CHAPTER CLXII.
THE NEMESIS.
Meanwhile where was the siren who had lured Szekuly to destruction? Where was she for whose sake Carl Podstadsky had precipitated himself into the waters of obloquy? When the waves had engulfed him, she had disappeared, and the last sounds that had rung in his ears were the sounds of her cruel mirth!
Was there no punishment in reserve for such atrocity? No punishment for this woman without heart, without pity, without remorse? Would no hand unmask this beautiful fiend?
The hand is ready, but it is invisible; and Arabella, in her newfound security, is dazzled at the magnitude of her own good fortune. "Whom the gods wish to destroy they first blind." True, she had lost her gold, the price of Szekuly's good fame; but she was not poor; her jewels were worth many such a coffer of ducats. Once in possession of her casket, she was again rich, happy, and courted. Not a creature, save Giuseppe, knew the whereabouts of this precious casket, and with it they must away to Paris!
It was dusk, and Giuseppe, with a travelling carriage, once more awaited his mistress at the corner of the street. There remained nothing to do now but to remove the coffer from its hiding-place, and that was the work of half an hour. Arabella had the key of the little postern, and there was no danger of spies, for the house was empty. Having avowed herself to be the pensioned mistress of Podstadsky, the law had placed its seal upon her effects, and they were all to be sold for the benefit of the count's creditors.
The night was dark, and the street lanterns were propitiously dim. Here and there was heard the step of a solitary foot-passenger, and from time to time the monotonous tramp of the patrol. One of these patrols had just passed the garden-wall of the hotel, of which the Countess Baillou had been the presiding goddess. He looked up at the darkened windows as he went, wondered whither the goddess had flown, and walked on. When the echo of his step had died away from the pavement, and the last beams of the lantern were flickering out, a dark, slender form emerged from one of the pillars of the wall, and glided toward the little side-door, which opened on that narrow street. The key was in the door, it clicked in the lock, and the figure disappeared within. All was quiet.
"I am safe," thought she; "not a sound is within hearing. Now for my treasures, and away I away from this hateful city forever!"
"Whom the gods would destroy, they first blind."
Arabella never suspected that, under cover of darkness, others besides herself were lurking in that garden; and now as she advanced toward the house, two tall figures approached the postern, and stationed themselves on either side of it.
"She is caught," whispered one.
"Yes," replied another, "the bird has come of its own accord into the net. We must wait now until we receive further orders."
Arabella, meanwhile, looked exultingly at the dark clouds which overhung the sky, and almost laughed. "Thank you, fair moon," said she, "for withdrawing your splendor at my behest. Tomorrow you shall shed your soft beams upon my flight, for then I shall need your friendly light. Far away from Vienna, I shall be rich, happy, and free!"
Now she was at the servants' entrance. Oh, how the hinges creaked, as she opened the door! But what of it? No one was there to hear the sound. How foolishly her heart was beating! Now she was inside, and, with spasmodic haste, she bolted herself within. The darkness was intense. She could not see her hand before her, and in spite of herself a cold chill ran through her frame, and her knees trembled with vague terror. What if, through this black expanse, a hand should suddenly touch hers! and—"Oh, how dreadful is this darkness!" thought she. "I might die here, and no one could come to my help! I feel as I did once before, on that night of horror in Italy!"
She shuddered, and, almost swooning with fright, cowered under the shelter of the marble balustrade, to which she had by this time groped her way. And now, before her terrified soul, swept phantom after phantom, all from the miserable spirit-land of the past. Once more she lived through a night dark as this, when a wretched, betrayed, dishonored girl, she had slunk through the streets of Rome in search of death—death and annihilation in the black waves of the Tiber. She felt the waters engulf her, she heard her own death-cry, the last protest of youth against self-destruction; and then she felt the grasp of Podstadsky—Podstadsky who, in restoring her to the world, had laid a new curse upon her life. Until then she had been luxurious, frivolous, pleasure-loving; but in the Tiber she had found a new and terrible baptism—the baptism of crime. Without love she had consented to become Podstadsky's mistress, and so became the partner of his guilt. Together they had planned their bold schemes of fraud, and, oh, how successful they had been until this last misfortune! At all events, her connection with Podstadsky was at an end. The pillory had liberated her, and now—now she would lead a blameless life. No more fraud—no more theft. Crime was too dangerous; she saw that it must inexorably lead to shame. She would be satisfied with what she had, and become a virtuous woman. She was quite rich enough to be good, and it would be such bliss to live without a guilty secret!
She laughed, and then shivered at the sound of her own voice, and a supernatural terror took such violent hold of her imagination, that she could no longer bear the darkness. She must see, or she would die of fear. Giuseppe had provided her with a dark lantern, a vial of phosphorus, and some matches.
"How delightful it is to have this new invention!" thought she, as, touching the phosphorus, she struck a light. With this light she felt a little reassured, but could she have seen her blanched, terror-stricken face, she would have screamed, and fancied it a spectre!
Hush! Was there a muffled sound behind her? She paused and listened, her eyes glaring as though they would start from their sockets. Pshaw! it was only the rustling of her own silk mantle as it went trailing up the marble staircase. Nothing in human shape was there, save two pale statues, which stood like dead sentinels at the head of the stairs. As she passed these she shuddered, and almost fancied that they had stepped from their pedestals to follow her. Giving one quick glance behind, she sped like a hunted doe through those halls, of which so lately she had been the pride, and arrived breathless at the door of her boudoir. She darted in, and there, safe in its place, was the picture.
This gave her courage. But she must have rest after her fearful pilgrimage through that dark, empty house. She sank upon her satin lounge, and abandoned herself to the joy and security of the hour. She had just come to the end of a perilous journey. Night and danger were behind, the rosy morning of safety was about to dawn. She was so full of joyous emotion, that scarcely knowing what she did, her lips began to move in unconscious prayer!
Prayer! She had no right to such a privilege as that; and starting from her seat, lest she should falter in the purpose of her visit, she quickly removed the picture, touched the spring, and the precious coffer stood revealed.
No, no, she could never give it up! She stretched out her arms, and pressed it to her heart, as a mother does her only child. Trembling with eager joy, she placed it on the table, and opening it, contemplated her treasures on their beds of crimson velvet.
How they sparkled! How they seemed to burn with splendor as the rays of the little lantern coquetted with their beauty! She was repaid for all her terrors, she was happy and secure!
"Whom the gods would destroy, they first blind."
She was so absorbed in the magnificence of her diamond necklace for which she had been indebted to the Princess Garampi, that she did not hear the footfall of the men who were close behind her. They smiled, and pantomimed one to another as they watched her toying with her flashing jewels.
Then suddenly springing forward, as if they feared she might escape through the secret opening in the wall, they grasped her with their powerful hands, and she was once more a prisoner.
"The emperor can no longer defend his beautiful countess," said the one who seemed to direct the others. "We have caught her in the act of robbing Count Podstadsky's creditors. And, unless I am mistaken, we shall find among her booty all the jewels that were missing at last winter's entertainments; for, as I had the honor of reminding his majesty, the Countess Baillou was at every ball where jewels were lost. I told the emperor that if he would give you freedom, I engaged to find something more than a mare's nest when I tracked you hither. I was sure you would come, and my spies have been within, waiting for you since this morning."
"What reward was promised by the emperor for my detection?" said
Arabella, now self-possessed.
"Five hundred ducats," was the reply.
"Five hundred ducats?" repeated she, tossing back her beautiful head. "A beggarly reward for the person of a lady of rank like me! Take this necklace, and divide it between you. Each one will then have more than the frugal emperor has promised to all. Take it and give me my freedom. Your generous act will never be known."
"How, lady! You would bribe us, as you have bribed so many noble cavaliers? No, no. Your game is at an end, and if ever you appear in public again, it will be as a criminal. You must come with me. You, men, take up this coffer."
She strove no longer. Without another word she took the arm of the police-officer and went firmly forward.
Her lips moved, and she murmured: "Alas he is right. My career is at an end." [Footnote: This beautiful woman, "the ornament of the most elegant circles in Vienna," as she is called by the chroniclers of the times, was condemned to three days of pillory, the same punishment as that suffered by the victim of her wickedness and coquetry. She was then sent guarded to the confines of Austria, from whence she was banished for life.—See Hubner, ii., 392. Gross-Hoffinger, iii.]