“I understand you, madam,” said Achard, smiling. “It is not the first time you have pointed out this path, in which you wish to lead me astray. Only to-day, you speak more openly, and if you dared to do so, or if you knew me less, you would offer me some reward to induce me to disobey the last injunctions of him who sleeps by us.”
The marchioness made a gesture as if about to interrupt him.
“Listen to me, madam,” hastily said the old man, stretching forth his hand, “and let my words be considered by you as holy and irrevocable. As faithful as I have been to the promise which I made to the Marchioness d’Auray, so faithful will I be to that I made to the Count de Morlaix, on the day when his son, or your son, shall present himself before me with the token of recognition, and shall demand to know the secret. I shall reveal it to him, madam. As to the papers which attest it, you are aware that they are to be delivered to him only after the death of the Marquis d’Auray. The secret is here,” said the old man, placing his hand upon his heart; “no human power could have extracted it before the time; no human power, that time having arrived, can prevent me from revealing it. The papers are there in that closet, the key of which I always have about me, and it is only by robbery or by assassination that I can be deprived of them.”
“But,” said the marchioness, half rising and supporting herself on the arm of her chair, “you might die before my husband, old man; for although he is more dangerously ill than you are, you are older than he is, and then what would become of those papers?”
“The priest who shall attend my last moments will receive them under the seal of confession.”
“Ah! it is that!” cried the marchioness, rising, “and thus this chain of fears will be prolonged until my death! and the last link of it will be to all eternity rivetted to my tomb. There is in this world a man, the only one perhaps, who is as immoveable as a rock; and God has placed him in my path, not only as a remorse,’ but as a vengeance also. My secret is in your hands, old man,—tis well!—do with it as you will!—you are the master, and I am your slave—farewell!”
So saying, the marchioness left the cottage, and returned towards the chateau.
CHAPTER VIII.—THE SECRET.
More than ten years have passed since I beheld him,
The noble boy; now time annuls my oath
And cancels all his wrongs.
I took a solemn oath to veil the secret,
Conceal thy rights, while lived her lord,
And thus allow’d thy youth to quit my roof.
Bulwer.—The Sea Captain.