XXII
Each in turn, at a deferential nod of their respective father and grandfather, first the count and then the vicomte proffered their suggestions; and so long had I been listening to the shrill falsetto of the marquis, that the sharp, low-pitched enunciation of the other two almost made me start with surprise, paralyzed though I was.
“Monsieur,” said the count, addressing the Marquis Gaspard, “you are right on every point; and especially in what you said of the danger we incur from the presence of Monsieur le capitaine in this place—a danger enhanced by the fact that Madame de X.... is likewise our guest at the present moment. We cannot think of sending her away before this evening, whether to Toulon or to Solliès. That would expose her too soon to the fatigue of the return journey. She is still extremely weak, and neither you nor I, in the very worst circumstances, would consent to risking an innocent life. Now tomorrow morning, this neighborhood will be full of soldiers—we can depend upon that. For, obviously, Monsieur is very close to the governor: his absence will be noticed, and a thorough search made. We have every reason to fear a visit ourselves; and in such an unfortunate event we shall be compelled to conceal two persons instead of one: a double danger, if you think as I think.”
“I do,” said the marquis.
The count bowed and proceeded:
“The path of virtue is not the easiest to follow in a case like this: no end of criminal or treacherous devices suggest themselves for relieving us of our present embarrassment. To mention one: few people in Toulon are unaware of the relations existing between Madame de X.... and Monsieur le capitaine. It would be a simple matter to account for his disappearance by turning suspicion upon this estimable young lady. Can there be any doubt of that? Tomorrow police and soldiery will be searching this territory inch by inch. On the Mort de Gauthier, not far from the carcass of Monsieur’s horse—that clue it is too late to obliterate—they find the captain’s lover! Nothing more would be necessary: of course—a “crime passionel,” served to the taste of the metropolitan press! The work of a jealous woman! The eagerness of the public to accept such an exciting hypothesis would divert all attention from us without fail. And Madame de X...., mark you, would meanwhile be unable to defend herself from a charge the very monstrousness of which would quite confound her. That unfortunate girl could never explain to herself, let alone to her judges, her incomprehensible presence in such improbable surroundings.”
The Vicomte Antoine had raised his head: “Such barbarity, such cowardice, would be worse than murder outright and stain our hands darker than with blood: you would make us the vilest of cads, Monsieur.”
There was an abundance of heat in his tone. The count turned toward him and bowed with a nod of approval:
“I agree with you, and no rational gentleman devoted to a life in accord with Nature, would ever allow an innocent head to fall under an unjust punishment. But observe, nevertheless: no court would ever convict the lady on pure supposition; and all direct evidence of a crime would be wanting....”
The vicomte interrupted: “I grant you that a court might acquit, Monsieur; but the public never. And this woman, convicted through our agency of having lived according to her heart, would be the victim of general hostility and opprobrium. Her honor would be smirched forever, and her life ruined.”
“That is true,” the count again admitted.
The squeaky laugh of the marquis took them both to task:
“Enough, gentlemen! Spare us your preciosities, I beg of you. There you are, at it again, indulging your usual fatuities in behalf of the widowed mother and her ten children! Will you gentlemen never tire of sentimentalizing—playing with those soap-bubbles of yours: Humanity, Fraternity, Love, Nature? Does neither of you see that the security of our Secret is perhaps of more importance than the so-called good name of a woman who has already, of her own accord, made herself the talk of a county? The solution you have suggested, Sir, is by no means unworthy of consideration. I do not, however, regard it as the best. I think that before deciding on any course we should review all the possibilities before us. It is your turn, Vicomte. Have you something practicable to propose?”
The youngest of the three men hesitated. Finally he said:
“May it not be that the solution lies in the very magnetic forces over which we have control? I am thinking of yours particularly, Monsieur, so prodigiously powerful, when you choose to exert them. It has occurred to me that we might send the captain home, free to all appearances, but still retained under such an influence that every word he uttered would be dictated by us. We could gain some days in that way; and then....”
The smile on the lips of the marquis was almost a sneer:
“Then what?” he questioned.
The vicomte failed to find an answer, and the marquis supplied one for him:
“Then ... nothing! Where could such a comedy end? How long do you think we could stand the strain? It is no easy matter to keep our hold on an old man ready for the grave. Could we, without a moment’s respite, and till the end of the world, suppress the individuality of a man like Monsieur le capitaine, youthful, robust of body, and strong of will? Nonsense, Monsieur! Utter nonsense! Find something better than that, Vicomte. Come, gentlemen, you have heads! Use them!”
But the count and the vicomte added not a word. The staccato laugh of the marquis alone continued to grate through the silence of the hall.