“Of course I care to have it so, Monsieur Merriwell,” said the duke, immediately extending his hand, which Frank accepted.
The young American noticed that the hand of the man was cold as ice, and it trembled the least bit in his grasp.
“I am sure, monsieur, that you are not feeling well,” he said.
“I am feeling strangely,” admitted the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I do not understand what it is, unless——”
He shivered again, glancing around with that hunted look. Then he tried to force a laugh, saying:
“It cannot be so. For all of the sign, I will not believe my time has come. I have a work to do, a great work—for the honor of France!”
Frank had read in the newspapers—Frank’s trip occurred some years ago—how the Duke of Benoit du Sault had taken up the work for Dreyfus just where Monsieur Zola had been forced to abandon it, and how by doing so he had aroused an army of rabid and howling enemies about his ears. To escape imprisonment, Zola, the great novelist, had fled from France, and it was more than hinted that the Duke of Benoit du Sault might have to do likewise.
Frank was confident of the innocence of Dreyfus, the unfortunate Jew, who had once been an officer in the French Army, but had been accused of betraying the army’s secrets to rival powers, had been publicly disgraced and condemned to life imprisonment on Devil’s Island, a barren bit of rock and sand, far from France, on the burning bosom of a torrid sea.
Merry had read with great interest about the case, and, being a lover of justice, it was but natural that his soul should be stirred when he thought how Dreyfus had been convicted and condemned on evidence of which he knew absolutely nothing. The trial had been conducted in secret, and the public at large, like the condemned man, knew nothing of the proofs which established Dreyfus’ guilt.
The story of Madame Dreyfus’ devotion, and her unceasing efforts in behalf of her husband had touched Merry. He read how she had appealed to power after power, but all her appeals had seemed in vain till Monsieur Zola had cast himself into the arena, like a gladiator, and taken up the battle. But even Zola, great novelist and political factor as he was, was unable to stand against the army, and in France “the army can do no wrong,” so it was claimed that Dreyfus had been justly judged, and all who sought to show otherwise were enemies of France. The agitation aroused a terrible sentiment against the Jews, and there were repeated riots in the courts and on the streets. Zola and his friends contended against public sentiment and prejudice, and the whole affair which followed was a travesty of justice.