The Mystery of the Lost Dauphin Part 3

You did not know me. Why, then, should you risk your life? Thus is my debt; of grat.i.tude to you increased," said Naundorff, smiling.

Amelie had brought Rene a cup of coffee which, having the effect of a cordial, made him talkative.

"A half hour since, the bandits and I were concealed in the park; an hour since, I started on their trail."

"Is it possible?"

"It is indeed. Listen and judge. I wandered aimlessly along the river bank and soon overheard two men speaking French. They were suspicious-looking characters and they spoke your name twice. On perceiving that I followed, they fled. I caught up with them and again followed cautiously. On reaching the park, they ambuscaded. The rest you know."

Naundorff gazed attentively at his guest who, having clothed himself in the borrowed garments, was fast recovering his strength. He strove to read Rene's face. At last he said:

"Why, then, you knew me?"

"Yes, Monsieur, I knew you by name, and now that I look at you closely, I feel that I know your face also. You have one of those countenances which always seem familiar and linger in the memory. I cannot say when or where I have seen you, but I believe it has been not once but a thousand times. When I opened my eyes and looked upon your face, it seemed to me that long ago I had known you well."

On first beholding his fiancee's father, de Breze had experienced a feeling that now returned with renewed force. Although love confiscates all sentiments, in order to focus them on the adored one, Rene gazed beyond Amelie as he spoke, having eyes only for Charles Louis. The father's age seemed near forty, his head was of s.p.a.cious front with arched brow and blond hair, somewhat silvered and curling naturally. An infantile dimple marked his chin, his breast-bone was high and a slight obesity marred his form which still, however, preserved graceful outlines; his hands were finely patrician; his expression was a mingling of dignity, bitterness and deep distrust. Great sorrows must have been the lot of this man, for his face seemed furrowed by torrents of tears.

His likeness to Amelie seemed to consist more in what is usually called family resemblance than in physical similitude. The father and daughter were of distinct types and yet it seemed impossible to disjoin them mentally. More and more perplexed, Rene said to himself, "Where have I seen this man? Where have I seen him and Amelie together?"

Chapter IV

AMeLIE

Naundorff, seated near the sofa where Rene rested, had become pensive.

Rene's eyes were fastened querulously upon him. The young man scarcely knew what to say, yet his good breeding impelled him to end the enforced visit.

"I have almost recovered. I therefore beg of my kind host permission to depart. I shall take a cab near by in Wellington street and so reach my hotel in twenty minutes. Tomorrow, unless fever seizes me, I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you to learn how you fare after our rough experience. There remains now only to inquire whether you deem it advisable to report this a.s.sault, Monsieur Naundorff, in order that the scoundrels may receive their just deserts."

This very natural query was disquieting to the host, and with contracted lips, he objected:

"Make report? No, no. I would suffer everything rather than appeal to human justice. Leave human justice to her caverns, her lairs. I prefer to deal with the malefactors who all but made off with us. At least," he added excitedly in a hoa.r.s.e voice, "at least they strike blows and dispatch their victims. Oh, deliver me from prolonged martyrdom, from shredding of flesh fibre by fibre Let the end come speedily and then--rest. The justice of G.o.d is retributive, infallible."

At this point Amelie arose and threw herself into her father's arms, while Jeanne buried her face in her hands. Rene observed that the wife was not really included in the demonstration and that Naundorff and Amelie const.i.tuted a group of attuned souls. As she drew herself from her father who kissed her fair forehead, she turned to Rene and said serenely:

"Monsieur Marquis de Breze, we have complied to the extent of our power with the obligations of hospitality and grat.i.tude. We owe you an eternal debt. On leaving, you shall carry with you my father's pistols, which he imprudently refuses to carry himself, notwithstanding numerous evidences of treachery. But before you leave, I wish to hear my father vindicate himself."

She made a significant gesture to Naundorff, who then said gently to his wife:

"Jeanne, my own, go and see if the children are sleeping. Don't let them know what has happened to-night."

Jeanne complied with a smile. Amelie then resumed the conversation with her usual vivacity.

"Without detracting from our grat.i.tude, Marquis, permit me to say that friendship must be based upon esteem. If you do not esteem my father according to his deserts; if, on saving his life through a n.o.ble impulse, you fail to profess for him a respect which is his due, we shall perpetuate our grat.i.tude but withhold our hospitality in the future, unless some day you call upon us, to demand the life to which your conduct tonight ent.i.tles you. This is my att.i.tude, Monsieur, and my father's also."

"What do you mean, my daughter?" interposed Naundorff.

"The Marquis understands me," replied the girl, lowering her eyes. "He will admit that I speak with warrant."

Naundorff, with unfeigned amazement gazed from one to the other. The heightened color in both young faces revealed the truth.

"Monsieur le Marquis, have you had previous acquaintance with my daughter?"

"I have had that honor, Monsieur Naundorff, at the house of Elois Adhemar, miller on my patrimonial estate."

"What has been the nature of the friendship which you have entertained for the Marquis?" asked Naundorff of Amelie. "I do not need to urge you to speak the truth."

"Indeed you do not my father. Rene de Giac was my lover, pledged to be my husband. He is," she observed, as though the detail were of extreme importance, "a scion of the first n.o.bility of France."

"Compose yourself, my daughter," said Naundorff, for her voice had suddenly quavered with emotion. "To love is law. Your father has loved intensely. Your lover is worthy of you."

"That is what remains to be proved," she replied haughtily. "That is what Monsieur le Marquis will demonstrate without delay. We wait--"

Rene was amazed at her intrepidity and he answered with some vehemence:

"Mademoiselle wounds but does not offend. She will testify that I have reverenced her honor, that it has been as sacred to me as that of a beloved sister. And in vindication, I now improve the present occasion to address my plea to her father. Monsieur Naundorff, the Marquis de Breze asks for the hand of your daughter."

Astounded, then thrilled with happiness, Naundorff turned to his daughter, who interrupting, calmly said:

"Do not concede it, my father, until the Marquis retracts."

Rene understood. His fealty indicated his line of procedure. Turning to Naundorff, he said:

"I retract, not because Amelie demands that I should but because my conscience so dictates. In France I had been a.s.sured that you had been imprisoned as an incendiary and counterfeiter and that you had served your term in Silesia at hard labor. Two hours since, I said this to Amelie. Since meeting you, I am convinced that the charge is false.

Forgive me and take my hand."

A melancholy cloud settled upon Naundorffs face and a spasm of pain convulsed his features. From his eyes darted a l.u.s.tre like that of congealed tears. Losing all control of himself, he shrieked:

"Do not take my hand. What they told you in France is true. I have been dragged before tribunals under the accusation of firing a theatre and counterfeiting money. Yes, I have ground gypsum in the prison of Alstadt. You have not been deceived, Monsieur le Marquis."

Amelie, sobbing and on her knees, caressed her father pa.s.sionately. Rene vacillated for a moment and then intuition vanquished reason.

"Your hand, Monsieur Naundorff," he said, extending his own. "If you refuse, it is because you doubt me. I feel convinced that those accusations are part of an iniquitous scheme. My heart so speaks and my heart does not lie. The Marquis de Breze, of immaculate honor, responds for the honor of Naundorff."

Not his hand but both of his arms did Naundorff extend to this new friend whom he embraced impetuously.

"Not only are you innocent of felony," said Rene, "but, moreover, a man persecuted, calumniated, victimized. From today you have at your side an unconditional friend. I will make your reputation to shine as the sun.

Trust yourself to me."

Naundorff shook his head sadly.

"'Tis not in you power to change my fate. Tired of long suffering, I determined to leave everything to chance. Living obscurely, humbly, poorly, I thought that, being forgotten, tranquillity was at last to be permitted me. What evil had I done? Of what might I be accused? May I not even enjoy the love of my family and the peace of the laborer's hearth? No, they have decreed my a.s.sa.s.sination as they decreed my dishonor. Today you have saved me, my friend, but you will not always be near and if you dare to place yourself between me and my fate, alas for you! A voice prophetic and awful p.r.o.nounced to me, one day, these words in the darkness of my dungeon: 'Your friends shall perish.'"

Amelie fell into an armchair, sobbing.

"Do not weep, rose of heaven," said Naundorff, leading her toward Rene.

"Divine providence permits at last that you shall be happy. My dream was to see you the wife of a French n.o.bleman. He whom you love is n.o.ble in birth and n.o.ble in soul. Love one another. Charles Louis blesses you."