For Love of a Bedouin Maid

by Voleur

Seated in it were two persons. One was a venerable looking old man with a white beard; the other a man not much past thirty, but looking almost middle-aged, and with the stamp of care and melancholy on his features. The first was the old man Abdallah, who had accompanied Halima in her journey from the desert to the shores of France, and had since established himself in Paris as a jeweler. His companion was St. Just, but so changed in looks that his former friends would not have known him. It was not hard work—though he had been no sluggard in the interval—that had wrought this transformation, but the preyings of an uneasy mind; disappointment, shame, remorse, self-contempt, and, later, jealousy, had kept him without a moment's peace and added two decades to his looks. Major St. Just, the aide-de-camp of Buonaparte, had been a well-set, muscular young fellow, with a bright brown eye and the glow of health upon his cheek; full of life and ardor, with a springy step, and having the soul of honor. Captain Henri, the English spy, was gray and shriveled, his face all scored with lines, his eyes dull and shifting, shrinking from the glance of his fellow men, his visage shrouded with a veil of gloom and sadness; and he walked with the slow, uncertain gait of a man who seeks to shuffle by without attracting notice. Still, for one on the weather side of fifty, he would have been deemed by those who had not known him in his better days, a handsome man, for his features were well-molded and refined.

During the four years, or nearly so, that had elapsed since he had left Paris, a Buonapartist agent on the mission, which had culminated in his presence, as a prisoner, at the battle of Trafalgar, his life had been a chequered one, and, more than once, he had been in the direst peril.

Halima had sent him here and there and everywhere, according to her whim, and he had not dared refuse. In fact he had been little more than her messenger. The usual relations between wife and husband had in their case been reversed. It had been her part to issue orders, his to execute them. He had seen but little of her, for he had been almost always journeying, and might almost as well have had no wife. Once or twice he had feebly attempted to rebel, but she had quickly cowed him into submission by the threat of breaking off all relations with him.

She had become more masterful than ever, more restless and excitable and more active and determined in her plots against Napoleon; she was, indeed, the moving spirit amongst the conspirators. For all that, in her husband's absence, she found time for her amours, and indulged in them with all the passion and abandon of her nature.

She had despatched her husband—the news of his presence at the battle of Trafalgar had leaked out, and it was confidently reported to the French Government that he had met his death there—on many secret expeditions; for instance, he had gone as the accredited agent of the English Government to Spain and Austria; he had had interviews with persons trusted by the "Man of Destiny," but who had revealed to him secrets of the highest political importance; he had even gone so far afield as the United States.

Many a strange tale could Fouché's agents have narrated of a certain Jules Durand—one of St. Just's pseudonyms—who had had long interviews with their Chief, and had made numerous journeys between France and England, his real character and personality being unsuspected.

And Halima, though her headquarters were in England, had made several flying visits to the Continent, in the prosecution of her schemes. On one occasion, at the very time that the Emperor Alexander was being entertained by Napoleon with imperial magnificence, she, in the person of a certain Mademoiselle de Deauville, interviewed the Russian Emperor, when the subject of his attitude towards England was discussed, and negotiations, that resulted in the subsequent alliance of the two Powers, were begun. Plot after plot was foiled, but still she was not daunted, every failure seeming only to strengthen her resolve and the bitterness of her animosity towards the Emperor of the French.

But to return to the occupants of the post-chaise, which was speeding through the darkness as fast as horses could lay hoof to ground.

On the seat opposite to them was a small box. The older man was endeavoring to dissuade the other from some course on which he seemed strongly bent.

"Be advised by me, Monsieur," he said, laying his hand persuasively on the other's arm; "do not move further in this matter. Let me order the postilions to turn their horses' heads again towards Paris. It is for your own sake I ask it."