The Secret of Sarek Part 38

He ceased, stared at Veronique and then, clapping his hand violently on her shoulder, shouted:

"Listen, you baggage, can't you! It's Vorski speaking!"

Veronique lost her balance, saved herself by catching at the back of a chair and once more stood erect before her adversary, with her arms folded and her eyes full of scorn.

This time Vorski again succeeded in controlling himself. He had acted under impulse and against his will. His voice retained an imperious and malevolent intonation:

"I repeat that the past still exists. Whether you like it or not, madame, you are Vorski's wife. And it is because of this undeniable fact that I am asking you, if you please, to consider yourself so to-day. Let us understand each other; if I do not aim at obtaining your love or even your friendship, I will not accept either that we should return to our former hostile relations. I do not want the scornful and distant wife that you have been. I want . . . I want a woman . . . a woman who will submit herself . . . who will be the devoted, attentive, faithful companion . . ."

"The slave," murmured Veronique.

"Yes," he exclaimed, "the slave; you have said it. I don't shrink from words any more than I do from deeds. The slave; and why not? A slave understands her duty, which is blindly to obey, bound hand and foot, _perinde ac cadaver_; does the part appeal to you? Will you belong to me body and soul? As for your soul, I don't care a fig about that. What I want . . . what I want . . . you know well enough, don't you? What I want is what I have never had. Your husband? Ha, ha, have I ever been your husband? Look back into my life as I will, amid all my seething emotions and delights, I do not find a single memory to remind me that there was ever between us anything but the pitiless struggle of two enemies. When I look at you, I see a stranger, a stranger in the past as in the present. Well, since my luck has turned, since I once more have you in my clutches, it shall not be so in the future. It shall not be so to-morrow, nor even to-night, Veronique. I am the master; you must accept the inevitable. Do you accept?"

He did not wait for her answer and, raising his voice still higher, roared:

"Do you accept? No subterfuges or false promises. Do you accept? If so, go on your knees, make the sign of the cross and say, in a firm voice, 'I accept. I will be a consenting wife. I will submit to all your orders and to all your whims. You are the master.'"

She shrugged her shoulders and made no reply. Vorski gave a start. The veins in his forehead swelled up. However, he still contained himself:

"Very well. For that matter, I was expecting this. But the consequences of your refusal will be so serious for you that I propose to make one last attempt. Perhaps, after all, your refusal is addressed to the fugitive that I am, to the poor beggar that I seem to be; and perhaps the truth will alter your ideas. That truth is dazzling and wonderful.

As I told you, an unforeseen dawn has broken through my darkness; and Vorski, son of a king, is bathed in radiant light."

He had a trick of speaking of himself in the third person which Veronique knew of old and which was the sign of his insupportable vanity. She also observed and recognized in his eyes a peculiar gleam which was always there at moments of exaltation, a gleam which was obviously due to his drinking habits but in which she seemed to see besides a sign of temporary aberration. Was he not indeed a sort of madman and had his madness not increased as the years pa.s.sed?

He continued, and this time Veronique listened.

"I had therefore left here, at the time when the war broke out, a person who is attached to me and who continued the work of watching your father which I had begun. An accident revealed to us the existence of the caves dug under the heath and also one of the entrances to the caves. It was in this safe retreat that I took refuge after my last escape; and it was here that I learnt, through some intercepted letters, of your father's investigations into the secret of Sarek and the discoveries which he had made. You can understand how my vigilance was redoubled!

Particularly because I found in all this story, as it became more and more clear to me, the strangest coincidences and an evident connection with certain details in my own life. Presently doubt was no longer possible. Fate had sent me here to accomplish a task which I alone was able to fulfil . . . and more, a task in which I alone had the right to a.s.sist. Do you understand what I mean? Long centuries ago, Vorski was predestined. Vorski was the man appointed by fate, Vorski's name was written in the book of time. Vorski had the necessary qualities, the indispensable means, the requisite t.i.tles . . . . I was ready, I set to work without delay, conforming ruthlessly to the decrees of destiny.

There was no hesitation as to the road to be followed to the end; the beacon was lighted. I therefore followed the path marked out for me.

Vorski has now only to gather the reward of his efforts. Vorski has only to put out his hand. Within reach of his hand fortune, glory, unlimited power. In a few hours, Vorski, son of a king, will be king of the world.

It is this kingdom that he offers you."

He was becoming more and more declamatory, more and more of the emphatic and pompous play-actor.

He bent towards Veronique:

"Will you be a queen, an empress, and soar above other women even as Vorski will dominate other men? Queen by right of gold and power even as you are already queen by right of beauty? Will you? . . . Vorski's slave, but mistress of all those over whom Vorski holds sway? Will you?

. . . Understand me clearly; it is not a question of your making a single decision; you have to choose between two. There is, mark you, the alternative to your refusal. Either the kingdom which I am offering, or else . . ."

He paused and then, in a grating tone, completed his sentence:

"Or else the cross!"

Veronique shuddered. The dreadful word, the dreadful thing appeared once more. And she now knew the name of the unknown executioner!

"The cross!" he repeated, with an atrocious smile of content. "It is for you to choose. On the one hand all the joys and honours of life. On the other hand, death by the most barbarous torture. Choose. There is nothing between the two alternatives. You must select one or the other.

And observe that there is no unnecessary cruelty on my part, no vain ostentation of authority. I am only the instrument. The order comes from a higher power than mine, it comes from destiny. For the divine will to be accomplished, Veronique d'Hergemont must die and die on the cross.

This is explicitly stated. There is no remedy against fate. There is no remedy unless one is Vorski and, like Vorski, is capable of every audacity, of every form of cunning. If Vorski was able, in the forest of Fontainebleau, to subst.i.tute a sham Vorski for the real one, if Vorski thus succeeded in escaping the fate which condemned him, from his childhood, to die by the knife of a friend, he can certainly discover some stratagem by which the divine will is accomplished, while the woman he loves is left alive. But in that case she will have to submit. I offer safety to my bride or death to my foe. Which are you, my foe or my bride? Which do you choose? Life by my side, with all the joys and honours of life . . . or death?"

"Death," Veronique replied, simply.

He made a threatening gesture:

"It is more than death. It is torture. Which do you choose?"

"Torture."

He insisted, malevolently:

"But you are not alone! Pause to reflect! There is your son. When you are gone, he will remain. In dying, you leave an orphan behind you.

Worse than that; in dying, you bequeath him to me. I am his father. I possess full rights. Which do you choose?"

"Death," she said, once more.

He became incensed:

"Death for you, very well. But suppose it means death for him? Suppose I bring him here, before you, your Francois, and put the knife to his throat and ask you for the last time, what will your answer be?"

Veronique closed her eyes. Never before had she suffered so intensely, and Vorski had certainly found the vulnerable spot. Nevertheless she murmured:

"I wish to die."

Vorski flew into a rage, and, resorting straightway to insults, throwing politeness and courtesy to the winds, he shouted:

"Oh, the hussy, how she must hate me! Anything, anything, she accepts anything, even the death of her beloved son, rather than yield to me! A mother killing her son! For that's what it is; you're killing your son, so as not to belong to me. You are depriving him of his life, so as not to sacrifice yours to me. Oh, what hatred! No, no, it is impossible. I don't believe in such hatred. Hatred has its limits. A mother like you!

No, no, there's something else . . . some love-affair, perhaps? No, no, Veronique's not in love . . . What then? My pity, a weakness on my part?

Oh, how little you know me! Vorski show pity! Vorski show weakness! Why, you've seen me at work! Did I flinch in the performance of my terrible mission? Was Sarek not devastated as it was written? Were the boats not sunk and the people not drowned? Were the sisters Archignat not nailed to the ancient oak-trees? I, I flinch! Listen, when I was a child, with these two hands of mine I wrung the necks of dogs and birds, with these two hands I flayed goats alive and plucked the live chickens in the poultry-yard. Pity indeed! Do you know what my mother called me? Attila!

And, when she was mystically inspired and read the future in these hands of mine or on the tarot-cards, 'Attila Vorski,' that great seer would say, 'you shall be the instrument of Providence. You shall be the sharp edge of the blade, the point of the dagger, the bullet in the rifle, the noose in the rope. Scourge of G.o.d! Scourge of G.o.d, your name is written at full length in the books of time! It blazes among the stars that shone at your birth. Scourge of G.o.d! Scourge of G.o.d!' And you, you hope that my eyes will be wet with tears? Nonsense! Does the hangman weep? It is the weak who weep, those who fear lest they be punished, lest their crimes be turned against themselves. But I, I! Our ancestors feared but one thing, that the sky should fall upon their heads. What have _I_ to fear? I am G.o.d's accomplice! He has chosen me among all men. It is G.o.d that has inspired me, the G.o.d of the fatherland, the old German G.o.d, for whom good and evil do not count where the greatness of his sons is at stake. The spirit of evil is within me. I love evil, I thirst after evil. So you shall die, Veronique, and I shall laugh when I see you suffering on the cross!"

He was already laughing. He walked with great strides, stamping noisily on the floor. He lifted his arms to the ceiling; and Veronique, quivering with anguish, saw the red frenzy in his bloodshot eyes.

He took a few more steps and then came up to her and, in a restrained voice, snarling with menace:

"On your knees, Veronique, and beseech my love! It alone can save you.

Vorski knows neither pity nor fear. But he loves you; and his love will stop at nothing. Take advantage of it, Veronique. Appeal to the past.

Become the child that you once were; and perhaps one day I shall drag myself at your feet. Veronique, do not repel me; a man like me is not to be repelled. One who loves as I love you, Veronique, as I love you, is not to be defied."

She suppressed a cry. She felt his hated hands on her bare arms. She tried to release herself; but he, much stronger than she, did not let go and continued, in a panting voice:

"Do not repel me . . . it is absurd . . . it is madness . . . . You must know that I am capable of anything . . . Well? . . . The cross is horrible . . . . To see your son dying before your eyes; is that what you want? . . . Accept the inevitable. Vorski will save you. Vorski will give you the most beautiful life . . . . Oh, how you hate me! But no matter: I accept your hatred, I love your hatred, I love your disdainful mouth . . . . I love it more than if it offered itself of its own accord . . . ."

He ceased speaking. An implacable struggle took place between them.

Veronique's arms vainly resisted his closer and closer grip. Her strength was failing her; she felt helpless, doomed to defeat. Her knees gave way beneath her. Opposite her and quite close, Vorski's eyes seemed filled with blood; and she was breathing the monster's breath.

Then, in her terror, she bit him with all her might; and, profiting by a second of discomfiture, she released herself with one great effort, leapt back, drew her revolver, and fired once and again.

The two bullets whistled past Vorski's ears and sent fragments flying from the wall behind him. She had fired too quickly, at random.

"Oh, the jade!" he roared. "She nearly did for me."