“I inquired in what manner the letter had arrived there, but all those in my service declared they knew nothing about it.
“When I was alone I opened the mysterious letter, and by the light of my lamp I read as follows:—
“‘Console yourself. I have just cast the horoscope of the child now born. He will not deprive you of the crown. He will not live when his father ceases to reign. Another than you, however, will succeed Louis XVI.; but, nevertheless, you will one day be King of France. Woe to him who will be in your place. Rejoice that you are without posterity; the existence of your sons would be threatened with too great calamities, for your family will drink to the dregs the most bitter contents of the cup of Destiny. Adieu! Tremble for your life if you try to discover me.—I am
“‘Death.’
“I got up and made a copy of this letter ... but on fixing my eyes on the letters in white ink on black paper ... I saw them disappear. I recognised in this phenomenon a chemical preparation by which the mysterious characters would become absorbed after a certain time.” [101]
No trace was ever found of the person who wrote or conveyed the letter.
It is easy to see that the present state of affairs in France offered the most dangerous and the strongest temptation to private vengeance. Any one who had an enemy or who had been offended by any one else, or even who wished to remove some person whose existence was inconvenient to them, had only to “denounce” them for some trifle which they might or might not have said or done; they were sure to be arrested, and most likely to be put to death.
The following story is an example of the kind.
The Marquis de ——, a proud, stern man of a reserved and apparently cold temperament, had a young wife whom he adored. Their married life went on prosperously for some years, at the end of which the young Marquise was seized with a fatal illness. When on her death-bed she confessed to her husband, who was nearly frantic with grief, that she had once, several years since, been unfaithful to him, that remorse in consequence had poisoned her happiness, and that she could not die in peace without his forgiveness. The Marquis consented to pardon her fault on condition that she would tell him the name of her seducer, which she did, after having extorted from her husband a solemn promise that he would not challenge him to a duel, as she feared the blood of one or the other might rest upon her soul.