They made way,—as did all the men grouped together in the room,—for the entrance of Sergius Thord and Lotys. These two came in together; and with a silent salute which included the whole Committee, ascended the raised platform. Lotys was deadly pale; and the white dress she wore, with its scarlet sash, accentuated that paleness. She appeared for once to move under the dominance of some greater will than her own,—she moved slowly, and her head was bent,—and even to Pasquin Leroy as she passed him, her faint smile of recognition was both sad and cold. Once on the platform, she seated herself at the lower end of the funereally-draped table; and leaning her head on one hand, seemed lost in thought. Thord took his place at the opposite end,—whereupon Johan Zegota moving stealthily to the door, closed it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he in turn mounted the platform, and began in a clear but low voice to call the roll of the members of the Committee.
Each man answered to his name in the same guarded tone; all without a single exception were present;—and Zegota, having completed the catalogue, turned to Thord for further instructions. The rest of the company then seated themselves,—finding their chairs with some little difficulty in the semi-darkness. When the noise of their shuffling feet had ceased, Thord rose and advanced to the front of the platform.
“Friends,” he said slowly; “You are here to-night to determine by the hand of Chance, or Destiny, which of certain traitors among many thousands, shall meet with the punishment his treachery deserves. In the list of those who are to-night marked down for death is Carl Pérousse;—happy the man that draws that name and is able to serve as the liberator to his country! Another, is the Jew, David Jost,—because it has been chiefly at his persuasion that the heads of the Government have been tempted to gamble for their own personal motives with the secrets of State policy. Another, is the Marquis de Lutera;—who though he has, possibly through fear, resigned office, is to blame for having made his own private fortune,—as well as the fortunes of all the members of his family,—out of the injuries and taxations inflicted on the People. To his suggestion we owe the cruel price of bread,—the tax on corn, a necessity of life;—on his policy rests the responsibility of opening our Trades to such an over-excess of Foreign Competition and Supply that our native work and our native interests are paralysed by the strain. To him,—as well as to Carl Pérousse, we owe the ridiculous urbanities of such extreme foreign diplomacies as expose our secret forces of war to our rivals;—from him emanates the courteous and almost servile attention with which we foolishly exhibit our naval and military defences to our enemies. We assume that a Minister who graciously permits a foreign arsenal to copy our guns—a foreign dockyard to copy and to emulate our ships,—is a traitor to the prosperity and continued power of the country. Two of the great leaders in Trade are named on the Death-list;—one because, in spite of many warnings, he employs foreign workmen only; the other, because he ‘sweats’ native labour. The removal of all these persons will be a boon to the country—the clearing of a plague of rats from the national House and Exchequer! Lastly, the King is named;—because,—though he has rescued the system of National Education from Jesuit interference and threatening priestly dominance, he has turned a deaf ear to other equally pressing petitions of his People,—and also because he does nothing to either influence or guide society to its best and highest ends. Under his rule, learning is set at naught—Art, Science and Literature, the three saving graces which make for the peace, prosperity and fraternity of nations,—are rendered valueless, because no example is set which would give them their rightful prominence,—and wine, cards and women are substituted,—the three evil fates between which the honour of the Throne is brought into contempt. We should know and remember that Lotys, when she lately saved the life of the King, did,—as she herself can tell you,—plead personally with him to save the people from the despotic government of Carl Pérousse and his pernicious ‘majority’;—but though she rescued the monarch at the risk of her own much more valuable existence—and equally at the risk of being misunderstood and condemned by this very Society to which her heart and soul are pledged,—he refused to even consider her entreaty. Therefore, we may be satisfied that he has been warned;—but it would seem that the warning is of no avail;—and whosoever to-night draws the name of the King must be swift and sure in his business!”
There was a deep pause. Suddenly Max Graub rose, his bulky form and great height giving him an almost Titanesque appearance in the gloom of the chamber. Raising one hand as a signal, he asked permission to speak, which was instantly accorded.
“To my chief, Sergius Thord, and my comrades,” he said with a slight military salutation; “I wish to explain what perhaps they have already discovered,—that I am a poor and uncouth German,—not altogether conversant with your language,—and considerably bewildered by your social ethics;—so that if I do not entirely understand things as I should, you will perhaps pardon my ignorance, which includes other drawbacks of my disposition. But when death is in question, I am always much interested,—having spent all my days in trying to find out ways and means of combating man’s chief enemy on his own ground. Because,—though I fully admit the usefulness of death as a cleanser and solvent; and as a means of clearing off hopelessly-useless persons, I am not at all sure that it is an advisable way to get rid of the healthy and the promising. I speak as a physician merely,—with an eye to what is called the ‘stock’ of the human race; and what I now want to know is this: On what scientific, ethical, or religious grounds, do you wish to get rid of the King? Science, ethics, and religion being only in the present day so many forms of carefully ministering to one’s Self, and one’s own particular humour, you will understand that I mean,—as concerns the ‘happy dispatch’ of this same King,—what good will it do to you?”
There was a silence. No one vouchsafed any explanation. After a considerable pause, Thord replied.
“It will do us no good. But it will show the country that we exist to revenge injustice!”
“But—is the King unjust?”
“Can you ask it?” replied Thord with a certain grave patience. “During your association with us, have you not learned?—and do you not know?”
“Sit down, Graub!” interrupted Pasquin Leroy suddenly; “I know the King’s ways well enough,—and I can swear upon my honour that he deserves the worst that can be done to him!”