THE ASSAULT
Telling himself that he was reprehensively weak in failing to resist his passion, René gazed out upon the river. He reflected that its dark surface had closed over many human sorrows and perplexities which seemed beyond alleviation. A chill crept over him, then a dizziness, as he gazed into the glistening, alluring current of the Thames.
In such situations, the slightest whisper is enough to break the spell. The Marquis started on beholding two men emerge from a noisome alley, conversing in French. When abroad, our native tongue always claims our attention, especially when one using it happens to pronounce a familiar name. These men twice spoke the name of Amélie's father, whereupon René stealthily followed the pair. He could not distinguish the topic of their conversation but was quite close enough to study the physical type of each of the suspicious characters, one of whom was close-shaven, coarse and short of stature, the other tall, full-bearded, alert and enveloped in a huge overcoat which concealed half his face. They walked slowly, peering at intervals in all directions. On perceiving René, they nudged each other, for the Marquis's fine clothes were out of keeping with the place, which was the thoroughfare of dissolute and disorderly sailors. They ceased talking and, a few moments later, suddenly turned a corner and disappeared in the labyrinth of malodorous, ill-lighted alleys. René realized that they had eluded him, but his hunter's scent and nimble legs put him again upon their trail. Why this espionage? He could scarcely have answered had he been questioned.
When he next perceived them, they were standing beneath the yellow lantern of a tavern. He saw them enter the filthy place, order some glasses of beer, which they gulped down like genuine Londoners and make their exit. Guardedly he followed them into the wider and better-lighted streets, through which rolled an occasional cab. Again they described a capricious curve, descended towards the river and emerged upon the park which faced the small house and garden—the scene of René's colloquy with Amélie. On noting the coincidence, his heart beat fast and the movement was quickened when he perceived that the wily couple were ambuscading back of the great trees in the centre of the square. Connecting the name he had twice heard spoken by the ruffians—for so he classified them—with the place of their concealment, he conjectured that an act was about to be perpetrated which would affect Amélie, an act in which he must interpose, whether impelled by fate or chance. He crept into the zone of shade cast by the dense foliage, his gray cloak blending in color with the walls and making him almost invisible.
The park remained deserted. The night grew darker each moment and the silence was broken only by the solemn striking of the church clock or the impatient step of a laborer returning homeward. Just as the hour of nine struck, a man appeared from that side of the park opposite the spot where René was watching. As he entered, walking leisurely, the two concealed men stepped forth and with a preconcerted movement placed themselves, the one on the stranger's right, the other on his left. René had scarcely realized what had occurred when the assault began. A few vigorous leaps brought him quickly to the assistance of the victim just as the assailants were about to deliver their blows. He seized the uplifted arm of the more threatening one, the tall man with the great coat, whose intended cudgel-blow was thereby made harmless.
The stranger, having no other weapon than a cane, rained blows upon the enemy until he wrenched himself loose and fled. René then turned upon the accomplice, seized him by the throat with both hands and gradually tightened his hold until the man's face was purple from strangulation. Then he released him, but, suddenly feeling a sharp sensation in his shoulder, he renewed his grasp, maintaining the pressure until the villain fell inert, dropping his weapon. The assaulted man quickly seized the Marquis by the arm and dragged him toward the house, saying in a voice full of emotion:
"Come, let us hasten. If the police detect us, we are lost."
He spoke in French with a German accent.
"I cannot," said René staggering. "I am wounded and too weak to walk."
Throwing his arms around René in order to sustain him, the stranger conducted him to his home, rapping three times in a peculiar manner upon the door, which was then opened by a woman of attractive form and features and apparently about thirty-five years of age. She shrieked on beholding the condition of the two men.
"'Tis a wounded gentleman, Jeanne—wounded in defending me," said the stranger in an authoritative voice. "Close the door securely and help me to examine his wounds."
The woman obeyed, leaving her lamp on a stand, and aided her husband in placing René upon a lounge in the room next the entrance. Not till then did she dare to whisper:
"And you, Charles Louis; has any ill befallen you?"
"Nothing but a slight scratch on the elbow. Quickly bring some water, ether, balsam and court-plaster and linen. Call Amélie. She is courageous."
While Jeanne hastened to execute these commands, Charles Louis unfastened René's outer garments, also his close-fitting jacket, removing the lace-trimmed shirt soaked in blood and disclosing a wound near the left shoulder-blade, the ruffian's dagger having been aimed for a dangerous lung thrust. His weakness was due entirely to loss of blood, which, continuing to flow, had left a dark, clotted stain on his white skin. When Jeanne returned with the restoratives, René was smiling tranquilly. A girl in white entered the apartment, holding a wax taper and, upon recognizing René, pale, blood-stained and nude to the waist, she uttered a cry of terror and dropped the light.
"What is the matter, Amélie?" asked her father. "Do not be alarmed, my daughter. Thank God that our unknown friend is no longer in danger. Come nearer and hold the light still a moment. Now the bandage. Bring one of my shirts, also my great-coat and a glass of cognac or a little coffee."
"Do not trouble yourselves further. I am doing well," declared the wounded man. "At the Hotel Douglas I have changes of clothing."
René's eyes passionately sought those of Amélie, which, dilated with terror, could not unfasten themselves from his face.
The host insisted: "It is too late to go to the Hotel. The streets, as we have seen, are dangerous. Accept, then, for a little while the clothes of a humble artisan, Monsieur—?"
"René de Giac, Marquis de Brezé."
"Charles Louis Naundorff," said the host introducing himself. "And these are my wife and daughter. Will you believe me when I say that I knew you were a Frenchman when you sprang to my defense?"
On hearing that René had protected her father, Amélie approached her lover and gave him a look that was all radiance, an abandon of the soul, an unconditional surrender. It lasted but a moment. Had it been prolonged, it would have melted the heart of the man who, not long before, meditated a leap into the Thames.
"To be a Frenchman and to be a hero from choice are mutual corollaries. You did not know me. Why, then, should you risk your life? Thus is my debt; of gratitude to you increased," said Naundorff, smiling.
Amélie had brought René a cup of coffee which, having the effect of a cordial, made him talkative.
"A half hour since, the bandits and I were concealed in the park; an hour since, I started on their trail."
"Is it possible?"
"It is indeed. Listen and judge. I wandered aimlessly along the river bank and soon overheard two men speaking French. They were suspicious-looking characters and they spoke your name twice. On perceiving that I followed, they fled. I caught up with them and again followed cautiously. On reaching the park, they ambuscaded. The rest you know."
Naundorff gazed attentively at his guest who, having clothed himself in the borrowed garments, was fast recovering his strength. He strove to read René's face. At last he said:
"Why, then, you knew me?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I knew you by name, and now that I look at you closely, I feel that I know your face also. You have one of those countenances which always seem familiar and linger in the memory. I cannot say when or where I have seen you, but I believe it has been not once but a thousand times. When I opened my eyes and looked upon your face, it seemed to me that long ago I had known you well."
On first beholding his fiancée's father, de Brezé had experienced a feeling that now returned with renewed force. Although love confiscates all sentiments, in order to focus them on the adored one, René gazed beyond Amélie as he spoke, having eyes only for Charles Louis. The father's age seemed near forty, his head was of spacious front with arched brow and blond hair, somewhat silvered and curling naturally. An infantile dimple marked his chin, his breast-bone was high and a slight obesity marred his form which still, however, preserved graceful outlines; his hands were finely patrician; his expression was a mingling of dignity, bitterness and deep distrust. Great sorrows must have been the lot of this man, for his face seemed furrowed by torrents of tears. His likeness to Amélie seemed to consist more in what is usually called family resemblance than in physical similitude. The father and daughter were of distinct types and yet it seemed impossible to disjoin them mentally. More and more perplexed, René said to himself, "Where have I seen this man? Where have I seen him and Amélie together?"