -<p class="normal">The place echoed gloomily with the reverberation. It appeared -to be a vast, mournful building as they cast their eyes around the great hall -into which the moonlight streamed through a window above the stairs. Mournful -now all deserted as it was, yet a building in which many a festival and much -gaiety had, for sure, taken place in vanished years. The stairs were richly -carpeted; so, too, the hall. Upon the walls hung pictures and quaint -curiosities, brought, doubtless, by the owner's ships from far-off ports; -bronzes and silken banners, great jars of Eastern workmanship, savage weapons -and shields and tokens; also statues and statuettes in niches and corners.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The mansion of a rich, wealthy merchant," Marion thought to -herself, seeing all these things plainly in the pure moonlight streaming from -the untainted heavens above. "The home of gentle women and bright, happy men. -Now, the refuge of such as we are--lepers, outcasts, gaol-birds."</p> - -<p class="normal">And even as she so thought, Marion pushed open a door on the -right of the hall, when, seeing that it led to a rich, handsome salon, she bade -her companions follow her.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_24" href="#div1Ref_24">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> - -<h5>A DISCOVERY</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Aided by the light of the moon which now soared high in the -heavens, she being in her second quarter, the women--of whom there still -remained many out of the original number that quitted Paris--distributed -themselves about this vast and sumptuous abode of gloom. Some, and these were -the women who felt the most worn out and prostrate of all, flung themselves at -once upon the rich Segoda ottomans and lounges which were in the saloon they had -entered; one or two even cast themselves down upon the soft, thick Smyrna -carpets, protesting they could go no further, no, not so much as up a flight of -stairs even to find a bed; while others did what these would not, and so -proceeded to the first floor. Amongst them went Marion and Laure.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet this, they soon found, was also full of reception rooms -and with none of the sleeping apartments upon it; there being a vast saloon -stretching the whole length of the front of the house with smaller rooms at the -back, and in the former the two women cast themselves down, lying close together -upon a lounge so big that two more besides themselves might easily have reposed -thereon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sleep," said Marion, "sleep for some hours at least. -To-morrow they will come for us; yet, heart up! the work cannot be hard. 'Tis -but to nurse the sick; and, remember, if we survive--if we escape contagion--we -shall doubtless be free. That Sheriff, that unhappy, bereaved man promised as -much; he will not go back upon his word."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can he undo the law?" muttered her companion, as now she -prepared to find rest by Marion's side. "Are we not condemned to be deported to -the other side of the world? How then can he set us free? And, even though free, -what use the freedom? We have not the wherewithal to live."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah!" exclaimed Marion, ruthlessly thrusting aside every -doubt that might rise in Laure's, or her own, mind as to the possibility of a -brighter future ahead: "Bah! we are outside the law's grip now. We can set -ourselves free at any moment. Can we not escape from out this city as -inhabitants who are fugitives? Or get away----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In these prison rags!" Laure exclaimed, recalling to the -other's memory how the garb they wore--the coarse black dress and the equally -coarse prison linen--was known and would be recognised from one side of France -to the other. "Marked, branded as we are Even with the impress of the carcan -still on our necks! It is impossible!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it? Child, you do not understand. Do you not think that in -this great, rich house there are countless handsome dresses and vast quantities -of women's clothing? We can go forth decked as we choose--even as rich women -fleeing from the scourge. Have no fear," the brave, sturdy creature added; "that -we cannot depart when we desire. And--leave all--trust all--to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How to live though we should escape? I am fit for nothing. I -can do no work: even though I were strong. I know nothing. My uncle reared me -too delicately."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can do all, I am strong. I will work for both of us. Now -sleep."</p> - -<p class="normal">And they did sleep, lying side by side. Side by side as they -had done before when chained together, and as they had trudged along the awful -road which led to still more awful horrors than even the route could produce. In -the morning Marion arose as the first rays of dawn stole in through the windows -of the great room, while thinking at first, ere she was thoroughly awake, that -the guardians would come in a moment to curse into consciousness all who still -slept, and half dreaming that she was again on the road. Then, she remembered -that these men would never trouble her more; that, in a manner of speaking, she -and Laure were free. Yet she remembered that their freedom was a ghastly one, -and that death was all around them; that the pestilence was slaying a thousand -people a day (as she had heard one galley slave say to another); and that, ere -they had been in Marseilles many hours, it might lay its hot, poisonous hands on -her and her companions.</p> - -<p class="normal">Laure still slept, and, gazing down upon her, Marion saw how -white and worn she was--yet how beautiful still! Upon that beauty nothing which -she had yet undergone had had full power of destruction. Neither sun nor rain -nor wind, nor the long dreary tramp and the rough, coarse food--not even the -sleeping in outhouses and barns, and, sometimes, of necessity, beneath the open -heavens and in the cold night wind--could spoil the soft graceful curves of chin -or cheek, or alter the features. Burnt black almost, worn to skin and bone, and -with, on those features, that look which toil almost ever, and sorrow always, -brings, she lay there as beautiful still in all the absolute originality of her -beauty as on the day she was supposed to be about to marry one man and had -married another.</p> - -<p class="normal">Looking down upon her, that other woman, that woman whose own -life had been so turbulent--and who, like Laure, had been reared among the -people but who had, doubtless, never known the refining influences which even -such a man as Vandecque could offer to one whom he loved for herself, as well as -valued for her loveliness--wept. She wept hot, scalding tears, such as only -those amongst us whose lives have been fierce and tempestuous (almost always, -alas! because of those fiery passions which Nature has implanted in our hearts, -and which, could we but have the arbitrament of them, we would hurl away for -ever from us), can weep. Then, slowly, she did that which she could not remember -having once done for long past years--not since she was a tiny, innocent child. -She sunk first on one knee and then on the other, and so knelt at the side of -the sleeping girl, murmuring:</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I may dare to pray--I--I--who have so outraged Him and all -His laws. Yet, what to say--how to frame a prayer? 'Tis years since she who -taught me my first one at her knee--since she--ah! pity me, God," Marion broke -off, "I know not how to pray."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, all the same, she prayed (if, in truth, "prayer is the -soul's sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed") that this stricken, forlorn -woman might live through all the dangers that now encompassed her; that once -more she might see the noble, chivalrous man who had married her, and be at last -folded to his heart. While, even as she bent over Laure, the latter's lips -parted, and it seemed as though she muttered the name "Walter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay", Marion muttered, "that is it. But where is he? Where? -Oh! if he were but near to save her." Then she sighed deeply, as she would not -have sighed could she have known that, already, the man whose name was in the -sleeping and waking thoughts of each woman had reached the city, intent upon -finding and rescuing his wife. His wife, whom he had loved since first his eyes -fell on her fresh, pure beauty in the fœtid, sickly air of a Paris gambling -hell.</p> - -<p class="normal">For Walter Clarges knew all now. He knew of the deadly, -damnable vengeance that Desparre had taken on the woman whom he would have -married if she had not cast him off for another. Himself!</p> - -<p class="normal">The knowledge had come to Clarges in that strange way, by one -of those improbable incidents which are the jest of the ignorant scoffers who, -in their self-importance and self-sufficient conceit, are unaware that actual -life is more full of strange coincidences than the most subtle of plot-weavers -has ever been able to devise. It had come to him when least to be expected--in -such a manner and at such an opportune moment as to make the knowledge -vouchsafed to him appear to be the work of Providence alone.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had been passing one night at dusk down the street which -led to that in which he dwelt, while musing, as ever, on whether she had been -false to him--so bitterly, cruelly false as to make her memory and all regrets -worthless--when his attention was attracted by an altercation going on between -two men. One, a middle-aged, powerful-looking individual; the other, a beggar -and almost old.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fie! Fie! Shame on you!" he said to the former, as he saw him -strike the second with his cane. "For shame! The man is older than you, and -apparently feeble. Put up your stick, bully, or seek a more suitable adversary."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Monsieur's self to wit, perhaps," the aggressor sneered, yet -ceasing his blows all the same. "Pray, does Monsieur regulate the laws by which -gentlemen are to be molested by whining mendicants in the public places of -Paris? This fellow has followed me with his petition for alms through a whole -street."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will see that he does so no more," Walter Clarges said, -quietly yet effectively. "At least, you shall beat him no further. You had best -begone now," and there was something in his tone, as well as in his stalwart -appearance, which induced the other to draw off and proceed on his way. Not, of -course, without the usual protestations of "another time," and "when the -opportunity should serve," and so forth. But, still, he went.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What ails you?" asked Walter, gazing down now on the man whom -he had saved from further drubbing. "Answer," he continued, seeing that the -beggar turned his face away from him, and seemed, indeed, inclined to shuffle -off after mumbling some thanks in his throat which were almost inaudible and -entirely indistinct. "Answer me. And here is something to heal your aches from -that fellow's cane." Whereon he held out a small silver coin to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">But still the man made off, walking as swiftly as two lame -feet would allow, and keeping at the same time his face turned from the other, -as well as not seeing, or pretending not to see, the proffered coin.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A strange beggar!" exclaimed Walter, now. "You pester a man -until he beats you, yet refuse alms when cheerfully offered. By heavens perhaps -he was not so wrong. At least, you are an ungrateful churl."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not ungrateful," the fellow answered, turning suddenly -upon Walter, and showing a blotched, liquor-stained face. "No; yet I will not -take your money. It would blister me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In heaven's name, who are you?" Walter exclaimed, utterly -amazed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Look at me and see!" And now the man thrust his blotchy -visage close up to the other's, as though inviting the most open inspection.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I protest I never set eyes on you before. My friend, you have -injured someone else--evidently you must have injured him!--and mistake me for -that person."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not mistake. You are the man who was set upon and done -to death, left for dead--as all supposed--on the night when Law's bubble was -nearly pricked; the man whose newly-married wife was flung into the prison----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah! My God! What?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of St. Martin des Champs, and thence deported to America. -Nay, nay," the fellow shrieked suddenly, seeing the effect of his words; "do not -swoon, nor faint. Heavens!" he added to himself, "he is about to drop dead at my -feet."</p> - -<p class="normal">He might well have thought so! The man before him had become -as rigid as a corpse that had been placed upright on its dead feet and left to -topple over to the earth as soon as all support was withdrawn.</p> - -<p class="normal">Clarges' eyes were open, it was true--better, the appalled man -thought, they should have been shut than look at him as they did!--yet they were -glassy, staring, dreadful. His face was not white now with the whiteness of -human flesh--it was marble--alabaster--ghastly as the dead! So, too, with his -lips--they being but a thin, grey, livid line upon that face. And he spoke not, -no muscle twitched, no limb moved. Only--one thing happened; one sign was given -by the statue standing before the shaking outcast. That sign consisted of a -clink upon the stones at his feet--the coin which that outcast had refused to -take had dropped from the other's nerveless, relaxed hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">At last the man knew that he who was before him had not been -turned to stone, had not died standing there erect. From that livid line formed -of two compressed lips, a voice issued and said:--</p> - -<p class="normal">"The prison of St. Martin des Champs! -And--deported--to--America! Is this true? You swear it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Before Heaven and all the angels."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was another pause, another moment of statuelike calm. -Then, again, that voice asked:--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose doing was it? Who sent her--there?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The noble--the man they termed a Duke. The man she had jilted -for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come with me. I--I--can walk, move, now."</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">They were seated opposite to each other in Walter Clarges' -room half an hour later, and the fellow, who had by such a strange chance been -brought into contact with him, had told his tale, or partly told it. He had -described how he had been one of those employed by another who worked under "the -man they termed a Duke," to assist in falling on him who was now before him; how -they, the attackers, had left him for dead, and how they had been bidden to -follow to this very house to assist in another matter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She lay there--there," he said, "when we came in," and he -pointed to a spot at the side of the table; "dead, too, as we all thought. He -and his creature, the man who gave you your <i>coup de grâce</i>, as we -imagined.--I--I cannot remember his name----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can," Walter said. "It was Vandecque. Go on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is the name. Vandecque bade us lift her up and convey -her to the prison. To St. Martin des Champs, because it was the nearest. And we -did so, Heaven pardon us! Yet, ere we set forth, that man, that noble--that -rat--he did one thing that even such ruffians as we were shuddered at.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What did he do?" Walter asked, dreading to know what awful -outrage might have been offered to his insensible wife as she lay before her -ruffian captor. "What? Tell me all."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He tore from his lace cravat, where it hung down over his -breast, a piece of it; tore it roughly, raggedly and--and--he placed it in her -right hand, clenching the fingers on it. Then he whispered in his lieutenant's -ears, 'the evidence against her, mon ami. Yes. Yes. The damning evidence, -Vandecque.' Yes--Vandecque. That was the name."</p> - -<p class="normal">Again the man was startled--at the look upon the face of the -other. As well as at the words he heard him mutter; the words:--"It shall be thy -evidence, too, blackest of devils. The passport to thy master."</p> - -<p class="normal">Aloud he said:--</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you know more? Is--is--oh! my wife--my wife!--is--has she -set out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"La Châine went to Marseilles a month ago."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How fast do they--does la Châine, as you term it--travel?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"But slowly. Especially the chain-gang of women. They must -needs go slowly."</p> - -<p class="normal">Again Walter Clarges said nothing for some moments; he was -calculating how long, if mounted on relay after relay of swift horses, it would -take him to catch up with that chain--to reach Marseilles as soon as it--to -rescue her. For he knew he could do it--he who was now an English peer could -save her who was an English peer's--who was his--wife. He had but to yield on -one point, to proclaim himself an adherent of the King who sat on England's -throne, and the ambassador would obtain an order from the French Government to -the prison authorities to at once hand over his wife to him. And politics were -nothing now! They vanished for ever from his thoughts! Then he again addressed -the creature before him. "You should have been well paid for your foul work," he -said. "So paid that never again ought you to have known want. How is it I find -you a beggar?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah!" the man cried. "It was our ruin. We were blown upon -somehow to the ministry of police a day or two later for some little -errors--Heaven only knows how there were any who could do so, but thus it was. -We were imprisoned, ruined. I but escaped the galleys by a chance. Yet, I, too, -was ill-treated. I was cast into prison for two months. God help me! I am -ruined. There was some private enemy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Doubtless, your previous employer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have thought so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And that other vagabond. That villain, Vandecque! What of -him? He is missing." The man cast his bloodshot eyes round the room as though -fearing that, even here, he might be overheard, or that the one whom they called -a duke might be somewhere near and able to wreak further condign vengeance on -him; then he whispered huskily:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay--he is missing. Some of us--I have met them in the -wineshops--think he is dead. He knew too much. He--all of us--have paid for our -knowledge of that night's work. Yes, dead! we think."</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Tis very possible. Desparre would leave no witness--none to -call him to account. Yet," muttered Walter to himself, "that account has soon to -be made. I am alive, at least. But first--first--for her. For Laure!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_25" href="#div1Ref_25">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4> - -<h5>FACE TO FACE</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">It was during the day preceding the night on which those -unhappy, forlorn women were conducted down to the north gates of the pest-ridden -city that Walter Clarges himself entered Marseilles.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had passed those women on the previous night, unseen in the -darkness and himself unseeing, while they, worn out and inert, lay in some barns -and outhouses belonging to a farm some miles off the city. He had ridden by -within two hundred yards of where the woman he loved so much was enfolded in the -arms of Marion Lascelles, half dead with fatigue and misery. He had ridden by, -not dreaming how near they were to each other!</p> - -<p class="normal">On the morning following he had also passed, not knowing whom -it contained, the travelling carriage of the man who had wrought so much evil in -his own and his wife's life; he had gone on fast and swiftly towards Marseilles, -impelled to even greater speed by the first news of the horror which had fallen -on the city, as well as by the hope that he might be in time to rescue her from -that horror and the danger of an awful death. And, if not that--if happily, for -so he must deem it now, she, with the other female prisoners, should have been -sent on board the transports for New France and already departed--then he was -still full of the determination to follow her across the ocean, and so, -ultimately, effect her freedom.</p> - -<p class="normal">Only an hour or two later, and after he and the villain -Desparre had passed the spot where the first news of the pest was heard by them, -La Châine went by too. Yet, by that time all around and within the inn was -desolate, while the place itself was abandoned and shut up, the landlord and his -family having closed the house and joined the other refugees in their flight. -The spot was too near to Marseilles to make it safe to remain there; it was too -much visited by the stricken inhabitants as they fled to the open country to -continue long unattacked by the poisonous germs brought with them by those -inhabitants.</p> - -<p class="normal">Walter entered the city, therefore, on the midday preceding -the arrival of those unhappy, forlorn women; he entered it at last after having -made what was, perhaps, one of the fastest journeys ever yet effected from Paris -to the great city in the South, so often spoken of in happier days, by those who -dwelt therein, as the Queen of the Mediterranean.</p> - -<p class="normal">How he had done it, how compassed all those leagues, he hardly -knew. Indeed, he could scarcely have given a description of how that long -journey had been made, and seemed, in truth, to remember nothing beyond the fact -that it had been accomplished more by the lavish use of money than aught else. -He had (he could recall, as he looked back to what appeared almost an indistinct -dream) bought more than one horse and ridden it to a standstill; and had, next, -hired as swift a travelling carriage as it was possible to obtain, so that, -thereby, he might snatch some hour or so of rest. Then he remembered that he had -also left that in its turn, had bought another horse--and--and had--nay, he -could scarcely recollect what it was he had done next, how progressed, where -slept, and how taken food and nourishment. Yet, what mattered? He had done it. -He was here at last. That was enough. But now that he was in the great seething -plague spot, now that he was here and riding his horse down Le Cours amidst -heaps of decaying dead, both human and canine (with, also, some crows poisoned -and lying dead from pecking at those who were stricken), all of whom tainted the -air and spread fresh poison and disease around, how was he to find her? And if -he found her, in <i>what</i> condition would it be? Would she be there, and his -eyes glanced stealthily, nervously towards those heaps--or--or--would he never -find her at all! Some--he had been told at the gate, where they handed him the -repulsive cloth steeped in vinegar which he was bidden to wrap round his -neck--were destroyed by quicklime as they died; while there was an awful whisper -going about that the thousands of dead now lying in the streets were to be burnt -in one vast holocaust, and that, likewise, the houses in which more than a -certain number had died were to be closed up for a long space of time with what -was termed "walled up doors and windows." Suppose--suppose, therefore, she had -died, or should die, in any of these circumstances, and he should never find -her--never hear of her again! Never, although he had reached the very place in -which she was! Suppose he should never know what had been her actual fate!</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must find her," he muttered; "I must find her!" And he -prayed God that he might do so ere long; that he might discover her alive and -well, so that he could rescue her from this loathsome place and take her away -with him to safety and health. He could make her so happy now that he was rich. -He must find her!</p> - -<p class="normal">At the gate where he had been given the disinfectants, the man -in charge stared at him as one stares at a madman or some foolhardy creature who -insists on doing the very thing which all people possessed of sanity are intent -upon not doing at any cost. He stared at the well-dressed stranger, who, -flinging himself off his horse, had battered at the gate to be let in--much the -same as, on the other side of it, people battered against it in their desire to -be let out.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Admit you!" exclaimed the galley slave who now filled the -post of the dead and gone gate-keepers (with, for reward, a prospect of freedom -before him when the pest should be finally over, if he should be alive by that -time). "Admit you! Name of Heaven one does not often hear that request! Are you -sick of life? It must be so!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay; instead, I seek to preserve life, even though I lose my -own in doing so. To preserve the life of one I love." Then, observing the man's -strange appearance, his red cap and convict's garb, he asked: "Are you the -warder of the gate?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For want of better! When one has not a snipe they take a -blackbird. I am the substitute of the warders. They lie in the outhouse now. I -may lie there, too, ere long."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has--has any cordon of women--female -convicts--emigrants--passed in lately? From Paris? Speak, I beseech you," and he -had again recourse to that which had not failed him yet, a gift of money.</p> - -<p class="normal">The man pocketed the double piece in an instant. Then he said: -"I cannot say. I was sent here but yesterday--the warders would have known."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go and ask them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ask them. <i>Ciel!</i> they would return a strange answer. -Man, they are dead! Do you not understand?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is everybody dead in this unhappy place?" Walter asked, -despairingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not yet. But as like as not they will soon be. You see, <i> -mon ami</i>, we die gaily. Of us, of us others--gentlemen condemned for crimes -we never committed--forty were sent into the city from our galleys two days ago. -Four remain alive. I am one." Then, changing the subject, he said: "Is the life -you love that of a woman who comes--or has come--in the cordon of which you -speak?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"God pity me! yes. She is my wife. Yet an innocent."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ha! An innocent. So! so! We are all innocent--all the -convicts and convict emigrants. Also, our woman-kind. Well! enter, go find her -if she is here. Then, away at once. Escape is easy, for the sufficient reason -there will be none to stop you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not, therefore, flee yourself?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh I as for that, we have our reasons. We may grow rich by -remaining, and we are paid eight livres a day to encourage us. There is much -hidden treasure. And our costume is a little pronounced. We should not get far. -Moreover," with a look of incredible cunning, "we shall get our yellow paper, -our 'passport,' if we do well and survive! We shall be gentlemen at large once -more. If we survive!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Sickened by the sordid calculations of this criminal, Walter -Clarges turned away, then, addressing the man once more, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will go seek through the city for my wife. If I find her -not I will return to you. You will tell me if the cordon I have spoken of -arrives. Will you not?" and again he had recourse to the usual mode of obtaining -favours.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay! never fear. If they come in you shall know of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereon Walter Clarges took his way down Le Cours and -traversed the rows of dead and dying who lay all around him at his horse's feet, -seeing as he went along the same horrors that, in the coming midnight, his wife -and her companions in misery were also to gaze upon. The daylight showed him -more than the dark of twelve hours later was to show to them, yet robbed, -perhaps, the surroundings of some of those tragic shadows and black suggestions -which night ever brings, or, at least, hints at.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was almost incredible that the ravages of an all devouring -plague, accompanied in human minds by the most terrible fear that can haunt -them--the fear of a swift-approaching, loathsome death--could have so -transformed an always gay, and generally brilliant, city into such a place as it -had now become. Incredible, also, that those who still lived while dreading a -death that might creep stealthily on them at any moment, could act towards those -already dead with the callous indifference which they actually exhibited.</p> - -<p class="normal">He saw some convicts flinging bodies from windows, high up in -the houses, down into the streets, where they would lie till some steps could be -taken for gathering and removing them--and he shuddered while seeing that now -and again the wretches laughed, even though the very work that they were about -might be at the moment impregnating them with the disease itself. He saw a -pretty woman--a once pretty woman--flung forth in a sheet; an old man hurled -naked from a window; while a little babe would sometimes excite their derision, -if, in the flight to earth, anything happened that might be considered -sufficient to arouse it. He saw, too, lost children shrieking for their -parents--long afterwards it came to his knowledge that, in this time of trouble -and disorder, some strange mistakes had been made with these little creatures. -He learnt that beggars' offspring had undoubtedly become confused with the -children of rich merchants who had died from the pest, and that the reverse had -also happened. In one case, many years afterwards (the account of which reached -England and was much discussed) a merchant's child had been mistaken for that of -an outcast woman, and had eventually earned its living as a domestic servant -working for the very pauper child who had, by another mistake, been put in -possession of the wealth the other should have inherited.</p> - -<p class="normal">Still, he went on; nerved, steeled to endure such sights; -determined that neither regiments of dead, nor battalions of dying, nor scores -of frightened, trembling inhabitants fleeing to what they hoped might be safety -in some distant, untouched village, should prevent him from seeking for the -woman he had loved madly since first his eyes rested on her. The woman he had -won for his wife only to lose a few hours later!</p> - -<p class="normal">Through terrible spectacles he went, scanning every female -form and face, looking for women who might be clad in the coarse sacking of the -convict <i>emigrée</i>; peering at dying women and at dead. And he knew, he -could not fail to recognise, how awful a grip this pest had got on the city, not -only by the forms he saw lying about, but by the action of the living. Monks and -priests were passing to and fro, one holding a can of broth, another -administering the liquid to the stricken; yet all, he observed, pressing hard to -their own nostrils the aromatically-steeped cloths with which they endeavoured -to preserve their own lives. He saw, too, an old and reverend bishop passing -across a market place, attended by some of his priests, who gave benedictions to -all around him and wept even as he did so. A bishop, who, calm with that holy -calm which he was surely fitted to be the possessor of, disdained to do more -than wear around his neck the bandage which might preserve him from contagion. -He pressed nothing to his lips, but, instead, used those lips to utter prayers -and to bestow blessings all around him. This was, although Walter knew it not, -the saintly Belsunce de Castelmoron, the Reverend Bishop of Marseilles, of whom -Pope afterwards wrote:</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:10%; text-indent:-10px"> -<p>"Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,<br> -When nature sickened, and each gate was Death?"</p> -</div> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Of convicts, galley slaves, there were many everywhere, since, -as soon as one batch sent from the vessels lying at the Quai de Riveneuve was -decimated, or more than decimated, another was turned into the city to assist in -removing the dead, and, where possible, burying them within the city ramparts -and port-walls, which had been discovered to be not entirely solid but to -possess large vacant spaces within them that might serve as catacombs. And, -also, they were removing many to the churches, the vaults of which were opened, -and, when stuffed full of the dead, were filled with quicklime and closed up -again, it remaining doubtful, however, if the churches themselves could be used -for worship for many years to come.</p> - -<p class="normal">In that dreadful ride he saw and heard such things that he -wondered he did not, himself, fall dead off his horse from horror. He saw men -and their wives afraid to approach each other for fear of contracting contagion; -he observed many people running about the streets who had gone mad from fright; -once, in the midst of all these shocking surroundings, he perceived a wedding -party--the bride and bridegroom laughing and shrieking, while the man, who was -either overcome with drink or frenzy, called out boisterously, "Thy uncle can -thwart us no more, Julie. The pest has done us this service at least."</p> - -<p class="normal">Next, he passed through a street at which a little trading was -taking place, some provisions being sold there. Yet he noticed what precautions -prevailed over even such transactions as these. He saw a great cauldron of -boiling water with a fire burning fiercely beneath it, and into this cauldron -was plunged every coin that changed hands, pincers being used for the purpose. -It was feared that even the pieces of metal might convey the disease! And he -observed that those who brought fish to sell were driven away with shouts and -execrations, and made to retire with their bundles. It was rumoured, he heard -one man say, that all the fish near land were poisoned and infected by the -bodies that had been cast into the sea.</p> - -<p class="normal">The night drew near as still he paced the city streets and -open places, and he knew that both he and his horse must rest somewhere--either -out in the open or in some deserted house or stable. Food, too, must be obtained -for both. Only--where?</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he determined he would make his way back to the gate and -discover if, by any chance, the chain-gang of women had yet arrived. If it had -not, it must, he felt sure, be very near, or--perhaps--already lying outside the -city. To-morrow at daybreak he would begin his search again.</p> - -<p class="normal">Remembering the way he had come, guided by terrible signs, by -shocking sights which he recollected having passed on his way to the spot he was -now returning from; guided, also, by the glow left by the sun as it began to -sink, he went on his road back towards the gate, observing the names of the -streets at the corners as he did so. One, which now he was passing through, and -which he noticed was called <i>La Rue des Carmes Déchaussés</i>, seemed to have, -for some reason, been more deserted by its inhabitants than several others he -had traversed. Perhaps, he thought, because the fever had developed itself more -pronouncedly here than elsewhere; perhaps because the inhabitants were wealthy -enough to take themselves off at the first sign of the approach of the -pestilence. That might be so. Now, the doors and, in many cases, the windows -stood open; he could see through these windows--even in the fast falling -dusk--that the rooms were sumptuously furnished, yet how desolate and neglected -all seemed! How fearful must have been the terror of their owners when they -could flee while leaving behind them all their treasures and belongings, leaving -even their doors open behind them to the midnight prowlers or thieves who must -surely be about after dark. Or, had those prowlers and thieves themselves burst -open those doors, while neglecting to shut them again after they had glutted -themselves with the treasures within?</p> - -<p class="normal">Musing thus he halted, regarding one particularly open -house--it was number 77--then started to see he was not alone in the street.</p> - -<p class="normal">Coming slowly up it was a man who walked as though with -difficulty; a man who, seeing a solitary woman's body lying on the footpath, -crossed over to her, turned over the body, and regarded the face. Then he seemed -to shake his head and walk on again towards where Walter Clarges sat his horse -observing him. And, far down the street, he saw also another figure, indistinct -as to features, distinct as to dress. A man arrayed in the garb of a convict; a -man who, as he crept along, gave to the watcher the idea that he was tracking -him who was ahead.</p> - -<p class="normal">Ahead and near Clarges now, so near that he could see his -features. And, as he saw and recognised them, he gave a gasp, while exclaiming -hastily, "My God!"</p> - -<p class="normal">For the first man of the two, the one who now drew close to -him, was Desparre!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_26" href="#div1Ref_26">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4> - -<h5>"REVENGE-BITTER! ERE LONG BACK ON ITSELF RECOILS!"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The night was close at hand as those two men came together, -they being brought so by the slow, heavy approach of Desparre towards where the -other sat his horse watching him. The dark had almost come. But, still, there -was a sufficiency of dusky light left beneath the stars which began to twinkle -above in the deep, sapphire sky for the features of each to be recognised by the -other.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet," Clarges asked himself, as he dismounted and left his -tired horse standing unheld in the deserted street, "did Desparre recognise his -features?" He could hardly decide.</p> - -<p class="normal">The man had stopped in that halting, dragging walk up the -long, deserted street which rose slightly on a hill; he had stopped and was -looking--yes, looking--staring--at him, yet saying nothing either with his lips -or by the expression of those glassy eyes. He was standing still before him, -mute and rigid.</p> - -<p class="normal">And Clarges noted, all unimportant as it was, that far down -the street, a hundred yards away, the galley slave who was the only other living -creature about besides themselves, had halted too--had halted and was looking up -towards them as though wondering curiously what these men might have to do with -one another.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Desparre!" exclaimed Walter Clarges now, abandoning all -title, all form of ceremony. "Desparre, how it is that you have been delivered -into my hands here to-night in this loathsome, plague-stricken spot, I know not. -Yet I know one thing. We have met. Met for me to kill you, or for you to kill -me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">To his astonishment, to his utter amazement, the other was -silent--silent as if stricken dumb, as if turned to stone. But still the glassy -eyes regarded him and seemed to glisten in the light that was almost darkness -now.</p> - -<p class="normal">Clarges paused a moment while observing that figure before him -and wondering if this might be some devilish ruse, some scheme concocted in -Desparre's mind for either saving himself or perpetrating some act of treachery. -The villain might, he thought, have a pistol in his breast or pocket which he -would suddenly draw forth and discharge full at him. Then, seeing that the other -still remained mute and motionless, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"No silence on your part can save you. Be dumb if you will, -but act. Draw your sword at once or stand there to be slain, to be righteously -executed. I have to avenge to-night the wrongs of myself and of my wife--your -daughter. Ha! you know that!"</p> - -<p class="normal">As he mentioned "my wife--your daughter," he saw that he had -moved the man. His face became contorted with a horrible spasm; one part of it -seemed to be drawn down suddenly, the mouth, by the process, assuming a hideous, -one-sided grin.</p> - -<p class="normal">Desparre was now awful to gaze upon.</p> - -<p class="normal">Unsheathing his own sword, Clarges advanced towards him, -uttering only one word, the word "Draw." Then he stood before the other, -waiting, watching what he would do, while determined that, if he did not draw as -he bade him, he would thrust his weapon through his craven breast and so put an -end to his vile life.</p> - -<p class="normal">At first Desparre did nothing, but stood stock and motionless -before him with always that drawn-down look upon one side of his face, though -now his lower jaw seemed, as seen through the dusk, to be working horribly, and -his teeth, one or two of which were discoloured, showing like fangs.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he put his hand to his sword--it appeared as though that -hand would never reach the hilt, as though it were numbed or dead--and with what -looked like extreme effort, drew forth the blade. Yet only to let it drop -listlessly by his side directly afterwards, the point clicking metallically -against the cobble stones of the street as he did so.</p> - -<p class="normal">Was the coward struck lifeless with fear? Almost, it seemed -so. Yet but a moment later, Clarges knew that it was something worse than fear -that possessed him. For now the sword he had held so languidly fell altogether -from his hand and clattered upon the stones as it did so, while Desparre stood -shaking before the man who was about to slay him, his arms quivering helplessly, -his face appalling in its distortions, his body swaying. Then he, too, fell -heavily, and lay, as it seemed, lifeless before the other, his arms stretched -out wide.</p> - -<p class="normal">And Clarges, bending over him, regarding him as though he -still doubted whether this were a ruse or not, yet knowing, feeling certain, -that it was not so--did not perceive that the skulking form of the galley-slave -had drawn nearer to them--that the man was now crouching in a stooping posture -on the other side of the street regarding him and Desparre, while his starting, -eager eyes observed all that was happening.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has he died of fright?" Clarges whispered to himself, while -he bent over the prostrate man. "Died of fright or by God's visitation? Or is he -dead? Anyway, he has escaped me for the present. So be it. We shall meet again, -unless this scourge which is over all the place takes him or me, or both of us, -before we can do so."</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereupon, he left Desparre lying there. He could not stab him -now, helpless as he was and dead or dying? Yet, as he remounted his tired steed -which had stood tranquilly in the road where he had left it, he remembered that, -during the many weeks he had lain in the Paris Hospital, and while the wounds -administered at that craven's instigation were healing, he had seen men brought -into it who had fallen almost lifeless in the street from paralysis and -apoplexy. From paralysis! Yes, that must be what had now stricken this man; he -felt sure it must. He remembered that there was one so brought in who had -dropped in the street suddenly--the doctors said from a great shock he had -received--whose face had been drawn down as Desparre's was, whose jaws had -twitched, even in his insensibility, in much the same way.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yes, he reflected, it was that, it must be that which had -stricken this man thus at the moment when he had meant to slay him. One death -had saved him from another, since now he must surely be near his end. If he did -not perish of the stroke, the fever would doubtless lay hold upon him. His -account was made. And musing thus, thanking God, too, that he had been spared -from taking the life of even so great a villain as Desparre, and from having for -ever the burden of the man's execution upon his head, he slowly rode off from -the street of the Barefooted Carmelites, to learn, if possible, whether the -cordon of women from Paris had yet arrived. But scarcely had his horse's hoofs -ceased to echo down that mournful, deserted place in which now lay two bodies -stretched upon their backs--the one, that of the poor dead woman at the lower -end of it, the other, that of the wealthy and highly descended Armand, Duc -Desparre--than forth from the porch across the street there stole the form of -the skulking convict,--the convict who had been tracking Desparre from long -before he entered the street, the galley-slave who had stood, or crouched aside, -to see what should be the result of the meeting with the man who had dismounted -from his horse to parley with him.</p> - -<p class="normal">With almost the sinuous crawl of the panther, this -convict--old, and with his close cropped hair flecked with grey--stole across -the wide street to where the form of Desparre lay; then, reaching that form, he -went down on one knee beside it, and, in the dark, felt all over it, lifting up -his own hands now and again and peering at them in the night as though to see if -they glistened with anything they might have come against, while feeling also -one palm with the fingers of the other hand to discover if it was wet. Yet such -was not the case.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Almost I could have sworn," the <i>galérien</i> muttered, -"that I heard his sword fall from him. That he was disarmed and therefore run -through a moment later. Yet he is not wounded; there is no blood. What does it -mean? That man was Walter Clarges--alive! Alive Alive! He whom I have deemed -dead for months. Her husband--and alive! He must have slain him. He must. He -must. He would be more than human, more than man, to spare him after all that he -and she have suffered. He must have run that black treacherous heart through and -through. Yet, there is no wound that I can find; no blood!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Again and again--feeling the body all over, feeling, too, that -the heart was beating beneath his hand and that there was no sign of cold or -stiffness coming into that form as it lay motionless there--he was forced at -last to the conclusion that, for some strange reason, Clarges had spared his -bitterest foe.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Spared him," he hissed. "Spared him. Why, why, why!" and he -rose to his feet cursing Clarges for his weakness or folly. Cursing him even as -he looked down and meditated on throttling the man lying there before him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He may spare him," he said. "I will not. My wrongs are as -great, as bitter as theirs. I will have his life. Here--to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had touched with his foot, some moments before, the sword -which Desparre had let fall from his nerveless hand, and the clatter of which -had led him to imagine that the duke had been disarmed. Now, he picked up the -weapon, tried it once against the stones, then bent over the miserable man with -his arm shortened so as to drive the blade a moment later through throat and -breast.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hellhound!" he muttered, "your hour is truly come. Devil! go -to your master. You swore she should go unharmed if I would but assist you in -your vengeance on him; that--that knowing I loved her--God, how I had learnt to -love her! in spite of my trying to force her to marry such as you so that she -might be great and powerful--she should be given back to me. Whereby we could -yet have lived happy, prosperous, unmolested, together. Together! Together! And -you sent her to exile and death, and me--your tool--to the galleys. Die!"</p> - -<p class="normal">And now, he drew back his arm so as to drive the blade home. -Yet, even as he did so, even before he thrust it through neck and chest, he -whispered savagely. "It is too good a death, it is too easy. He is insensible -from fear, he will die without pain. If there were any other way--any -method----"</p> - -<p class="normal">He paused with his eyes roaming round the street from side to -side--then started. A moment afterwards he went up the steps of the house with -the sword still in his hand, and peered at the numbers painted in great white -figures on the door. In the dark of the summer night, in the faint light given -by the blazing southern stars, he could decipher them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Seventy-seven," he muttered, "seventy-seven." Then paused -again as though thinking deeply, his empty hand fingering his grisly, unshaven -chin. "Seventy-seven. Ay! I do remember. This house was one of them. One of the -first. One of the worst. 'Twill serve."</p> - -<p class="normal">He leant the sword against the side of the porch, muttering: -"He would not stab you to the heart--so--neither will I," then went slowly down -the steps again, and back to where Desparre lay unmoved. After which he took -both of the other's hands in his, drew them above the shoulder, and stretched -the arms out to their full length, and thus hoisted the burden on his own gaunt -shoulders--while bending--almost staggering at first--under the weight. Yet he -kept his feet; at last he was able to straighten his back, and to stagger up the -steps into the house. Here, when once in it, he let the body down to the floor -of the passage and stood gasping and breathing heavily for some moments, what -time he muttered to himself:</p> - -<p class="normal">"This will not do. Not here on the first floor. It is too near -the street. He must go higher. Higher yet. Otherwise he may be found--and -saved!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Whereupon, having regained his breath, he lifted Desparre on -to his shoulders again and slowly mounted to the first floor of the house. Then -he rested there, and afterwards went on to the second. Here, as was ever the -case in the houses of the well-to-do in the city, the sleeping apartments began; -the principal bedroom of the master of the house being in this instance on the -front, or street side, while that reserved for guests was on the back, and -looked over a small plot of ground, or garden. The moon, now peeping up, showed -that both rooms were in a state of great confusion--rooms to which, by this -time, the man had crept laboriously with his heavy, horrid burden on his back. -The bed, he could see, as still the rays stole in more fully to the front -apartment, was in disorder, the upper sheet and coverlet being flung back as -though some one had leapt hastily from them; the doors of wardrobes and -cupboards stood open; so, too, did the lid of a huge strong-box bound and -clasped with iron bands. Easy enough was it for Vandecque to see that, from this -room a hurried flight had been made, and with only sufficient time allowed -before the departure for the more precious and smaller objects of value to be -hastily gathered up. For, upon the floor there lay--as he felt as well as saw, -since his feet struck against them--the larger articles of importance, the -silverware, the coffee pots and tea-pots, the salvers, and other things. It had -been a hurried flight!</p> - -<p class="normal">"If," said Vandecque to himself, even as his eye glanced round -on all these things which he would once have deemed a rich booty had they fallen -into his hands, but which now he scorned, since, if he could but gain his -freedom by his conduct here and return to Paris a liberated man, he would want -for nothing, having at last grown rich through the gambling house; "if I leave -him in this house and he recovers consciousness--strength--he may be able to -attract attention; to call for assistance from the window. He shall have no -chance of that. Come, murderer, come," and again he lifted the insensible man -upon his shoulders and bore him into the back, or spare, room.</p> - -<p class="normal">This was not in a disordered condition. There would be no -guests in Marseilles at this time; no visitors from a healthy place to such an -unhealthy, stricken one as this. The bed was made and arranged, and on to it -Vandecque flung the body of his victim. His victim! Yes, yet how long was it -since he himself had been the victim? And, even as he thought of how he had -suffered at this man's hand, any compunctions he might have had during the last -hour--and, hardened as he was, he had had them!--vanished for ever.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Arrested by your orders," he muttered, glancing down upon -Desparre as he lay senseless on the bed; glaring down, indeed, though only able -to see the dim outline of his enemy's form, since, as yet, the moonbeams had -scarcely penetrated to this room. "By your orders, though not knowing, never -dreaming that it was so; not dreaming that my betrayal came from you. Then the -prison of La Tournelle--oh, God! for the third time in my life--the condemnation -to the galleys, this time in perpetuity. I--I who had grown well-to-do, who had -no need to be a criminal again, who might have finished my life in ease. And -Laure--Laure--poor Laure!--whom I had hoped to see a Duchess, and -great--happy--or, at least, not unhappy! Cut-throat!" he almost shrieked at the -senseless man; "when I learnt, as we gaol birds do learn from one another, all -that you had done, I swore to escape from these galleys somehow, to make my way -back to Paris, to slay you. Yet, it is better thus; far better. Lie there and -die."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he went forth from the room, finding the key in the door -and turning it upon Desparre.</p> - -<p class="normal">But, as he descended the stairs and returned to the street, -taking no precaution to deaden his footfall in the empty corridors, since he -knew well enough that there were none to hear them, he muttered to himself, -"Clarges spoke of her to him as 'his wife.' Also he said 'Your daughter.' Mon -Dieu! was she that? Was she that? And if so, how should the Englishman know it, -how have found out what I spent years in fruitlessly trying to discover?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Musing thus, he caught up the sword which still stood in the -porch, flung it down a drain, and went slowly through the deserted streets -towards the Quai de Riveneuve where the galleys were, and to which the convicts -returned nightly to sleep--if they had not succumbed during the day to the -pestilence.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_27" href="#div1Ref_27">CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4> - -<h5>"I LOVE HER!-SHE IS MY WIFE"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Down the Rue de la Bourse, wherein the women of la Châine had -passed the latter part of the night, the rays of the sun began to stream -horizontally as it rose far away over the Mediterranean and lit up the side of -the street in which stood the house where the weary creatures lay.</p> - -<p class="normal">A month before this period daybreak would have dawned upon a -vastly different scene from the one of lifeless desolation to which it now -brought light and warmth. The great warehouses at the back of the merchants' -residences--in which position most of those buildings in Marseilles were -situated--would have already begun to teem with human life; with bands of -sailors coming up from the harbour, either bringing, or with the intention of -carrying away, bales of goods and merchandise; workmen, mechanics, clerks, and <i> -employés</i> of every kind would have been passing up the street to their early -work. Now, the Rue de la Bourse, like scores of other streets in the City, was -absolutely deserted or only tenanted at various spots by the dead--human and -animal!--who lay about where they had fallen--on doorsteps, in porches and -stoops, sometimes even in the very middle of the road.</p> - -<p class="normal">On such a scene as this Marion gazed as she looked forth from -the room she and Laure had slept in; her mind full of sorrow and perplexity--not -for herself nor on her own account, but on that of the other unhappy one over -whom she watched. For herself she cared not--she knew that her past, and the -consequences resulting from the actions of that past, had shut the door for ever -against any sweetness of existence for her in the future, nor was she much -concerned as to whether the pestilence slew her or not. Only--she had sworn to -stand by Laure until the end; therefore she knew that now, at this present time -and for some weeks or months at least, she must live, she must take care of her -own health if she would do what she had vowed to perform. Afterwards, if she -should see Laure spared by the hideous scourge which now ravaged the place they -had arrived at, spared to be in some manner restored to the husband she had come -at last to love--then it mattered little what became of her. But she must live -to see that!</p> - -<p class="normal">Marion went over to the girl now and once more gazed at her, -observing that she was sleeping calmly and easily; then she returned to the -window and continued her glances up and down the street. She was watching for -those who, as the convict had said, would come for them soon after daybreak to -lead them away to where their services would be needed as nurses and helpers, -and she wished to be on the alert to prevent them from troubling Laure. She -meant at once to tell them--her teeming brain never being at a loss for an -expedient!--that the girl was ill or, at least, too weak to take any part in the -proceedings for which they might all be required on that day, and to beg her -off. She determined also that, whether the request was granted cheerfully or -not, Laure should rest for the next twenty-four hours. Her confidence in her own -powers and strength failed her no more now than they had ever failed her in the -most violent crises of her life--she was resolved that what she desired should -be accomplished.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently she saw them coming--or, rather, saw coming up the -street a band of men and women who, she could not doubt, were a party of nurses -and "crows," as the males were termed who attended to the work of removing the -dead and, if possible, to the disposing of them elsewhere, namely, in the vaults -of churches, the hollow walls of the ramparts, and, in some cases, in old boats -and decayed vessels which were taken out to sea and there sunk. Whereon she went -swiftly down the stairs to the door to meet them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Among this body of persons which now drew near she saw her -acquaintance of last night, the convict, who at once greeted her in his strong -Breton accent, he being, as he had told her at their first meeting, a native of -that province.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bon jour, Madame," he now cried with an attempt at -cheerfulness,--poor wretch! he had made some sort of compact with himself that -nothing should depress him, nor any horrors by which he was surrounded frighten -him, while forcing himself to regard his impending liberty as a certainty which -no pestilence must be allowed to deprive him of. "Bon jour, Madame. And how is -the young one?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is not well," Marion answered, while glad, in a way, that -she so soon had an opportunity given her of declaring that Laure could not go -nursing that day; "also, she must rest." Then she regarded the members of the -group accompanying the man, while observing who and what they were.</p> - -<p class="normal">Two were monks; good, holy men, who, working cheerfully under -the orders of the bishop (as dozens of their brethren were doing in other parts -of Marseilles) were now acting as doctors, since--horrible to relate--there was -not one physician or surgeon now left either alive or unstricken. In the -beginning of the pestilence, the doctors of Marseilles had scoffed at the -disease being the plague; they had called it nothing but a trifling malady, and, -unhappily both for them and all in the city, they had suffered for their -obstinacy or, rather, incredulity. They had been amongst the very first to break -down under the attacks of the loathsome fever which they had refused to -recognise. Consequently, the work which they should still have been able to do -had to be done by amateurs--such as these monks--or the surgeons of the galleys, -or any stranger in the city who understood medicine and its uses, and was -willing to risk his life in administering it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Of the others who formed the group some were "crows," as has -been said, while there were five women, three of them being under sentence for -life at the travaux forcés, yet now with a fair prospect of freedom before them -should they perform faithfully all that was demanded of them at this awful -crisis, and--also--preserve their lives! Of the other two, one was an elderly -lady whose whole existence had been devoted to good works, she even having -voyaged as far as Siam with the missionaries sent out there; the second was a -young and beautiful woman of high position among the merchant families of the -place, who had broken her father's heart by her loose conduct and was now -endeavouring to soothe her own remorse by self-sacrifice.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was also a Sheriff--not the same as he who had accosted -La Châine overnight--but another one, older than the former, and seeming also -much grief-stricken.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If," said this man, addressing Marion, "the young woman of -whom you speak is indeed ill, let her rest; later, she may be able to be of -assistance. God forbid we should do aught to add to the sickness here. She is -not attacked with the pestilence?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay," said Marion. "Nay. But she is young and delicate. She -is a lady. Think, monsieur, of what she must have gone through in the past few -months. We others are mostly rough creatures, especially those who have -survived, since the loose women, the dissolute ones who set out with us -have--well--been left behind. But--but----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What was her crime? That of your friend? For what was she -condemned?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She was an innocent woman!" cried Marion; and as she spoke -her lustrous eyes blazed into the man's before her. "God crush for ever the -scoundrel who bore false witness against her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are other women in the house," the Sheriff said, almost -unheeding Marion's tempestuous outburst. "They at least can work, can they not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! as for that," Marion answered, "I imagine so. I will go -in and see. Yes," she exclaimed, glancing up at a window in the house above the -room in which she and Laure had slept, she being now in the street and amidst -the group, "it would seem so. Behold, they look forth."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was true that they did so, since, when all eyes were -directed upwards, the unkempt heads of the other surviving members of the -gang--heads covered in some cases with black hair, in some with yellow, and, in -one, with grey--were seen peering down into the street.</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Hola!</i>" cried Marion, "come down all of you. Come down -and assist at the good work. You have slept well, have you not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, we have slept. But now we are hungry. We want food. We -cannot work on empty stomachs; if we do the pest will seize on us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Descend," cried the Sheriff, "we bring food with us. For -to-day," he muttered to himself, turning aside his head. "To-morrow there may be -none. Already the country people will not enter the city nor take what they deem -to be our poisoned money. God help all!"</p> - -<p class="normal">As he so muttered to himself he made a sign to one of the men -who carried a great copper pot, and to one of the condemned women who bore in -her hands a tin box, and bade them prepare some food, the man lighting at his -bidding a little brazier at the bottom of the big pot. At the same time the -female produced from her box some hard ship's biscuits, and began, with a stone -she picked up, to break them into pieces.</p> - -<p class="normal">By this time the other women had come down into the street, -and, inhaling the odour of the soup which was warming in the utensil, betrayed -intense desire to be at once supplied with some nourishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A half cup to each," said the Sheriff, "and some biscuits. -Later, you shall have more. A warehouse is to be broken open at midday; it is -that of a merchant who supplies vessels with necessaries for long voyages. God -grant that we shall find enough for many days. Otherwise, starvation will soon -be added to our other miseries. Already seventy such warehouses have been -ransacked."</p> - -<p class="normal">Obtaining a portion of soup and another of biscuit, Marion -went back to the house to Laure, though not before she had filled up the other -cup with her own share of soup, reserving only a scrap of the food for herself; -and, when there, she found the girl sitting up upon the couch listening to the -voices of those in the street.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have they come for us?" Laure asked wearily. "Must we now -begin to work? Well, so be it! I am ready."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, dearest," exclaimed the other. "You need not go forth -to-day. I have begged you off, because you are so worn and delicate. And see, -sweet, they are serving out food. Here is some good broth and biscuit. Take it; -it will nourish you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But it is not right," Laure exclaimed, "that I should stay -behind. They--you, too, Marion, my guide and comforter--are all as weary as I. I -will go also."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; no. Rest here till we come back. Then, to-morrow, if you -are stronger, you shall assist. Nay, you must do so if you can; thereby the -better to entitle you to your freedom. Oh! Laure, we must work for that freedom. -Then--at last--we can go away and live together, and I can earn subsistence for -both. Until we find your husband."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are in truth an angel, Marion," the girl exclaimed, -flinging her arms around the other's dark swarthy neck. "Oh! how--how could one -as good as you have ever come within the law's clutches. How----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hush! Hush! I have been an awful sinner; I have deserved my -fate, I have been swayed and mastered by one passion after another--by love, -jealousy, hate, revenge. God forgive me! We southern women are all like that! -Yet--if I should live----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you live! You shall, you must live! Oh! Marion, my guide, -my sister----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, your sister! Yes! Say that again. Yet," she cried, -springing to her feet, "not now! Now we have to earn the freedom we long so for. -I must go; I must do my best and work for both of us. Ah, God! how good it is, -how peaceful, to be doing something at last, no matter if danger lurks in it, -that is not evil. Let me go, sweet. I shall come back to you at night; therefore -sleep well all day. And, see, I will lock you in the house so that no harm may -come anigh you. You will not fear?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never; knowing you are coming back to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then they tore themselves apart, Marion taking every -opportunity of leaving Laure as comfortable as was possible, which opportunity -was not lacking since the room was, as has been said, furnished luxuriously, and -nothing was wanting that might make the couch of the wearied girl an easy one. -And so, after more embraces between them, Marion went forth once more, falling -in with the rest of the women and following the Sheriff and the convict and the -"crows," to do the work they might be appointed to perform.</p> - -<p class="normal">The bravest heart that ever beat--even her own, since there -was none braver!--might well be turned almost to stone by that which they had to -do; the sights they were forced to witness. And the daylight made those sights -even more terrible and more appalling than the night had done, which, if it -produced a weird and wizard air of solemnity that spread itself around all the -terrors of the pestilence, had; at least, served also as a cloak to much. For -now they saw the dead lying in heaps upon each other--with, among them, the -dying; they saw the awful chalk-like faces turned up to the bright morning sun -in the last agonised glare of a hideous death, and the still whiter eye-balls -gleaming hideously. They saw, too--but description of these horrors must cease. -Suffice it that these women stood among a hecatomb of victims such as other -stricken cities had shown in earlier days, but which none, not even London with -its plague, had equalled for more than a hundred years.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gradually the women of the gang were distributed about in -various spots where it was thought they might be of service; to some fell the -task of holding cups of broth or of water to the lips of the dying; to some the -casting of disinfectants over the already dead; to others the removal of newborn -babes from the pestiferous atmosphere in which their mothers lay. And Marion's -task, because she was strong and feared nothing, was to assist in the removal of -the dead to the carts that were to transport the bodies to the ramparts, in the -hollows of which many scores were to be interred in quicklime.</p> - -<p class="normal">Engaged thus, she observed near her a gentleman--a man clad in -black, as one who wore mourning for a relative; a man young, handsome and grave. -One, too, whose face was white and careworn as though it had become so through -some poignant grief. He was talking to one of the "crows" as her eyes fell on -him, and--with an astonishment in her mind which, she noticed, was not all an -astonishment, but rather an indistinct feeling that gradually merged itself into -something that she seemed to feel, did not partake altogether of the -unexpected--she observed that both men were regarding her. They were doing so, -she understood, by the glances cast at her by the "crow," and followed by others -from the stranger talking of her. Why, she asked herself, why? Yet even as she -did so, something within again apprised her, whispered to her, that it was not -strange they should be doing so. Then, with the habit of years strong upon her, -she cast one penetrating glance at the new-comer from out of her dark eyes, and -went on with the loathsome work she was engaged upon.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently, however, she felt that the man clad in mourning had -drawn near to her--she knew it though she had looked round no more: a moment -later she heard him addressing her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will pardon me," he whispered, "for what I have to say. -But--but--that unhappy creature with whom I have been conversing has told me -that--you--alas! that I must say it--have recently made a journey from Paris. -That you are----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A convicted woman," Marion replied swiftly, facing round on -him, her eyes ablaze; "a criminal! One of the women condemned to deportation to -the colonies. Well, he has spoken the truth. What then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Forgive me. I speak not with a view to wound you, or to be -offensive. But, God help me, I seek one dear to me. An innocent woman condemned -to the same penance as you, and by one who is a double damned scoundrel. She was -of your chain. And--heaven pity us both, I love her--she is my--wife."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your wife!" Marion repeated, standing before him, gazing full -into his eyes, holding still in her hand the white leprous-looking hand of a -dead woman whose body she had been helping to place in the cart. "Your wife." -And now her voice had sunk to as deep a murmur as it had ever assumed, even in -the softest moments of her bygone days of love and passion. "Your wife. Amongst -us?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is so. Oh, speak; answer me. Is--is--yet almost I fear to -ask. Still--still I must do it. Is she still alive?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What?"--mastering herself, speaking firmly, though -hoarsely--"What is your name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Walter Clarges. I am an Englishman."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Laure's husband! Laure's husband!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know her! You know--ah! does she live?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. She lives."</p> - -<p class="normal">"God! I thank thee!" the other murmured.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_28" href="#div1Ref_28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4> - -<h5>THE WALLED-UP DOORS</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Marion Lascelles had hoped, had prayed that this moment would -come at last; that at some future day Laure's husband would stand face to face -with his wife again; that he would seek her out and find her even though, to do -so, he had to follow La Châine to the New World.</p> - -<p class="normal">But now--now that what she had hoped for had come to pass, -there almost swept a revulsion of feeling over her. Standing before that husband -of the woman whom she had tended and nurtured, she smothered within her bosom -something that was akin to a groan. For his coming brought, would bring, in an -hour, in half-an-hour, in a few moments, the joy unspeakable to Laure for which -she had so much craved, while to her--to Marion--the outcast, it brought also -separation from the only thing in all the wide world that she loved or could -ever love again. She had been racked by her love for men who had treated her -badly and on whom she had taken swift, unerring vengeance for their infidelity; -yet that was passed. Her heart had died, or, if not dead, had steeled itself -against all other love of a like nature (since the condemned man whom she had -married in the prison had been only accepted as a husband because, in the -distant land to which they had been going together, such a union would be a -matter of convenience and profit, as well as, perhaps, safety). Yet into that -heart had crept another love, pure, unselfish, almost holy. Her love for Laure. -And now--now it would be worthless, valueless, of no esteem. At what price would -her fostering, her sister's love be valued when set off against the love of -husband?</p> - -<p class="normal">Had she been a bad woman instead of an erring one only, a -woman resolved to attach to her for ever the one creature with whose existence -her own was, as she had vainly dreamed, inseparably bound up; had she been the -Marion Lascelles of ten, five, perhaps one year ago, it may be--she feared it -must have been--that she would have lied to Walter Clarges standing there before -her, his sad face irradiated now, since she had not lied, with joy extreme. She -would perhaps have denied Laure's existence, have said that she had long since -fallen dead upon one of the roads along which she and the other women had -plodded weary and footsore; she would have done anything to have kept the girl -to herself. But not now. Not now. Not even though her heart broke within her. -Never! She loved Laure. Perish, therefore, all her own feelings, her hopes of -happy days to come and to be passed by the other's side. She loved her; it was -not by falsehood and treachery and selfishness that that love must be testified.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot leave this work to which I am put," she said, -speaking to him as these thoughts continued to flow through her mind. "I have to -earn remission of the remainder of my sentence. Pardon for--for myself. Yet, if -you would see her now, she is to be found in the Rue de la Bourse. The number is -3. Upon the first floor in the front room you will find her."</p> - -<p class="normal">She spoke calmly, almost hardly, Walter Clarges thought, and, -thus thinking, deemed her a cold-hearted, selfish woman, studying nought but her -own release and the swiftest method of obtaining it. Wherefore he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know her. You must have marched in the same cordon with -her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I know her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How can she have borne the terrors of the journey? How? How?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"All had to bear it," Marion Lascelles answered, glancing up -at him, "or die."</p> - -<p class="normal">"This house?" he asked, while almost shuddering at the cold, -indifferent tones in which the woman spoke, even while reflecting that, since -she had borne as much as Laure had done, it was not to be expected that she -should show any particular sympathy for a companion in misfortune. "This house? -Can admission be obtained to it? And why is she there, when--when her companions -in misery and unhappiness are here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"This key," Marion said, drawing it from her pocket, "will -admit you. She is alone, sleeping. She is not as strong as some of us--us, the -outcasts, who are the rightful prey of the galleys and the scaffold. Mercy has -been shown her. She has been relieved from her work in these streets to-day."</p> - -<p class="normal">He took the key from her as she held it out to him, glancing -at her wonderingly as he did so, though understanding nothing of the cause which -produced her bitterness of tone--her self-contempt, as testified by her speech. -Then, thanking her, he repeated:</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. 3, of the Rue de la Bourse. That is it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is it. You will find her there." After which she turned -away and slowly followed after the cart proceeding up the street with its -terrible burdens.</p> - -<p class="normal">If Marion Lascelles had never before wrestled with all the -strong emotions which were born of her fiery nature day by day, and month by -month, she had done so this morning, was doing so now. And at last--at last--she -thanked God the better had overcome the worse--she had conquered. None knew but -herself, none should ever know, what hopes she had formed in her bosom of happy -days to come when she and the delicate girl, whom she had supported all through -the hideous journey from Paris, and during their still more hideous entry into -this stricken city of death, should have escaped away to some spot where they -might at last be at peace. She had pictured to herself how she would work and -slave for Laure so that she should be at ease; how work her fingers to the bone, -bear any toil, so that--only that--she might have the sweet companionship of the -girl as recompense. And now--now--the dream had vanished, the hope was past; -they could never be aught to each other. The husband was there, he had come to -claim his wife, as she herself had told Laure he would come; now he would be all -in all to her and she would be nothing. Yet she must not repine; the prayers -that she had forced herself to utter, almost without knowing how to frame them, -had been heard and answered. The God against whom her life had been so long an -outrage had granted her the first request she had ever made to Him. Was it for -her now to rebel against the granting of it? Nay, nay, she answered to herself, -never. And, even in her misery and her awful sense of desolation, in her -appreciation of the solitude that must be hers for ever now, she found a -consolation. She had done that which she should do; she had sent the husband -straight to his wife's arms when she might so easily have prevented him from -even discovering that wife's existence. One lie, one false hint, one word -uttered to the effect that Laure had succumbed upon the road and had been left -behind for the communes to bury her, and it would have been enough. She would -have remained to Marion; the husband could never have found her--he could never -find her. No, no! God be praised! she had been true and faithful; she had not -yielded to her own selfish hopes and desires.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take," said a soft and gentle voice in her ear at this -moment; the voice of the unhappy Sheriff who accompanied the carts that were -removing the dead, "take, good woman, more heed of yourself and your own life. -See, the cloth with the disinfectants has fallen from your neck--it is lost. -Beware of what you do. Otherwise you will be stricken ere long yourself."</p> - -<p class="normal">Turning, she glanced up at the speaker, then shrugged her -shoulders and went on with the loathsome task she was engaged upon--that of -bending over prostrate bodies to see if their owners were, indeed, dead or not, -and, if the latter, of assisting in their removal to the carts. But that was -all, she uttered no word in answer to the warning.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do not value your life?" the man continued, while -thinking how fine a woman this was; one so darkly handsome too, that, surely, -she must have some who loved her, criminal though she must undoubtedly be since -she had formed one of the chain-gang.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," she answered, looking up at him now. "I do not value it. -Yet, they say, 'tis to such as I am that death never comes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But, ere long, if you survive this visitation, you may--you -shall--be free. I will charge myself with your freedom."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Free!" she answered, her eyes fixed on him with so sad a look -that, instinctively, he turned away. There was something in this woman's life, -he understood, which it was not for him to attempt to probe.</p> - -<p class="normal">Left in peace by the Sheriff, Marion continued her work, -following close by the cart; yet bidding the man who led the horse to halt at -intervals wherever she found some poor body with distorted features which told -only too plainly that the last agony had been experienced; halting herself -sometimes to be of assistance to those who were still alive. But always saying -over and over again the words, "Free! Free!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Free! Of what use was freedom now to her? What! Supposing she -were free to-night, to-morrow, what should she do with that freedom? Laure -wanted her no more, she would not miss her if she never went back to the Rue de -la Bourse; she had her husband now, the man whom, she acknowledged, she had -learned to love. Therefore, Marion resolved that she would never go back. Never! -Of that she was determined. She would but be an incubus, be only in the way of -their love. She would never go back. Not even if the pestilence spared her, -which, she hoped, it might not do.</p> - -<p class="normal">They had come by now to the street of the Barefooted -Carmelites--a street in which she perceived that there were no dead--or, only -one, a woman lying on one side of it. And here, strong as she was, she felt that -she must rest. Her limbs trembled beneath her--from fatigue and want of -sufficient nourishment, she thought, not daring to hope that already the fever -had stolen into her veins and that a better, surer freedom than the one the -Sheriff had suggested might be near at hand. He, that Sheriff, had left them by -now to attend to other duties in the city, therefore there was at this time no -living person with her but the carman, who, with his ghastly burdens in his -cart, walked ahead of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must rest here," she said to him, "a little while. See, -there is a fountain in the street. We will drink," and she went towards the -fountain, which was represented by a statue of Cybele, from out of whose bunch -of keys the water gushed in half a dozen streams.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drink not," the carman exclaimed, warningly. "They say the -source is impregnated. All the water of Marseilles is poisonous now. Beware!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bah! It must come from the bowels of the earth. There are no -infected bodies there. And," she muttered to herself, "even though there were I -still would drink." Whereon she drank, then sat down on the base of the statue, -which was large and spacious and would have furnished a dozen persons with -seats.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently, still sitting there--she saw come down the street a -number of men, some of them galley slaves, two of them officers. Then, when all -had advanced almost to where Marion sat observing them, one of the latter drew -from his pocket a list and began to read out several names, while giving the -convicts instructions as to what each had to do. But what truly surprised Marion -was that, behind all these men there came some others leading the horses which -drew two carts--carts not filled with dead, but the one with mortar and the -other with bricks.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gazing at these, and almost with interest for one whose mind -was as troubled as hers, she perceived that, of the galley slaves, one had drawn -away from the group, and, approaching the base of the fountain, had sat down -upon it near her and on the other side from that on which the carman whom she -had accompanied was sitting. An old criminal this; a man of nearly sixty, grey -and grizzled, and with a frosty bristling on his unshaven chin and cheeks and -upper lip. A man who sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, -staring in front of him--at a house numbered 77.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do they do?" Marion asked of this staring man, while -looking round at him and noticing how worn and white he was, "and why are these -carts piled with bricks and mortar? What is it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They brick up the houses that are infected; those in which -the dead lie. Those that are the worst."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But--but--supposing there should be any living left in them. -See, they have commenced there, at 76, and without entering to make inspection. -That would be even more terrible than all else."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The inspection has been made. The houses are marked already. -Observe, there is a chalk mark. Regard No. 76, at which the masons work."</p> - -<p class="normal">"By whom has the inspection been made?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"By me and another," the convict answered, turning his white -and ghastly face on her. "Three hours ago, this morning. At daybreak."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All are not marked."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, all are not marked. Not--yet!" Ere she could, however, -ask more, one of the officers strode towards where they sat near together, and, -addressing the convict, who sprang respectfully to his feet, said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you thought, remembered yet, which is the house you had -forgotten. Idiot that you are! to have thus forgotten. Reflect again. Recall the -house. Otherwise we shall brick up one in which there are no dead to be left to -decay in it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think--I think," the other answered--white and almost -shivering, as Marion, who was watching him curiously, observed, "it is that," -and he pointed to No. 77.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You think! Yet are not positive? Go in again and see. Make -sure this time. Go."</p> - -<p class="normal">Slowly the man obeyed him, walking over to the door of No. 77, -and then, after turning the handle, entering. And, while he was gone, the masons -went on with the bricking up of one or other of the houses which bore the -chalk-marked cross beneath their numbers.</p> - -<p class="normal">Five minutes later the convict appeared again at the door and -said, loud enough for his voice to reach the officer's ears and also to reach -Marion's:</p> - -<p class="normal">"This, Monsieur, is the house," while, as he spoke, his left -hand went to the pocket of his filthy galley's dress.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are sure?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am--sure!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mark it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Therefore, in obedience to the order, the man drew forth a -piece of chalk from his pocket, and slowly marked the cross beneath the number -77. "Now," said the officer, seeing that the masons were ready to begin upon -that house, "fall in and lend assistance." Half-an-hour later it was done, -finished. Not for a year would that house be opened again. By which time those -who were in it--if any--would be skeletons.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_29" href="#div1Ref_29">CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4> -<div style="margin-left:25%"> -<p>Oh! let me be awake,<br> -Or let me sleep alway.</p> -</div> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Left alone by Marion's departure, Laure endeavoured to sleep -once more and to obtain some return of the strength that she had lost in that -long, horrible march which she, in common with all the other women, had been -forced to make from Paris.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I could only sleep again," she murmured to herself, "sleep -and forget everything. Everything!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, because, perhaps, the early morning sun streamed so -brightly through the handsome curtains of the windows in spite of their having -been drawn carefully together by Marion ere she went forth, or because the -sparrows twittered so continuously from the eaves--the pestilence brought -neither death nor misery to them!--she could sleep no more. Instead, she could -only toss and turn upon the luxurious couch on which she had lain all night, -wondering, as she did so, if the unhappy owner and his family who had fled -affrighted from all their wealth and sumptuous surroundings had now as soft a -one whereon to rest--wondering, too, what was to be the end of it all.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As for him," she murmured, for her thoughts dwelt always, -hour by hour and day after day, upon the man who had sacrificed his -existence--his life for her, perhaps--if Desparre had spoken truly; "as for -him--oh, God!" she broke off, "if I could only see him once again. Only once! To -tell him how soon I had surrendered, how he had conquered, even as he stood -before me sad and unhappy on his own hearth. To see him only once!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Again she turned upon her pillows and cushions, again -attempted to sleep; but it was in vain. She was neither nervous nor alarmed at -being alone in the great, desolate house; since what had she, this worn, -emaciated outcast to fear!--therefore she thought that it must be owing to her -heavy slumber of the past night that she was now wide awake. Or owing, perhaps, -to her thoughts of him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he were not slain," she pondered now while lying there, -her eyes open and staring at the richly painted and moulded ceiling of the vast -saloon, "he may be by this time in that land to which he was going. And he will -think, must think, that I fled from him the moment he had left his house. Even -though I should go on in the transports to the same place wherein he is, and we -might meet, he would cast me off, discard me as one who is worthless."</p> - -<p class="normal">Why had she not spoken on that night, she mused? Why? Why? Had -she said but one word, had she but held out some promise that, in time, her love -would grow, he would have stayed by her side, would never have left the house. -And, thus, there would have been no danger of his being slain, if slain he was; -nor could that crawling snake, Desparre, have made his way to the house to which -Walter had taken her, nor, having done so, would he have been able to effect any -harm.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Slain! Slain!" she continued, musing, "slain! Yet some voice -whispers in my ears that it was not so, that Marion is right. That he is alive. -Still, even so, what can that profit me; how help me to put aside my misery and -despair? Alive! he would deem himself lawfully free of me by my desertion, free -to become another woman's lover--or husband--free to whisper the words in her -ears that he whispered once in mine, to see his and her children grow up at his -knee."</p> - -<p class="normal">Excitedly she sprang from the couch and paced the floor, her -thoughts beyond endurance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No! no no!" she gasped again and again. A dozen times she -cried out, "No," in her despair. "Not that, not that! I loved you, Walter," she -murmured, "I loved you. If never before, then, at least, on the morning when you -risked everything in the world to obtain my freedom from that fiend incarnate, -when you led me through the garden, stood at the altar by my side, made me your -wife. Then, then, I loved you, worshipped you. I cannot bear these thoughts, I -cannot bear to deem you another's. Oh, Walter! Walter!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Soon, however, she became more calm; she recalled what she was -now. An outcast, a woman condemned to deportation; in truth, a convict, and none -the less so because, through one strange and awful circumstance, it was almost -certain that the exile to which she had been doomed would never now be borne by -her or her companion.</p> - -<p class="normal">She became sufficiently calm now to speculate, while she paced -the floor of the vast room, as to what her and Marion's future would be if spent -together as both hoped; as to what poverty and struggles both would have to -contend with. Of how, too, they would grow older and older together, until at -last the parting came--that awful moment when, of two who love each other -dearly, one has to go while leaving the other behind, stricken and prostrate.</p> - -<p class="normal">But, suddenly, these meditations were broken in upon; to them -succeeded a more bodily fear, a terror of some tangible danger near at hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">She had heard a grating sound in the passage beneath, a sound -that she recognised at once in the hollow emptiness of the house to be that of a -large key turning in a lock; she heard next the hall door pushed opened and a -man's step below. What was it? Who could be coming? Perhaps the <i>galérien</i> -of the night before who had escorted them to this place, the man whose -familiarities had been sternly repressed by Marion. If so, what could he want? -How could he have become possessed of the key which Marion had at the last -moment said should never quit her possession until she returned in the evening? -Yet, as she heard the man's footfall below, while recognising as she did so that -he was entering each of the rooms on the lower floor one after the other, she -was able to calm her trepidation by reflecting that, whatever purpose he might -be there for, it could scarcely bode harm to her. What had she--a beggar, clad -in the rags of the galleys, with no remnants of beauty, scarcely any of -womanhood, left in her sunbaked, emaciated face--to fear? What had she to tempt -any man with, even if he were the most ferocious and hardened of his sex. Then -she heard the steps of the intruder coming up the stairs. To this floor on which -she was! Well, she feared nothing; she would go forth and encounter him, -whosoever he might be, instead of locking herself in the saloon as a moment ago -she had thought of doing.</p> - -<p class="normal">He might be bringing some message from Marion, some news she -ought to know. But, suddenly, her heart almost stopped beating. What if her one -friend in all the wide world, her one support and comfort, should be stricken -already! She must go forth on to the landing and learn what the entry of this -man into the house might portend. Reaching the head of the stairs, looking down -at him who was ascending, she knew that, at least, this was no knavish -galley-slave who mounted slowly towards where she was; no thief, nor, did it -seem likely, anyone who had been sent with a message to her from Marion. More -like, she thought, it was the owner of this great, luxurious house. She could -not see the man's face as he ascended, since it was hidden by his three-cornered -hat, yet she observed that the rich mourning he wore--doubtless for some of his -family who had fallen victims to the pest--was, although smirched and -travel-stained, of the best. The black satin coat, the lace of his cravat and -ruffles, the costly sword, were those of one such as the master of this house -might be.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the man looked up, and their eyes met.</p> - -<p class="normal">And, even as they did so, even as she clasped her breast with -both her hands, drawing back with a gasp, she knew, she understood, that her -husband had not recognised her! If, in her aching heart, there had ever arisen -any doubt of the ravages which her sufferings and tribulation had caused to her -beauty, that doubt was dispelled now; it existed no longer. She was so changed -that her own husband did not know her!</p> - -<p class="normal">But still he came on, step by step, up those stairs. On and up -until they stood face to face.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he knew her!</p> - -<p class="normal">And, with a loud cry, he strode forward. A moment later his -arms were around her, her head was upon his breast.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My wife! My wife!" he cried, "ah, my wife! Thank God, I have -found you."</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Whatever havoc those sufferings and tribulations might have -wrought upon Laure no sign was given by her husband that he perceived them. -Instead, as hour after hour went by and still she lay in his arms sobbing in her -happiness, she learnt that to him she was as beautiful as in the first hour he -had cast his eyes upon her; that, always, even though never more the fair rose -and white should return to her complexion, nor the mark left by the hateful -carcan become effaced, she would be to him the one woman in all the world. That -he had observed that devilish mark, and understood the story it told, she -perceived at once, as again and again he kissed the ring upon her neck which the -iron had stamped in, while murmuring words of love and deep affection as he did -so. But he heeded it no more than he did the sunburn upon her face and throat -and breast, the hollowness of her eyes or the emaciation of her frame. All, all -of her beauty would come back amidst the pine-scented breezes and mountain air -of the land to which he would bear her, while she was surrounded, as she should -be, by everything that wealth and happiness could offer.</p> - -<p class="normal">Wherefore she could only murmur again and again:</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I feared most of all was that you deemed me heartless -and intriguing, that I had used you only as a means to my own end. Walter, my -love, my husband, I feared that I was banished from your heart. I feared it even -as I recognised that I had loved you from the first."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will be," he whispered back, "only when my heart has -ceased to beat."</p> - -<p class="normal">So the day drew on and the sun had left the front of the -house; over the street, up which none came, and in which no footfall was -heard--over which, indeed, there reigned a silence as of death--the shadows of -the evening began to creep, ere they had told each other all. Laure had narrated -Desparre's visit to the Rue de la Dauphine, far away in northern Paris, as well -as everything that had befallen her since she was cast into prison as a would-be -murderess. Walter, too, had told the tale of his misery when he returned to his -apartments, his discovery of what had been her fate, his instant departure for -this stricken city, and the encounter with Desparre.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He here!" she had exclaimed, almost affrighted at the -thought, in spite of her husband's statement that, even though Desparre should -not be struck for death, he still was harmless for further injury, "what could -have brought him here? What!"</p> - -<p class="normal">That Walter could not answer this question is certain; but -that he could divine how, in some way, Desparre must have learnt who and what -the woman was whom he had condemned to such fiendish punishment, he felt -assured. But he had vowed to himself that this fact should never be made known -to Laure; she must never learn that it was from her own father's hand that the -blow had fallen which consigned her to the horrors of the past months. There was -only one man who, if he were still alive, could tell her now--since he was -resolved that Desparre should never again stand in her presence, nor be face to -face with her--only one, Vandecque. But it was not likely that Laure and he -would ever meet again. Had not the beggar, the miserable, shrinking wretch whom -he had saved from a beating in Paris, and who had informed him of all, told him, -too, that Desparre had made sure of Vandecque and had silenced him for ever? No -more was it likely that she and that scoundrel would meet again than that she -and Desparre would do so.</p> - -<p class="normal">In the now swift-coming twilight of the summer evening they -heard the voices of women in the street below, and he, looking out inquiringly, -learned that they proceeded from her fellow-sufferers who were returning to this -house for the night. It was the time at which Marion had told her that, -according to what the man who had brought them to this house had said, they -would be released from their duties in the streets.</p> - -<p class="normal">Of Marion herself they had long since spoken when Walter came -to that part of his narrative wherein he narrated how he had found Laure out, -and had been able to reach her through this woman's assistance; while his wife -had described the other as one who had been her saviour and guardian, one to -whom she owed the fact that she was still alive.</p> - -<p class="normal">And again they spoke of her, wondering how soon it would be -ere she returned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is an angel of goodness," Laure said, "turbulent as her -life has been. Oh, Walter, Walter, I can never part from her. She must stay with -me always."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Always," he answered; "always. If her life can be made happy, -I will make it so out of my deep gratitude for all that she has done for you. If -she will come with us her happiness shall be for ever assured."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will tell her so when she comes back to me? Now, at once, -when next she enters this room? You will not let her think, Walter--not for one -moment--that--that my new-found happiness shall bring misery in its train for -her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"At once I will tell her."</p> - -<p class="normal">As he spoke, the women were coming up the stairs, heavily, -dully, gripping the balustrades as they did so; thanking God that, as yet, not -one of them seemed to be affected by the horrible contagion they had been -amongst. Thanking God, also, that there was another long night of rest before -them in which they could sleep soundly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where?" asked Laure, leaving her husband alone in the vast -saloon, and going out on the landing as she heard the footsteps of the last -woman receding as she mounted to the floor on which the others had slept the -night before, "where is Marion? Has she not returned with you all?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, I know not," said one, who had also received much help -from the strong Southern woman whom they had come to regard as their leader. "I -know not. We have all been together, excepting her alone. Is she not back?"</p> - -<p class="normal">But as she asked the question and before Laure could answer -it, another woman who had mounted higher than the other looked over the -balustrade rail, and calling down, said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is attending a convict who has been struck; who is, a -monk said, doomed. He fell in the Flower Market, writhing. One who was engaged -in walling up the doors of the infected houses. I saw her half-an-hour ago."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then descending a few steps of the stairs, so that now she -stood but little above where Laure was, she continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The man wanders in his mind. He told Marion that your husband -had come here to seek for you in Marseilles; that he knew him; that he had seen -and recognised him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My husband has come here!--it is true--and has found me God -be praised," while, as she spoke, there was a look of such supreme happiness in -her eyes, on her whole face, that the other women could not withdraw their gaze -from her. "He has found me. Yet, how can this stricken man, this galley slave, -know him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He says he does; and avers that it is so. He says, too, he -must see him ere he dies."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, because the woman was one who was more righteously -sentenced to deportation than most who had toiled in her company from Paris to -Marseilles, she having been a thief and a receiver of stolen goods for many -years in the Capital, she lowered her voice as she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he is here, best bid him go see the dying man. He may know -of hidden goods, of appropriated treasure securely put away, of wealth easily to -be acquired. Tell your husband, if he is in truth his friend, if he has any such -a friend----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My husband the friend of such as that!" Laure exclaimed. "God -forbid! He is an honest man! A gentleman!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"All our husbands are!" the woman exclaimed with a grimace. -"We can all say that! Yet they cannot preserve us from such a fate as this!" and -she turned and recommenced the ascent of the stairs.</p> - -<p class="normal">Relating this to Walter when she returned to the saloon, Laure -perceived that the information the woman had given her was surprising to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A dying convict!" he exclaimed, "who knows and recognises me! -Impossible. I know none. Yet," he continued, "it may be some man whom I have met -in the past. My own countrymen have found their way to the galleys ere now. I -will go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For God's sake beware of what you do," Laure whispered. "Put -yourself in no danger of this infection. Oh! Walter, if--if I lost you now that -you have come back to me, my heart would break."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_30" href="#div1Ref_30">CHAPTER XXX</a></h4> - -<h5>"IF AFTER EVERY TEMPEST COME SUCH CALMS!"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The darkness of the night was over the city as Walter Clarges -went forth; a darkness that was almost weird and unearthly in that gloomy -street--far down at the other end of which could be seen the lurid flames of the -braziers burning. A weird and ghastly blending of sullen flames, of gloaming and -of night, through which no living creature passed and in which one dead woman -lay huddled up against the kerb, neglected, unheeded. And, from above, the -southern stars looked down from their sapphire vault, they twinkling as clear -and white as though the city slumbered peacefully beneath them and all was well -with it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Meditating upon whom the unhappy man might be who had asked -for him while adding that he knew him, that he desired to see him ere he died, -Walter went on to where the braziers flared; went on, yet with his thoughts also -occupied with many other things besides this dying galley slave. He went on with -his heart beating with happiness.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had found her--his life! his soul! the woman of his heart! -Found her! Found her alive! Thank God! Now--now--so soon as any vessel could be -discovered that would take them away from this stricken spot--no matter though -he paid half of his newly-inherited fortune to obtain the use of it--now, they -would be happy and always together. He would bear her to England--his peace was -made with the Government, henceforth he was a subject of the new dynasty. He had -paid that much for the right to retrieve his wife if she should be still alive; -there, in England, health should come back to her body, beauty to her face. In -the pure, cool breezes of the northern home which had been that of the Westovers -for so long, she would gain strength, recover fast. When he entered George's -throne-room to personally testify his adherence to a House which, for years, he -and his had opposed with all their power, one thing should at least be beyond -denial. All should acknowledge that the woman who leant upon his arm was fair -enough to excuse a thousand apostacies and that the determination to save the -life of one so beautiful as she, and this beautiful one his wife, justified him -in what he had done.</p> - -<p class="normal">The braziers still burned and flared fiercely as he drew near -them; through the night air the aromatic odours of pine and thyme, of vinegar -and pitch, were diffused: around those braziers the sufferers lay--some dead, -some dying.</p> - -<p class="normal">Asking his way to the Flower Market, and being directed -thereto, Walter went on until at last he reached the place; a little open Square -surrounded on all sides by tall, grey houses, from the windows of which no light -from candle or taper gleamed forth. Like all others in the stricken city these -houses were deserted, the inhabitants either having fled or, if remaining, being -dead within their own walls.</p> - -<p class="normal">But there was light in the close, stuffy Square itself. Placed -on the lumber of the stalls around the open market were pots and pans of burning -disinfectants that cast flickering shadows upon everything near them; upon, too, -a little group of persons gathered in the middle of the spot where once the -Provence roses and the great luscious-scented lilies of the south, and the -crimson fuchsias, had been sold in handfuls by the flower-girls. Now, in their -place, there lay a man dying, Not in agony, as many had died who had been -stricken by the pest, but, instead calmly, insensibly.</p> - -<p class="normal">A man old and grizzly; yet, looking, perhaps, older than he -actually was; white as marble, his lips grey, and, upon his chin and cheeks, a -white rim of unshaven beard of three or four days' growth. By his side stood a -monk muttering prayers and heedless as to whether the plague struck him or not; -at his other side knelt the dark woman who had directed Walter to where he -should find his wife--the woman whom he had thought cold and dead of heart, yet -whom he now knew to have been Laure's friend and comforter. She was engaged in -moistening the dying man's lips with spirits, and in wiping the dank dews of -death from off his face, as Walter drew near.</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you," he said, touching her brown hand with his as -he came to her side. "God bless you. She has told me; I know all. God bless -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, even as he spoke to her, he wondered why she drew her -hand hurriedly away from his, and why, in the flicker of the flames around, her -dark eyes seemed to cast an almost baleful glance at him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My son," the monk said, gazing at the stranger while -thinking, perhaps, how good it was to see one so strong and healthy-looking -amidst all the surrounding disease. "My son, is it you for whom he waits? But -now, ten minutes past, he was sensible and averred he could not die until he saw -him for whom he looked. Knowing him to be here, in Marseilles. Is it you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is I, holy father," Walter answered. "Yet, how should he -know me? Let me come nearer and observe him." He passed thereupon to the front -of the dying man, so that thus he might regard his face, while heeding however, -the monk's injunction not to put his own face too near the other's, and to -envelope his nostrils and mouth with a cloth which he handed him. Then, this -done--Walter remembering his new-found wife at the moment, and how he must -preserve his life for her sake--he bent over a little nearer and gazed at the -livid features beneath him.</p> - -<p class="normal">At first he did not know the man. How should he? The now -bristling face had, when he last saw it, been ever scrupulously shaved; upon the -head, where now was only close-cropped grey hair, there had been a tye-wig of -irreproachable neatness; dark clothes of the best material and cut had been the -adornment of this dying man who, to-night, lay prostrate in the hideous garments -of the galleys. How should he know him! Hardly might he have known his own -father had he met him thus similarly transformed.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, suddenly, the man opened his eyes--and he recognised -him!</p> - -<p class="normal">"Merciful God!" he exclaimed. "It is Vandecque."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Vandecque!" a voice hissed close to his ear, a voice he would -scarcely have recognised as that of the southern woman, he had not seen her lips -move. "Vandecque! the betrayer of Laure! Heaven destroy him!" while, as she -spoke, her hand stole to her breast, opening her dress as it did so.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Be still," he said sternly; "be still. What! Is not the -heaven you have invoked about to punish him? Let go whatever your hand holds."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet, as he spoke, he recognised how great and strong had been -this woman's love for Laure when it could prompt her even now, at the man's last -hour, to desire to slay him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Vandecque began to mutter; his eyes being fixed upon -Walter with the dull and filmy look which the dying ever have.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I," he whispered, "I--loved her. The little -child--that--that--wound itself around my heart. She had been--wronged--by those -of his--that devil's own order. I would have made her prosperous--rich--one of -that order. A patrician instead of an outcast. I loved her. You thwarted me. -Therefore I helped him--to--slay you, as I thought."</p> - -<p class="normal">He closed his eyes now and those around him thought that he -was gone, while the monk began the prayers for the dying. Yet, in a moment, he -spoke again.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Save her--save--her. If she still lives."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She lives," Walter said. "She is saved. By the woman at your -side."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All--is--therefore--well." Vandecque gasped. "All--all. -And--listen--listen. You spared that monster--Desparre--last night. Fool! Yet--I -was there to--finish the work."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To finish the work! You! You slew him! He is dead!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay. Dead! Dead! And--" writhing as he spoke and with his -agony upon him, his last moment at hand. His lips were white now, not grey; his -eyelids were but two slits through which the glazed eyes peered. "Dead--and <i> -buried!</i>" Then the monk's voice alone uprose, reciting the prayers for a -passing soul.</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The Mediterranean sparkling beneath the warm sun of the early -autumn sky; the blue waves lapping gently the sides of a French bilander which, -with all sail set on both her masts, is running swiftly before a northern breeze -past Cape de Gata towards Gibraltar. A northern breeze with a touch of the west -in it, that comes cool and fresh from off the Sierra Nevada mountains and brings -life and health and strength in its breath. Towards Gibraltar the vessel goes -on, its course to be set later due north for the tumbling Bay, and then, at -last, to England--to happiness and content.</p> - -<p class="normal">To obtain that bilander, to find seamen fit to work it, and to -assure the owner of his payment when once she should reach our shores (a payment -of a thousand louis d'ors being made for the voyage!) had been no easy task for -Walter Clarges, who now took his title openly; yet, at last, it had been done. -In Marseilles it was impossible; there was no sailor to be discovered fit and -strong enough to do so much as to haul upon a halliard, while, in Toulon it was -no better; but, at last, at Istres in the mouth of the Rhone, to which they -proceeded in an open boat, the ship had been found and their escape from all the -tainted neighbourhood around assured. They were free! Free of the poisoned -South, free at last.</p> - -<p class="normal">And now Lord Westover walked the deck of the rolling, pitching -craft, saying a word here and there to the rough sailor from Aude, who was the -master; another, now and again, to the dark-eyed woman who sat by the taffrail -beneath the swing of the after-sheet; and going next to a cabin upon the deck -and peering in through the window while speaking to his wife within.</p> - -<p class="normal">At first it had been hard to persuade that dark-eyed woman to -accompany them, to induce her to throw in her lot with theirs and bid farewell -to the land in which she had sinned and suffered. For she was, indeed, almost -distraught at the thought that never more would she struggle and toil for the -woman she had come to love so dearly; that, henceforth, no sacrifice on her part -was needed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go back to her," she said to Walter after Vandecque had -breathed his last, while, since there was nothing else that could be done in a -place so encumbered with the dead as Marseilles was, they had left the dead man -lying where he died. "Go back to her. She needs you now. Not me. Return to her," -and, as she spoke, she cast herself down near the market place as though about -to sleep there.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you--Marion?" Walter said softly. "You! What of you? You -will come with me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She wants me no longer. She has you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She needs you ever. You must never part. What shall become of -her without you; what will your life be in the future if you have no longer her -to tend and care for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My life! My life!" she cried with an upward glance at him -from where she had thrown herself down. "What matters that! Every wreck is -broken to pieces at last. So shall I be."</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet still he pleaded, repeating all that Laure had that day -said of her and telling of how she had declared that she could never go away -unless Marion came too; and, finally, he won. He won so far that, at last, she -consented to return to Laure, even though it were but to say farewell to her and -then go forth into oblivion for ever.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yet now she was in the bilander with them, on her way to -England to pass the rest of her life in peace. How could she have -refused--how!--when the girl wept tears of joy in her arms and murmured that, -since she had her husband and Marion by her side, she asked for nothing else? -And so the ship went on and on, bearing those in her to freedom and to peace. To -a peace and contentment that Laure had never dreamed could come to her again; to -a happiness which once Walter Clarges had never dared to hope should at last be -his.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>FOOTNOTES</h4> - -<p class="hang1"><a name="div4_01" href="#div4Ref_01">Footnote 1</a>: This -street served as the Bourse of the period.</p> - -<p class="hang1"><a name="div4_02" href="#div4Ref_02">Footnote 2</a>: "Archers" -were servants of the Provost Marshals and of a position between gendarmes and -policemen, but in the service of the prisons. "Exempts" were a kind of Sheriff's -officer.</p> - -<p class="hang1"><a name="div4_03" href="#div4Ref_03">Footnote 3</a>: A slang -name for the scaffold.</p> - -<p class="hang1"><a name="div4_04" href="#div4Ref_04">Footnote 4</a>: The total -number of deaths in Provence was finally estimated to be 148,000. Aix and Toulon -suffered the worst after Marseilles.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE END</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>PRINTED BY<br> -TURNBULL AND SPEARS,<br> -EDINBURGH</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Servants of Sin, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SERVANTS OF SIN *** - -***** This file should be named 52970-h.htm or 52970-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/9/7/52970/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Illinois) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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