AMÉLIE
Naundorff, seated near the sofa where René rested, had become pensive. René'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 assault, 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 hoarse 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 God is retributive, infallible."
At this point Amélie arose and threw herself into her father's arms, while Jeanne buried her face in her hands. René observed that the wife was not really included in the demonstration and that Naundorff and Amélie constituted a group of attuned souls. As she drew herself from her father who kissed her fair forehead, she turned to René and said serenely:
"Monsieur Marquis de Brezé, we have complied to the extent of our power with the obligations of hospitality and gratitude. 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. Amélie then resumed the conversation with her usual vivacity.
"Without detracting from our gratitude, 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 noble impulse, you fail to profess for him a respect which is his due, we shall perpetuate our gratitude but withhold our hospitality in the future, unless some day you call upon us, to demand the life to which your conduct tonight entitles you. This is my attitude, 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 Amélie. "I do not need to urge you to speak the truth."
"Indeed you do not my father. René 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 nobility 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—"
René 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 Brezé 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."
René understood. His fealty indicated his line of procedure. Turning to Naundorff, he said:
"I retract, not because Amélie demands that I should but because my conscience so dictates. In France I had been assured 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 Amélie. 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 lustre 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."
Amélie, sobbing and on her knees, caressed her father passionately. René 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 Brezé, 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 René, "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 assassination 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 pronounced to me, one day, these words in the darkness of my dungeon: 'Your friends shall perish.'"
Amélie fell into an armchair, sobbing.
"Do not weep, rose of heaven," said Naundorff, leading her toward René. "Divine providence permits at last that you shall be happy. My dream was to see you the wife of a French nobleman. He whom you love is noble in birth and noble in soul. Love one another. Charles Louis blesses you."
"No," protested René. "We shall not marry until you are rehabilitated. Amélie would not consent." Amélie extended her hand in approval.
"Not until my father recovers his name and honor may we be happily married, René."
"Do as you will," murmured Naundorff. "I will not again buffet Fate, knowing in advance that I shall fall a victim."
He made a signal to the Marquis, who followed him into the basement of the house. It was a species of work-shop, illumined by the dim light of a lantern hanging from the smoky ceiling. On benches were scattered the implements of a watch-maker—springs, pincers, bridges, wires, minute tongs, unmounted watches, others in cases, machinery of various kinds and firearms. Naundorff double-locked the door and then, removing one of the tables, counted the bricks in the wall and, reaching the fifteenth numbering from the floor, he pried it out. A secret compartment was now revealed from which he took a yellow parchment and a small square box with a gold key hanging from it.
"René de Giac," said Naundorff solemnly, "I confide this treasure to your unblemished honor. Herein is contained the last gleam of hope for me and my children. To no one have I delivered this manuscript and casket because my misfortunes have driven away all my friends, a result to be expected from the prediction heard within my prison walls. There have been moments in which I have thought to throw these proofs into the fire, for they seemed valueless, but tonight's episode has put an end to such an inclination. As I do not attain peace by living obscurely; as a dagger continues to be suspended over my head; as my sorrows flood the life of Amélie, my best-loved child—the only being who knows my secret; since, contrary to my desire, I am compelled to defend my rights, I resume the struggle. I shall secretly go to France and if you consider that the testimonials enclosed in that box constitute a solid basis for my claims before a French tribunal, or even before a human tribunal, then I shall proceed to my demands. No longer will I remain silent. But listen to my warning. From the very moment you possess the box and parchment, do not consider yourself safe on earth. Tremble, keep vigils, start in your sleep, trust no man. Treachery will bristle on all sides and spies will track you, to despoil you of the treasure. You look at me amazed and, perhaps, doubt my sanity, but reflect on the assault of this night. You will not wonder at my warnings when you read the manuscript. It is a plea addressed to a woman, to her whom I have most loved on earth, excepting my mother and daughter—a woman upon whom may God have pity! After you have read it, judge whether or no it should be placed in her hands and, if it should, be you the bearer, that the woman may not say she sinned through ignorance.
"As for this casket containing the important documents," he added, "conceal it in a crypt beneath French soil or in the bowels of the earth. A time will come when we shall have need of it. Until then, let not your right hand know where the left has hidden it."
"I swear!" said de Brezé, "that no man shall track me."
"Transform yourself, René. He who becomes my friend must adjust to his face a mask, must envelop himself in mystery—for I am a mystery, an abysmal mystery. Here are my pistols—they are loaded. And now farewell, for you must find a place of safety for these things which in my hands incur grave danger. I shall see you again in Calais where Amélie and I shall be one week from today, if all goes satisfactorily, at the Red Fish Inn. Let us not meet again in London, for we are watched."
"No divining rod shall indicate the cavity beneath French soil where I conceal this treasure," said de Brezé. "Permit me now, on leaving, to kiss my lady's hand."
"Go seek her. She is yours."
At eleven, René again crossed the solitary park. He approached the square, curious to see if there still remained evidences of the struggle. All was deserted, but a blade gleamed at the foot of a tree, and he took it up in his hand. It was a short, wide knife such as mariners use for cutting fish. As he stooped, the casket dropped from his bosom and struck on the tree. Much alarmed, he replaced it inside his jacket which he securely buttoned and, pressing his hand to the treasure, he proceeded along Wellington street.
On passing a corner to call a cab, he caught sight of two men, those of the assault, shadowed in a great doorway and watching his movements.
"There goes the throttler," said the thickset fellow, who still wheezed from the pressure of René's fingers.
"He carries a box," said the other. "It has a metallic sound and cannot be empty. Shall we fall on him and seize it?"
"Fool! he must be armed. If not, do you think I should let him pass?"
"He goes toward Wellington."
"Let's follow him now as he followed us. Let's find out who this young aristocrat is that drops from the skies into other men's fights."
And the two ruffians, creeping along in the shadow of the walls, tracked de Brezé until he leaped into a cab, giving directions which they overheard. The listeners did not need to incur the expense of another cab.
René had failed to heed the warning of Naundorff regarding circumspection. Just from the arms of Amélie, he floated like one in a trance; his thoughts were all of love.