THE PARDON
Naundorff and Amélie, from the Polipheme's deck, watched the men carrying Volpetti to the sloop. They trembled and clasped hands. The vessel was anchored in deep water and the waves rocked her from side to side. The night was cold and damp. Amélie shivered, chilled by the spray. Just then the guard announced the arrival of the sloop and René's voice triumphantly called across the waters:
"Amélie! Amélie!"
She ran to the vessel's side as the rope ladder was thrown down and saw what seemed to be a dead body, borne by her lover and his companion. On reaching deck, René rapturously kissed Amélie's hand and then triumphantly handed Naundorff the box.
"Drop anchor!" called out the captain, and the Polipheme rode away from the English coast. Meanwhile Amélie, Naundorff, René, the captain, and the two Carbonari gathered in the cabin. Punch was ordered, for they were all soaking wet and had need of a stimulant. The liquor sparkled with the tossing of the vessel and a sense of good fellowship diffused itself among the ship's company, some of whom a few hours earlier were unknown to one, another. With her customary resolution, Amélie took the initiative:
"Gentlemen, we must understand each other. My father and I are not Irish travelers seeking employment in France. We are French outlaws, the police on our trail, and a mighty party seeking to exterminate us. The man lying bound on deck is a villain who robbed us of our certificates, the documents entitling us to our inheritance. The Marquis de Brezé, my affianced lover, has recovered these papers. Am I correct in inferring that you have aided him?"
"Mademoiselle," replied Giacinto, "the veriest coincidence has united our projects. The Marquis has a strong arm but lacks caution. I cast his first victim into the sea or we should not now be securely riding away from Dover. O royal punch!" he cried, draining his glass.
"The second victim," remarked Louis Pierre, "will also sleep in the water, but we are first to extract his secrets. What think you, Captain?"
"'Tis the only solution, my friend," replied Soliviac gravely.
"'Tis a lamentable necessity," added René.
"Say, rather, a mild retaliation," insisted Giacinto.
Amélie's glance was of an avenging archangel.
Naundorff rose to his feet and towered above them all. His voice rose in an appeal, a supplication: "No blood! No blood! Let us forgive!"
"Forgive that unscrupulous creature?—that instrument of tyrants?" exclaimed Louis Pierre.
"He has betrayed and tortured the innocent," said Soliviac solemnly.
"He brought my brother to the scaffold" cried Giacinto.
"He sought the death of my father," said Amélie.
Then, in chorus, they cried:
"He must die!"
Silence followed. The captain poured out another glass of punch. Amélie and René drew apart from the group and engaged in a lover's colloquy. The three Carbonari talked animatedly of the accomplishment of their plans. When, later, Amélie turned her eyes in search of her father and failed to find him, she concluded he had gone to rest or that he chose to protest by his absence against the general sentiment regarding Volpetti.
Meanwhile, Naundorff was staggering along the vessel's deck, as she tossed roughly, in the direction of the bound spy, who lay near a heap of cordage where he had been deposited by his captors. His handsome face was contracted with rage, which increased as he saw the watch-maker approach. He believed that his last hour had arrived. Naundorff bent over him, saying in a low voice:
"I have come to set you free."
Volpetti's eyes flashed amazement.
"Listen!" said his liberator, cutting the cords with his pen knife. "I forgive you that God may forgive me. Your life has been a series of iniquities. You have made me suffer so greatly that I have almost doubted the existence of God. When you are free, change your mode of life. Here you will surely be killed. Cast yourself overboard, for you may be rescued by some other vessel. Do not stir yet. Be very quiet."
He had already freed Volpetti's hands. He now cut the cords binding his legs and feet. The spy muttered:
"Harebrained imbecile!"
During this critical moment his past life rose before him. He change? Impossible! He was a spy by nature. When a school boy, he had spied upon and delivered up his playfellows. While a novice in the monastery, he had spied upon his brothers. Turned out of the monastery by the Revolution, he had spied upon the revolutionists. His education and inclinations fitted him for the life, and the present atmosphere was auspicious, or 'twas the golden age of the secret police. The true history of that epoch will never be written because certain knaves carried it with them to the grave. When Volpetti entered the ranks of the secret police, he displayed signal talent. According to a remark made at the time by a prominent official, he was not only the eyes and ears but also the arm of the government. The swift eye of Vidocq early discerned the wonderful gifts of this king among spies: his art in ingratiating himself into the good graces of his employers; his genius at disguises and every species of simulation; his alertness in forming intimacies with the familiars of those who were his predestined victims. In short, he was a born spy and his machinations were labors of love. He was furnished money, agents and whatever other auxiliaries he demanded. His astuteness had discovered countless plots, effected the capture of a multitude of conspirators, among these General Doyenne, who suicided in prison, rather than submit to the ignominy of picket torture.
No need to say that in the heart of Volpetti there was no room for gratitude or remorse. He held goodness to be weakness, and forgiveness imbecility. That Naundorff should forgive the many years of persecution suffered at his hands, was to him incomprehensible. Why, the tracking of Naundorff had been his specialty for half a lifetime, his supreme title to glory. He viewed him now with Satanic disdain as he loosed his bonds.
Volpetti's only gods were Destiny and Fatality. Since leaving London, Fatality had seemed to be in the atmosphere. When earlier he was carried on deck, bound and gagged, he had in a rage called himself a fool for being trapped. But now Fatality seemed to be on the side of Naundorff and Volpetti reflected:
"This man has been overtaken a thousand times. He is a bright mark for the arrows of Fate."
Naundorff, meanwhile, repeated the regal formula of pardon;
"I forgive you that God, who is over you and me and all men, may extend to me his mercy,—God who sees us and to whom your evil deeds are known as well as the moment in which his hand will reduce you to naught. I forgive you because it is my destiny to forgive and to expiate, and I am ready to fulfil it; but I warn you to tempt Providence no longer."
Volpetti felt his limbs free and his blood resume its normal circulation. He commenced to remove his clothes, Naundorff, meanwhile, concealing him. Crawling to the edge of the vessel, he leaped into the water and the deck guard sang out, "Man overboard!"