The Mystery of the Lost Dauphin Part 8

"The wretched queen, bleeding and headless, speaks through me. Listen to her, shrieking 'Cain, Cain!'"

The screen creaked as though animated by furious protests and the king remonstrated with what strength he could muster, while the affrighted dog barked timidly and hid himself in the bearskin under his master's bandaged feet.

"For a time the crime was sterile and the Corsican star lighted the French sky. During that period the innocent boy lived concealed, unknown. Your Royal Highness was the hope of many who were ignorant of the boy's existence. I placed faith in you. We believed that the feet of the Corsican colossus were of clay and must soon sink into the earth.

And they did sink. Your Royal Highness seized the crown. But why do you even today contrive pitfalls for the orphaned heir and place arms in the hands of the iniquitous?"

The king, with folded and almost supplicating hands, seemed like a criminal imploring clemency, while tremors shook his head and convulsive breathing agitated his breast. Martin suddenly changed his att.i.tude of pitiless accuser and dropped on his knees, saying gently:

"The archangel declares that it is not yet too late for repentance, but that the time is brief and fleeting. Oh, your Highness, I adjure you to refrain from being anointed. Let not the oil from the holy vials be poured sacrilegiously upon your head. Dare not desecrate the sacred altars by requiem ma.s.ses for those who have not yet died! No crime is so great as profanation. The tree is accursed, and it shall be uprooted!"

In a prophetic frenzy, he continued:

"It shall be swept away! It shall perish! Uprooted in Italy, uprooted in Spain, uprooted shall it be in France and everywhere!--The canker spreads, rises from limbs to heart--The corroded flesh--Pray G.o.d for mercy!"

The king no longer listened. His head fell upon the back of his chair, his face became purple and foam covered his lips as he lay a victim to syncope, which at times overcame him. Martin turned and addressed the screen.

"Concealed fox, come to your master's aid." And slowly he walked toward the door while the baron, in a panic ran to unfasten the monarch's neckpiece and fan him with a music sheet. Louis XVIII opened his terror-stricken eyes and stammered:

"Let the man go in peace. See that no harm is done him."

Book II

THE CASKET

Chapter I

THE MINIATURE

In the long colloquy which Amelie and her father held with their unexpected guest, they planned a voyage to France which should be a tentative effort to master the paths and places leading to their proposed goal. As a matter of precaution, they arranged to have no further meetings in London and to join one another in Dover on a day which should be previously designated.

Before leaving, the young Marquis said to his host:

"If you wish to make a generous return for a trifling service--give me this picture."

His eyes were riveted upon a medallion displaying the face of a lady of patrician beauty, which, with other miniatures, was set in a framing of diminutive chrysolites, stones much used during the eighteenth century and which imitate in a marvelous manner the brilliancy of diamonds. The lady's hair rose in curls above a splendid forehead, enclosed her cheeks and fell upon her shoulders. Roses and feathers surmounted the graceful coiffure and white laces opened at the neck to reveal a perfect throat.

"Which of the pictures?"

"Amelie's," said Rene.

Naundorff gravely removed the image and pressed it reverently to his lips. Then he handed it to de Breze, saying in a broken voice:

"'Tis not Amelie, but my unhappy, my adored mother."

As Rene, through delicacy, made a movement of refusal, the mechanic said:

"To only the Marquis de Breze would I give this medallion. Farewell, loved image, that has so often rested on my heart. I am almost glad to part with you, for who knows how soon my house will for the hundredth time be rifled and I deprived of the last evidences of my personality, my dearest memories, my real life. I am more tranquil when other hands than mine guard my treasures. Watch over them, Rene, and over all that I have confided to your keeping. This face will bring Amelie to your eyes, for the resemblance is so remarkable, in spite of the difference in dress, that I do not wonder at your mistake."

On reaching the Hotel Douglas, Rene's first act was to take the miniature from his breast and cover it with kisses. Then, as he gazed upon the face of the dame of 1780, he murmured:

"How, in heaven's name, have I taken this face for Amelie! Why 'tis the wretched queen, Marie Antoinette, whom it resembles amazingly."

He became thoughtful, and then suddenly felt himself growing weak, almost fainting. The loss of blood began to have effect and he hastened to his bed. Even his curiosity ebbed away. He had not the strength to turn the leaves of the ma.n.u.script. Instinct moved him to place it and the casket beneath the mattress.

Hardly had he stretched his limbs, when a fever overcame him. A disturbed sleep, in which incoherent and fantastic ideas surged, oppressed his brain. The extraordinary events of the previous night were grotesquely reproduced. Amelie, in her white dress, broke through the garden trellis and threw herself into his arms, imploring him to carry her away from London; the d.u.c.h.ess de Rousillon, erect and haughty, barred the pa.s.sage to Naundorff's door; Naundorff, himself, lay upon the pavement of the square, gashed and b.l.o.o.d.y; the streets were red torrents rushing toward the Thames, and he, Rene, battled for his life in the river of blood.

With parched throat and tongue, he tossed through the night, to welcome, at last, the dawn gleaming through his window curtains. He vainly tried to raise himself and so lay helplessly until the entry of a servant, whom he immediately dispatched for a doctor. The doctor prescribed quiet and rest, forbidding his patient to leave his bed during four days. On the fifth, with clearer head and diminished thirst, Rene closed his eyes in a sweet sleep.

During the morning a travelling coach drew up before the Hotel upon whose front seat valises and handsome wallets bore a count's heraldric blazonry. A valet de chambre, thickset and awkward, preceded an elegant gentleman whose dress harmonized with the sumptuous equipage. His cloak and gray felt hat eminently merited the adjective _fashionable_ which was an English term then beginning to be applied in France to whatever was distinguished by good taste.

"Attend the gentleman! Bring in his baggage!" called out the host, whose patrons consisted usually of impecunious Scotch lairds and shabby Glasgow tradesmen, and rarely numbered such distinguished guests as the invalid French marquis and this newly arrived n.o.bleman so showy and immaculate, bearing no marks of his recent journey. The irreproachable traveler ordered a suite. The valet superintended the conveying of the baggage, his purple face and red whiskers gleaming above the folds of an ample cravat. As soon as the master and servant were alone in the count's sleeping chamber, they drew close together and the valet whispered:

"We have caught the bird in his cage. What are we to do now?"

"Find out all that has happened to the precious Marquis. Show some brains in this business since you played the fool in the square." And, as he concluded this speech, Volpetti removed his hat, arranged his Chateaubriand tuft of hair, viewed himself in the mirror and extracted from his pockets a variety of toilet appurtenances,--files, pincers, scissors, etc., which doubtless pertained to the collection which Alberto Serra was to pa.s.s through Gibraltar.

The valet was absent about twenty minutes, during which he introduced himself in the kitchen by the name of Brosseur and began a chat with the cook. He was holding in one hand a steaming jug when his master called out in an infuriated tone:

"Well, rascal, how long am I to wait? Do you want your head broken?"

Brosseur hurried to Volpetti's chamber, locked the door, set down the jug and gleefully rubbed his hands together, saying:

"Wonderful news! Just what I expected! I did not play such a great fool after all. The Marquis has been ill in bed four days from his wounds and has seen only his physician."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"The gospel truth."

"Have letters come to him?"

"Not one. I played the greenhorn, asking questions. I stumbled on a steward whose tongue is a jewel."

"Is the wound serious?"

"I believe not. It has produced a fever. The knife missed the lung by half a centimeter,--cursed be the devil! Why, we saw him leave Naundorff's house afoot and take a cab for Wellington street."

"Very well! Now, repeat to me in detail all that occurred after the Marquis left the house."

"After remaining within a long time, he came forth, lighted to the door by a woman. Then he started off alone and, on reaching the centre of the square, picked up the knife which we had there forgotten. In doing so, he dropped an object which he carried beneath his arm. This he quickly recovered. It looked rectangular in shape and had a metallic sound on striking the trunk of the tree."