“Once more I ask you, Monsieur,” he insisted: “Do you consent freely and heartily to the death of Captain André Narcy; and do you consent freely and heartily to survive him, at the simple cost of a few years of pleasurable captivity?”
I made no effort to understand, this time. I shrugged my shoulders and answered bluntly:
“No.”
Once and again the marquis tossed his head.
“Monsieur, you are making a great mistake,” said he; and his bright, restless eyes swept me with a glance of severe disapprobation: “A great mistake, Monsieur! I am a very very old man. May I plead indulgence for my years and employ toward you the language a grandfather might use toward one of his children’s children? You are a stubborn bad-tempered boy—naughty, would be almost the word. You are rebelling petulantly against an inexorable destiny which, nevertheless, is deaf to the whimpering of men. Yes, it is childish of you; your conduct is not seemly in a grown man. I hope you cannot be imagining that a simple ‘no’ from you is going to cause us so very much embarrassment, or that we are going to commit suicide just because you refuse a real favor at our hands! Agreed: we will not kill you, whatever happens. But do not speculate too rashly on the horror of bloodshed which we so deeply feel. You have little to gain from it. You have been able to see from what I have told you how little, on the whole, we hesitate where women are concerned. Nothing would be easier that to sacrifice the so-called honor of the girl you love in exchange for the peace of mind of us three old men. No, nothing would be easier—as the count here explained to you, only a moment ago.”
And at this point he too shrugged his shoulders. After a moment’s pause, he resumed:
“What do you say, Monsieur? Shall we stop all this nonsense, and play the game with cards face up on the table? Look here: my idea, as I intimated, is to deceive the civil and military authorities of Toulon, and the newspapers and the public of Toulon, in regard to what has actually happened to you. They will, in other words, believe you dead. Your death certificate will be duly filed, your obituary written, your grave dug, and filled. In such a case, no one will ever dream of looking for you away off here in this lonely mansion, where you will continue to live, temporarily, the life that we are living—temporarily, I say; for as I promised a bare moment ago, you will be set at liberty again, and as soon as possible, in some distant country. What is there so terrible in all that for a man in your situation—unmarried, without dependents, without serious responsibilities of any kind? Now, for staging the first act of this trifling comedy, your coöperation is absolutely indispensable. This fictitious corpse they are to bury with military honors, honors worthily your due, Monsieur, why—I cannot produce it with the wave of a magic wand over a cucumber, as some fairy godmother might do in a Christmas tale; but I can produce it in a manner quite as satisfactory—only, to do so, I must have your help, a help which, I repeat, must be freely, spontaneously, proffered!”
I had listened I know not whether with greater surprise or alarm. At his concluding words I saw the Count François and the Vicomte Antoine turn with one movement toward their respective parent and grandparent, their eyes aflame with a sudden intelligence as though some revelation which had not yet dawned on me had come to them. Once more I mustered all the forces of my faltering will; and I said:
“Why all this beating about the bush? You have the upper hand. Why so particular about the precise form of blackmail you will eventually resort to? I have already offered my life in ransom for the life of Madame de X....? Do you want me to repeat that offer? Very well! I am still ready. Do your will upon me!”
Several times the Marquis Gaspard waved a broad wide-open hand from right to left, each gesture timed to an exclamation of protest: