CHAPTER VIII. REVENGE.
Five days had passed since Marietta’s interview with the marquis. They had wrought no change in her heart; not for a single instant had her thirst for revenge been allayed. Her hatred of Ranuzi seemed to have become more intense, more passionate, since she understood his plans—since she had learned that he had never loved her, and that she was merely the instrument of his intrigues. Since that time she had watched his every thought and deed.
One day while apparently embracing him, and whispering words of endearment in his ear, she had secretly drawn a folded paper from his pocket, which had just been brought to him by a strange servant who, having vainly sought him at his own house, had followed him to that of Marietta. Having thus obtained the paper, she made an excuse for leaving the room in order to inspect it. She carefully closed the door of the room in which Ranuzi sat, and then examined the paper. After reading it, she drew her note-book from her pocket, and hastily tearing out a leaf, she wrote upon it with a pencil. “Lose no time, if you do not wish him to escape. He has received to-day, through the agency of Madame du Trouffle, the necessary passport and permission to go to Magdeburg. I have no longer the power to detain him. What is done must be done quickly.”
She folded the paper and passed cautiously through the hall and into the kitchen where her maid was. “Listen, Sophie,” she said; “take this note and go as quickly as you can to the castle and ask for the Marquis d’Argens. You must give the note into his own hands, and if you bring me an answer within the hour, I will reward you as if I were a queen. Do not speak, only go.”
The maid hurried down the steps, and Marietta returned, smilingly, to Ranuzi, who received her with reproaches for her long absence.
“I have arranged a little supper for us, and have sent my maid to obtain some necessary articles. You will not leave me to-day, as you always do, to go to your conference with the Catholic priest.”
“I would not, Marietta, but I must,” said Ranuzi. “Believe me, my dear child, if I followed the dictates of my heart, I would never leave this room, which in my thoughts I always call my paradise, and in which I enjoy my only bright and happy moments. But what would you have, my angel? It is not ordained that men should have undisturbed possession of the joys of paradise. Mother Eve sinned, and we must expiate her misdeeds. I must leave you again to-day to join that conference which you so heartily detest.”
“But not yet,” she said, tenderly, putting her arms about his neck. “You will not leave me yet?”
Thus besought, he promised to remain. Never was he more amiable, more brilliant, more attentive, or more tender. Never was Marietta gayer, more excited, or more enchanting. Both had their reasons for this—both had their intentions. Love smiled upon their lips, but it was not in their hearts—each wished to deceive the other. Ranuzi wished to quiet every suspicion by his tenderness—she must not dream that this was their last meeting, and that he intended leaving Berlin this night, perhaps forever. Marietta wished to chain him to her side and prevent his departure.
Time flew by amid gay laughter and tender jests, and at length Marietta heard the house-door open and hurried steps mounting the stairway. It was the maid who had returned. Marietta’s heart beat so violently that she could scarcely conceal her emotion.
“The maid has returned with her purchases,” she said, hastily; “I will go out and tell her that you cannot remain with me to-day.” She left the room and met Sophie in the hall, who was quite out of breath with her hurried walk, and who handed her a note. Marietta broke the seal with trembling hands. It contained only these words: “Keep him but a few moments longer, and one will arrive who will release you from your watch, and relieve you forever from your enemy by bearing him to prison. The answer of the one to whom I sent your paper has come; he is condemned.”
“Very well, Sophie,” said Marietta, concealing the paper in her bosom. “When the count leaves, you shall receive your reward. Now listen; the soldiers are coming. As soon as you hear them on the steps, you must tap at my door, that I may know they have arrived.”
She hastened back to Ranuzi, but she no longer smiled—she no longer approached him with open arms—but she advanced toward him with flashing eyes, with her arms folded haughtily across her breast, and her countenance pale with passion.
“Ranuzi, the hour of revenge has come! You have most shamefully betrayed and deceived me—you have mocked my love—you have trodden my heart under foot. Lies were upon your lips—lies were in your heart. And whilst you swore to me that you loved no other, you had already betrayed me to a woman. I am acquainted with Madame du Trouffle, and I know that you visit her every evening. This was the conference with the Catholic fathers, for whose sake you left me. Oh, I know all—all! I will not reproach you; I will not tell you of the martyrdom I suffered—of the wretched days and nights through which I wept and sighed, until at length I overcame the love I had borne you. That suffering is passed. But you have not forgotten that I once said to you: ‘Should you forsake me, or turn faithlessly from me, I will be revenged.’”
“I have not forgotten,” said Ranuzi, “and I know that you will fulfil your promise, but before you do so—before you point me out to the government as a dangerous spy—you will listen to my defence, and only then if you are not satisfied, will you condemn me, and revenge yourself.”
“I have all-sufficient proof,” she said. “Day by day, hour by hour, have these proofs been forced upon me, as the contents of the poisoned cup are forced upon the condemned man. My love and happiness are dead, but you also shall die—you also shall suffer as I have done. My love was insufficient to keep for me a place in your memory; perhaps my revenge will do so. When you are wretched and miserable, think of me and repent.”
“Repent of what?” he asked, proudly. “I have done nothing of which I am ashamed—nothing of which I repent. I have offered up my entire life, my every thought and desire, to a holy, a noble cause. To it I have subjected all my feelings, wishes, and hopes, and had it been necessary, I would without tears have sacrificed all that was dearest to me on earth. It became necessary for the good of this cause that I should appear to betray your love. A plan had been formed in which this woman you have just named could alone aid me. I dared not ask my heart what it suffered, for my head told me that this woman was necessary to me, and it became my duty to obtain her assistance by any means. So I became the daily companion of Madame du Trouffle, so—”
A light tap at the door interrupted the count, and startled him inexplicably.
“What does that mean?” he asked, turning pale.
Marietta laughed aloud. “That means,” she said, slowly and scornfully, “that you will not go to Magdeburg to-morrow—that you cannot make use of the passport which your beloved Madame du Trouffle obtained for you. Ah, you wished to leave me secretly—you did not wish me to suspect your intended departure. You were mistaken, Ranuzi. You will remain in Berlin, but you will never go to her again. I will prevent that.”
At this moment loud knocking was heard at the door, and two policemen entered the room without waiting for an invitation, and through the open door armed soldiers might be seen in the hall guarding the entrance.
When Ranuzi first beheld these servants of justice, he shuddered and became deathly pale, but as they approached him, he recovered his wonted composure, and advanced proudly and coldly to meet them.
“Are you Count Ranuzi?” asked one of the policemen.
“I am,” he said, calmly.
“I arrest you in the name of the king; you are our prisoner.”
“With what offence am I charged?” asked he, as he slowly placed his hand in his bosom.
“The court-martial will inform you.”
“Ah, I am to be tried by a court-martial. Spies and conspirators are always thus tried. I am charged then with spying and conspiring,” cried Ranuzi, and then slowly turning to Marietta, he asked:
“And this is your work?”
“Yes; this is my work,” she said, triumphantly.
“You must come now,” said the policeman, roughly, as he stepped nearer to Ranuzi, at the same time giving his companion a sign to do the same. “Come immediately and quietly. Do not compel us to use force.”
“Force,” cried Ranuzi, shrugging his shoulders, as he drew his hand from his bosom and pointed a pistol toward the policemen, from which they shrunk back terrified. “You see that I need not fear force,” he said. “If you dare to approach nearer or lay your hand on me I will fire on both of you, for happily my pistol has more than one ball, and it never fails. You see that we are playing a dangerous game, upon whose issue may depend your lives as well as mine. I can shoot you if I desire it, or I can direct this weapon against my own brow if I wish to avoid investigation or imprisonment. But I promise you to do neither the one nor the other, if you will give me the time to say a few words to this lady.”
“Be quick, then,” said the policeman, “or I will call in the soldiers, and they can shoot you as easily as you could shoot us.”
Ranuzi shrugged his shoulders. “You will be very careful not to shoot me. The dead do not speak, and it is very important for my judges that I should speak. Go to that door; I give my word that I will follow you.”
As if to strengthen his words, he raised the hand which held the pistol, and the two men withdrew with threatening glances, to the door.
Ranuzi then turned again to Marietta, who turned her great flashing eyes upon him with an expression of anger and astonishment, mixed with hatred and admiration.
“Marietta,” he said, gently. She trembled at the sound of his voice. He perceived this, and smiled. “Marietta,” he repeated, “you have betrayed me; you have revenged your love! I do not reproach you, my anaconda, but I pray you to tell me one thing; did you send the last letters which I gave you to the post?”
“No,” she replied, compelling her eyes, with a mighty effort, to meet his.
“Wretch! What did you do with them.”
“I sent them to the King of Prussia.”
Ranuzi uttered a shriek, and fell back a step. “Then I am indeed lost,” he murmured, “as well as that unhappy creature, who pines for light and freedom. Poor Trenck! Poor Amelia! All is lost; all through the jealousy of this wretched woman. I tell you, Marietta,” he continued aloud, as he placed his hand heavily on her shoulder, “it is not necessary that I should curse you, you will do that yourself. This hour will act as deadly poison on your heart, of which you will die. It is true, you have revenged yourself. Today you rejoice in this, for you believe that you hate me, but tomorrow you will repent; to-morrow grief will overtake you, and it will grow with every day—you will feel that you must love me for ever and ever; you must love me, because you have wrought my ruin. Yes, you are right—you have discovered the means to keep yourself in my remembrance. In my dungeon I will think of you. I will do so, and curse you; but you also will think of me; and when you do, you will wring your hands and curse yourself, for revenge will not kill the love in your heart. Be that your punishment. Farewell!”
He passed before her, and quietly approached the policemen. “Come, gentlemen, I am quite ready to follow you; and that you may be entirely at ease I will leave my pistol here. It is my legacy to that lady—my last souvenir. Perhaps she may use it in the future.”
He placed the pistol upon her writing-table and hastily approached the door. “Come, gentlemen; I am your prisoner!”
He signed to them to follow him, and walked proudly through the hall.
Marietta stood there trembling and deadly pale—her eyes dilated, her lips opened, as if to utter a shriek. Thus she watched him, breathless, and as if enchained with horror.
Now she saw him open the door of the hall, and throwing back at her one cold, flashing glance, he went out, followed by the police and the soldiers.
“He is gone! he is gone!” she shrieked, as if in a frenzy. “They are leading him to imprisonment—perhaps to death. Oh, to death! It is I who have murdered him. He is right. I am indeed cursed. I have murdered him, and I love him.” And with a wild shriek she sank fainting to the ground.