A Conspiracy of the Carbonari Part 3

She lay motionless; her face still retained its calm, indifferent expression, only for a moment an angry flash darted from her eyes at the old gentleman, but she lowered her lids over them, as if they must not betray the secrets of her soul.

A pause followed, interrupted only by the slow, regular ticking of the great Rococo clock which stood on the marble mantelpiece.

"You will not find it necessary to make such disclosures," Leonore said at last, slowly and wearily, "for you are perfectly right, I shall never grant love the mastery over my future. I know who I am, and that says everything.

It will never be requisite to communicate it to others."

"I am sure of it," he said kindly. "And now, my dear Leonore, let us say nothing about our private affairs and pa.s.s on to business."

"Yes, let us do so," she answered quietly. "I am waiting for your questions."

"Then first: what did Count Andreossy want, when he begged for an interview so urgently yesterday evening?"

"You were listening?" she asked calmly.

"I heard it. I would gladly have listened to your conversation, but you were malicious enough to grant him the interview in the little corner drawing-room, which has but a single entrance. So it was impossible to enter it unnoticed. Well, what did the count want?"

"He wanted to tell me that he loved me unutterably. He wanted to implore the favor of accepting from him the _coupe_ with the two dapple-grays, in which he drove me yesterday, and which I had praised."

"I hope that you granted the favor."

"I did. The equipage will be sent to-day."

"The dapple-grays are remarkably beautiful," said the old gentleman, rubbing his hands contentedly. "They are worth at least a thousand florins, and the _coupe_ is a model of elegance and beauty. The count received it from Paris a fortnight ago. But how did you repay Andreossy for his regal gift?"

"I told him that I detested him, and that he need never hope for my love."

"Yet you accepted his gift?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes. I accepted it because he entreated it as the first and greatest favor, and because, after the deep sorrow I had caused him, I could not help granting so small a boon."

"Magnificent!" he cried, laughing; "you talk like a reigning queen, accepting gifts from her va.s.sal. Then the count loves you pa.s.sionately, does he not?"

"He loves nothing except himself and his ambition. He would like to obtain the t.i.tle of prince from Napoleon."

"And he believes that you could aid him?"

"Indirectly, yes. If I help him to discover an affair which is of great importance to the emperor, and for whose disclosure he could not fail to reward Count Andreossy."

"What kind of an affair?"

"A conspiracy," she said quietly.

"A conspiracy? Against whom?"

"Against the Emperor Napoleon. Andreossy naturally believes me to be an enthusiastic admirer of his emperor, and therefore he imparted to me his fears and conjectures. The point in question is a widespread conspiracy, which is said to exist in the French army and have a.s.sistants among the Austrians."

"And _you_? Do you believe in this conspiracy?"

"I am on the track and perhaps shall soon be able to give the particulars.

Only it requires time and great caution and secrecy. Let me say no more now, but I promise that I will be active and watchful. Only I make one condition."

"What is that?"

"If I succeed in discovering this conspiracy, delivering the leaders into your hands, giving the emperor undeniable proofs of the existence of this plot, perhaps even saving his life by the disclosure; if I succeed, as I said, in doing all this, then you will release me and permit me to leave Vienna."

"To go where?"

"Wherever I wish, only alone, only not--"

"Only not with you, you wanted to say," he added, completing the sentence.

"My child, you see that I was right in remarking that a change had taken place in you. Formerly you were glad to be with me; you never felt a wish to leave me; formerly it was your ardent desire to occupy a brilliant position in society, to be rich, aristocratic, brilliant, influential; and now, when you have attained all this, now you are still unsatisfied, now you long to resign all this again. But you will reflect, Leonore; you will listen to reason. You will consider what we have suffered from the pettiness, the pitifulness, the arrogance, and the selfishness of men. You will remember how often you vowed, with angry tears, to avenge yourself some day for all that we have suffered. Remember, child, remember! Have you forgotten how we starved and pined, when your mother died, because we were so poor that, in her illness, we could not give her the necessary nursing, could not pay a doctor. Have you forgotten how we both knelt beside her corpse and, with tears of grief and anger, swore to avenge the death of the poor sufferer upon cruel men, base society?"

"I know it, father, yes, I know it," she answered, panting for breath, as she slowly raised her hands and pressed them on her bosom as if to force down the anguish within. "Ah, yes, I shall never forget it! That was the hour when we both sold ourselves to h.e.l.l."

"Until that time I had been an honest man," he continued. "I had toiled in honest ways to obtain support for my family and myself. I had earnestly endeavored to make my knowledge profitable--humble enough to be willing to teach for the lowest price, to offer my services everywhere. But I could get no employment; people wanted no teacher of music; everywhere I was pitilessly turned away. During the mournful years of war which had closed in upon us, no one wanted to spend his money for a useless art, which perhaps could be used only for dirges. A music-teacher was the most unnecessary and useless of mortals, and the music-teacher felt this, and was ready to become wood-cutter, laborer, street-sweeper, anything to procure food for his sick wife, his only child, to brighten their impoverished, sorrowful lives with a ray of comfort. But it was all in vain; the poor music-teacher found employment nowhere; he might have starved in the midst of the great city, surrounded by wealthy people who, with arrogant bearing, daily drove in brilliant equipages past him and his misery. For his part, he would gladly have died, for what value could his wretched, pitiful life have to him! But he had a daughter, the only creature whom he loved; she was his happiness, his hope, and his joy. His daughter must not starve; must not suffer from the wretched needs of existence; must not crawl in the dust, while others, less beautiful, less good, less gifted, enjoyed life in luxury and splendor. Chance betrayed an important secret to the poor musician. He knew that on the one side a large sum would be paid for his silence, on the other for his speech. He went and sold himself! He went to warn some, to save others if it were possible."

"I know," she said, panting for breath. "You are speaking of the a.s.sa.s.sination of the amba.s.sadors in Rastadt."

"Yes, Count Lehrbach's valet, in a drunken spree, betrayed his master's secret, so I learned the fine business, and could warn the envoys, could warn Lehrbach to take stronger precautions. It was my first trial, and it was well paid."

"The poor envoys paid for it with their lives," she cried, shuddering.

"That was their own fault. Why didn't they listen to my warning? Why didn't they delay their departure until the following morning? I knew that in the evening a whole detachment of Hussars was stationed on the highway which they must pa.s.s. I told them so, and warned them. But they did not believe me; they were reckless enough to set out, and I only succeeded in persuading them to burn their important papers and arm themselves. True, this was useless. They were butchered by the Hussars. One alone, Jean Dubarry, escaped, and I may say that I saved him; for I discovered him in the tree up which he had climbed in his mortal terror, took him to a safe hiding-place, and informed the French authorities in Rastadt. Yes, I saved his life, and therefore I can say that I began my new life with a good deed, and did not entirely sell myself to the devil. Since that time I have led a changeful, stirring existence, often in danger of getting a bullet in my head, or a rope around my neck. But what has given me courage to deride, defy all these perils? The thought of my child, my beautiful, beloved daughter Leonore. I had taken her to Paris, and placed her in one of the most fashionable boarding schools. I wished to have her trained to be an aristocratic lady. I had told her all my plans for the future, and as, like me, she despised the world and human beings, she had approved those plans and solemnly vowed by the memory of her mother, murdered by want, famine, and grief, to avenge herself with me upon society--wrest from it what formerly it had so cruelly denied: wealth, honor, and distinction."

"And I think I have kept my oath," she said earnestly. "I have entered into all your plans; I have accepted the part which you imposed upon me, and for three years have played it with success. Baroness von Vernon was as useful to you in Berlin the last two years, as Baroness de Simonie is now in Vienna. She aided you in all your plans, entered into your designs, pitilessly betrayed all who trusted her and whose secrets she stole by craft, falsehood, and hypocrisy."

"Why did they allow them to be stolen?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why were they so reckless as to trust a beautiful woman, when experience teaches that all women lie, deceive, and are incapable of keeping a secret?

They must bear the consequences of their own folly; we need not reproach ourselves for it."

"I do not reproach myself," she said, "only life bores me. I long for rest, for peace, for solitude around me, that I may not be so unutterably lonely within."

"You wish to conceal the truth from me, Leonore," he cried, shrugging his shoulders, "but I know it. You are in love, my child, and since, as I suppose, this is your first love, it cannot fail to be very pa.s.sionate and transfigure all humanity with a roseate glow. But wait! that will pa.s.s away and you will soon be disenchanted. Hush! do not answer; do not try to contradict me; lovers' reasons have no convincing power. We will leave everything to time and say no more about it. Let us rather talk about the great affair, which you just mentioned, and which certainly might greatly promote our prosperity. Then you really believe in a conspiracy?"

"I do. I know some of the accomplices and shall succeed in discovering others. But I repeat, I will do nothing in regard to this matter until you have granted my condition."

"Are you serious, Leonore?" he asked sorrowfully. "You would leave me, your father? You wish to abandon the task which we imposed upon ourselves? For you know that we had set ourselves the purpose of becoming rich in order to trample under our feet those who scorned and ill-treated us when we were poor. But there is still much to be done ere we attain our goal. It is true that I am well paid; for I am always paid for my life, which is risked in every one of my enterprises. You, too, are well paid; for a magnificently furnished home with a monthly income of six thousand francs is a liberal compensation. But my proud, aristocratic Leonore knows little about economy, and she has arranged her housekeeping on so regal a scale that I shall scarcely succeed in putting a trifle aside for her every month.

Besides, consider that the engagement is liable to be cancelled at any moment, and that the least error, the most trivial suspicion of your trustworthiness will suffice to hurl you back into oblivion. No, Leonore, I must not enter into your ecstasy, and I will not. You must remain with me; you must fulfill the vow you made and, holding my hand, pursue the path into which despair and contempt for mankind has led us."

"And if I will not?" she asked, sitting erect, and, for the first time during this whole conversation, permitting the pa.s.sionate agitation of her soul to be mirrored in her face. "If I will not? If I have resolved to fly from this life of shameful splendor, gilded falsehood, whitewashed crime?"

"Then I shall hold you in it by force," he cried, grasping her arm violently. "And do you know how? I will inform the man you love who you are, and, believe me, he will turn from you with contempt and loathing; he will not follow you into the paradise of solitude into which you would fain escape with him. Listen, Leonore, and weigh my words. We have gone too far for return ever to be possible, therefore we must press forward, steadily forward! Whoever has once sold himself to the devil can never hope to transform himself once more into an angel. Therefore he must be on his guard against nothing so rigidly as repentance, moods of virtuous atonement! You are now suffering from such a mood; it is my duty to cure you of it, and I know the medicine which can heal. So listen. If you do not swear, solemnly, swear, to continue, without wavering or delay, to play the part which you perform with so much talent and success, I will await Baron Kolbielsky here and tell him who you are."

"You will not do that," she shrieked, throwing herself from the divan upon her knees; "no, father, you will not. You will have pity on me, for I will confess it to you: I love him. He is my first, my only love, and for his sake, oh! solely for his sake, I would fain again be good, pure, virtuous.

So have pity on me, do not betray me."

"Will you swear to remain Madame de Simonie? To make no change in your present mode of life? To fulfill the duties which you have undertaken, and pursue your task with zeal and cleverness?"