The Son of Clemenceau Part 22

"When he speaks, it seems to me that it is what people call conscience."

"How long is it since you acknowledged this superiority?" sneered the sham Ma.r.s.eillais.

"Too short a while, alas! some few minutes," sighed she.

"Well, granting he is at least a demi-G.o.d, he is a power which we have an interest in destroying. Hercules became a nuisance to neglectful stable-keepers, and like conservative inst.i.tutions. Let us have done with him. But, first, the final training of yourself. I repeat that the marchioness' house was the rendezvous at the gates of Paris, where we a.s.sembled our bearers of intelligence. Under cover of chit-chat and vocal-waltzes, we heard reports and issued orders. It was necessary to link you to us and we employed our foremost captivator, the dandy of two countries, the international Lothario, the Viscount-baron Gratian von Linden-hohen-Linden-_c.u.m_ de Terremonde. Luckily, too, he had been at the same period as myself, smitten with your vernal charms, and he entered upon his amorous mission with gusto. You believed him very wealthy, but let me tell you that the cash he really had under hand was our petty expense fund. Judge by that what a capital we control!"

exclaimed Von Sendlingen proudly. "Our poor Gratian the double dealer, seemed not to be loved by the G.o.ds any more truly than by his G.o.ddess here present, for she let him, una.s.sisted, be thrust down, on falling through a broken bridge, into the mire of a rivulet visible from your window. There he breathed his last. Fit death for a traitor! For our corporation, the untimely, unmanageable pa.s.sion of this athletic fop might have had grave consequences, and for you. We did not find the money on his person only a pocketbook stuffed with rubbish, as if he were the victim of some gross deception. But, have no fear, Madame, we are not going to claim the sum from you, we prefer to let you regard it as a payment on account. We intend you no mischief, and we intended you none, then; we might have stopped your flight--that is, I might have done so, but I only threw myself across your path after you ran on, to stay your husband from pursuing you."

"You were there?" she stammered, more and more frightened at the vastness of the serpent which involved her with its coils, and which was so careless about the loss of its golden scales.

"Enough! all is well that ends well! You will serve us?"

"But I have repented!"

"Nonsense! you returned home because your husband was suddenly enriched above your dreams. Your repentance was simply a prompting of moral hygiene for you to take rest before a new and less unlucky flight. You had the instinctive warning that to the greatly successful inventor, the modern king or knowing man--for civilization has come round the circle to the point where savagery commenced and the wise man rules--to the wizard, power, riches, beauty, all gravitate. Your husband would be courted; d.u.c.h.esses would sue him to place their husbands or gallants on the board of his company--the dark-eyed charmer whom you ousted in the Munich music hall and whom you foresaw to be your eternal rival, might meet him again. With you beside him, she might be repulsed--with you distant, he would surrender at discretion. What a triumph for your self-conceit and banquet for your senses to make your husband love you even more than when he was the suitor! Look out! in battling with your husband you say you fight Conscience; with Mademoiselle Daniels, with whom I have had twenty minutes' pleasant conversation, enlightening him, you would conflict with Virtue. Tell your husband that the money you offered to help him, came out of our bank, and he will not forgive you or tolerate you this time. No, for his silence would no longer be loftiness of soul, but complicity of which I do not think him capable,"

he grudgingly said. "He would hand you over to the police, and believe me, the Emperor Napoleon, having a mania on the subject of artillery, would personally instruct his _procureur_ to draw up an indictment against you which would not miss fire. And were you to escape in France, we should have that abstracted money's worth from you elsewhere. Now, dear lady, for how much will you sell us the secret of M. Clemenceau?"

The woman bowed her head, like one imprisoned in a sand drift, not to be crossed in any direction, but closing in and weighing down. She was in a pitfall, overpowered like Gratian had been, subjugated, soon to be put to the yoke and compelled to draw steadily the harrow of transcendental politics. Her caprices, faults, fancies, duplicities, wiles, caresses, impudence, conquests and delights were but straws out of which some great diplomatist would draw supplies for his cattle. It was humiliating to the superb creature, but logical. She gnashed her teeth, but she was sure that her cajolery--even her tears would be thrown away on this soldier-spy whom once she had jilted, and who at present surfeited himself with her defeat.

"It is a crime," she moaned, "a dastardly crime that you require me to do."

"Not your first! You robbed us for your own private ends--we want you to rob another for ours! you must not always be selfish."

'But I had really repented--"

"Pooh! you may repent of this fresh misdeed while you are about penance.

I have no objections to you becoming a good wife! it will be a novel sensation, and of nothing are you more fond! Suppose you convince your husband that it is wicked to kill his fellow-men by the myriad--that love of woman is better than glory--decide him to go into a cottage by the Mediterranean with you, and--sell us the invention. We could put it to a righteous end; clear Africa of cannibals, that the merchants'

stores, and farms to raise produce to fill them, should replace cane-huts. But I doubt you will succeed!"

"Never!" she exclaimed, afraid that her hopelessness would injure her, for she would be the creditor of this remorseless combination without any prospect of repaying them. But all resistance was useless, she was convinced; she had to submit or she would be expunged from life. She who had fancied herself so powerful was but the lowly, abject subaltern at the beck of a preponderating power of which she understood no more the details than the aim and principle.

"There is always a second course," observed Von Sendlingen slowly. "That weak, inexperienced, young Italian, who loves you pa.s.sionately."

"Antonino?"

"Antonino, yes; he carries the key to that coffer, and the key, too, of the private cipher in which the inventor records his discoveries."

Shrinking away aghast, her blanched countenance expressed her wonder at this preternatural knowledge. These master-spies knew everything, even under this roof, better than the wife! This grim giant carried on an abominable craft with thorough insight. That she could never emulate, for completeness was not her forte. Oh, had she but been a virtuous woman--an honorable wife, he had not dared a.s.sume to govern her! but when of a girl's age, she had acted like a woman; when a wife she had acted like the dissolute and unwived; when a mother, she had disembarra.s.sed herself of the token of her glory of maternity. She was not fit to be anything but the instrument of such universal conspirators. She whom the viscount had playfully called "Donna Juana!"

had met the Statue of the Commander at last, and once grasped, she would no more be free.

"I shall report to our committee that we have made our agreement," he said calmly and then, as he proceeded toward the door with the jolly swagger of the Ma.r.s.eillais transforming his stalwart and rigid frame, he added in the southern bland tone, "Delighted to see you again, dear Madame Clemenceau!"

She did not hear him, for she had sunk too deeply within the abyss. She regretted she had come back. It is true that the company which he represented so terrifyingly, might have pursued her and pestered her for their money, but she had the gifts that would arouse defenders for her in any quarter of the globe.

Had she not one ally? certainly no friend! and yet, if Clemenceau would only help her a little, she might cope with the arch-intriguer. If, indeed, Felix did not save her, she would be lost. It was a dreadful game, but glorious to win it, and she would be another and worthy woman if she came out unwounded. In her distress, she would have had recourse to the Jew and have utilized Rebecca though her rival, too! Besides, there was Antonino, so pa.s.sionate as to rush blindly, dagger in hand, on even a Von Sendlingen.

"Come, come, cheer up," she said to herself, "there is a chance or two yet. If only I could get over this crisis, I will reform and sincerely resolve not to do a single act for which to reproach myself!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

A BITTER PARTING.

With a somewhat less burdened mind, Cesarine was still pondering when she saw Antonino, who had opened the door but perceived her, about to withdraw without notifying her of his presence. It was the act of a devotee who feared to pray in the chapel, when the priestess stood by the saint's image.

"Do not go," she exclaimed with vehemence. "Come here after closing the door tightly, for I want you to enter into a little plot with me."

She had regained her smiling visage and her sweet voice.

"Would you do it?"

"It depends upon who the object is," he said tremulously.

"It is against my husband," she replied with her smile more bright and her tone more merry.

"I forewarn you, madame, that I should turn informer," he answered in the same light key, but forced.

"That would be very bad for him for I am conspiring for his benefit."

"In that case, madame, I am entirely your man."

"Are you able to keep a secret?" she asked with gravity.

"I think so."

They had withdrawn into the window recess, and could see the gardens, as they conversed. The light fell on her through the Valenciennes curtain and at her back was a sombre tapestry. Her late trial gave her an exhausted air which seemed the additional gloss with which melancholy makes a woman more fascinating in the sentimental eyes of youth.

"I dare say you can keep your own," she pointedly said.

"Not so well, I fear, as another's."

"You must give me your word of honor that if my plot does not please you, n.o.body shall be told?"

"I give you my promise," he said freely, just as he would have given her anything she asked for.

He had debated with his pa.s.sion, uttered every reason of others and all he could devise, overwhelmed himself with good advice and created a Chinese Wall of obstacles, but he heard himself murmuring: "I love her!"

The only way, he feared, to put an end to his wicked craze was to put an end to his life--an irreputable argument, but to be used moderately. She allowed him to quiver under her lingering gaze, and finally said:

"The fact is, I do not like the idea of M. Clemenceau selling this house. It would be a greater grief than he believes now. He has his dearest memories springing here. Besides, he could not work in peace in town. Fortunately, my uncle has provided me with the means to help him.

I want to lend him the sum required, but I fear that he would accept nothing from me."

"He is a very proud man," observed the Italian, courteously, for, while he worshiped the speaker, he knew that she was not morally without blemishes.

Not because her affection for him was a proof of that delinquency, for love overlooked that and gave it another name, but because he believed Clemenceau, and the woman, while no less alluring, was terrifying as well.

"It is an excess of very cruel justice!" said she with a strange warmth.