The Mystery of the Lost Dauphin Part 2

"O Amelie, is not that enough?"

"Enough, indeed," she answered, wrenching away her hands. "Farewell, Monsieur Marquis de Breze. We have exchanged our last words." And she sped into the house before he could detain her.

Chapter II

MEMORIES

The Marquis remained at the grating, hoping that Amelie would return.

When night closed in and she showed no signs of relenting, he wandered aimlessly through the streets, walking slowly, abstractedly, his mind absorbed with the beautiful imperious girl he so loved and between whom and himself had been thrust the proofs of her father's felony. He became oblivious of even the need of food, though he had eaten nothing since reaching England and putting up at the Hotel Douglas, a fourth-cla.s.s tavern selected with the object of concealment from chance compatriots.

His wanderings conducted him back to the Thames, from whose turbid surface towered the masts of many vessels as they rocked at their moorings, His eyes rested vacantly on the waters, spangled with reflections of the stars overhead, as he recalled the history of his pa.s.sion for this unknown woman and his first meeting with her in the home of Elois Adhemar, the miller on the de Breze estate.

Rene had been in the habit of stopping for a gla.s.s of beer or warm milk at the mill, on returning from hunts on his fertile and extensive domains, and sundry pretty gallantries did he whisper into the ear of his host's winsome daughter, Genevieve--village beauty and rustic coquette--with a deep bosom and gleaming teeth.

When during the Revolution the de Breze castle was fired, a torch was simultaneously applied to the Adhemar mill, for these loyal servitors were stanch legitimists. The Marquis de Breze and the Count de Lestrier, father and uncle respectively to Rene, were at the time in exile with the royal family. Elois Adhemar had fled to Switzerland, serving as a hand at the great mill of Berne, from which city he returned as an expert miller to France while the revolutionary ferment was quieting down. He repaired the mill and awaited the arrival of the de Breze family, which was to regain possession of its estates with the advent of the Restoration. Rene was the head of the family, for his father had died in foreign lands. His mother, the d.u.c.h.ess de Rousillon, rebuilt the castle with increased magnificence, and it was during her occupation of it with her son that the latter contracted the habit of visiting the faithful Adhemar.

One day he met at the miller's house a young girl whom the family called Mademoiselle Amelie. She had come to renew her broken health in the fresh country air. Rene, standing now by the river, recalled his first vision of her, and fairylike memories flitted through his brain like a swarm of golden b.u.t.terflies. Was she more beautiful than Genevieve? He could not answer, but he knew well that thoughts a.s.sociated with the personality of Genevieve were impossible in the atmosphere of Amelie, for not only was she different from the miller's daughter, but from all women he had known. Only on cameos, medallions, rare miniatures and enamelled boxes had he beheld her patrician type of beauty. Her eyes, tenderly imperious and her lips of regal sweetness never failed to quicken in him an adoring mood.

So great was his infatuation that he did not seek to ascertain her origin, for she seemed to have descended from heaven. One circ.u.mstance, however, forced itself on his attention, namely that while the miller's daughter treated Amelie as a companion, Adhemar himself evinced toward her a deference which closely approached reverence.

"She is the daughter," he would say, "of persons who protected me during my exile."

How sweet had been those days! He recalled the walks during the summer along the river bank fringed with lilies and reeds and shaded by the languid foliage of willows, her arm intertwined in his, their feet moving rhythmically together; and then the return home in the moonlight with the perfume of honey-suckle and wild mint in their faces. In his ravishment he failed to note the satirical remarks and jealous glances of Genevieve. His eyes were for Amelie only who, pale at first like a wilted rose, rapidly recovered health and animation. What most captivated him was her air of distinction, her native dignity, her manners of a _grande dame_, so unaccountable in a girl of obscure origin. He said to himself that, compared with Amelie, the arrogant d.u.c.h.ess de Rousillon, his mother, was a woman most ordinary, almost vulgar.

It was not long before the news spread throughout the district that the Marquis de Breze, the best match in the country, was to wed a young foreign girl of low extraction who had, in charity, been given an asylum at the mill. The d.u.c.h.ess de Rousillon was absent in Paris at the time, for the purpose of securing from the government of the Restoration the return of properties confiscated during the Reign of Terror.

One morning as the young Marquis was tranquilly sleeping, dreaming, perhaps, of his fair Dulcinea, his arm was roughly shaken and he opened his eyes upon the angry countenance of his mother, who held toward him an open letter. There was no signature, but Rene recognized the coa.r.s.e scrawls and crude expressions of Genevieve. It was addressed to the d.u.c.h.ess and announced the intended marriage of her son to an adventuress who had found refuge at the mill.

"I suppose," said the lady disdainfully, "that this is only a half-truth. Whether your gallantries relate to this girl or to some other is a matter having no interest for me. What I demand to know is this: Have you pledged your word?"

Rene raised himself on his elbow and answered: "If Amelie consents, we shall be married."

The tempest following this announcement and the ensuing days of conflict still lived vividly in the mind of the Marquis as the bitterest experience of his life, especially that occasion when the d.u.c.h.ess ordered her carriage for the purpose of interviewing Amelie. She took this resolution after receiving from Court a letter which seemed to throw her into a violent agitation. On reaching the mill, she demanded to see Amelie, who appeared with a quiet air of unconcern. The d.u.c.h.ess stared at her and seemed almost petrified, not mentioning her son. After some incoherent phrases, she stammered that the object of her visit was to look upon so beautiful a girl. On taking leave, she bowed obsequiously, her customary aplomb having been transformed into something very like the confusion of a raw peasant. The miller was ordered to accompany her home and, on reaching the castle, they were closeted together for over two hours. On leaving the apartment, Adhemar staggered like one drunk with wine and the d.u.c.h.ess flung herself in rage into a chair. That afternoon two journeys were begun; Adhemar accompanied Amelie to Calais and the d.u.c.h.ess forced her son to go with her to Paris.

O those first days of separation! The Marquis shut the door upon the friends who had been his life-long a.s.sociates. He wished only to be in London, reunited to Amelie, but, not knowing her address, to find her would be impossible. At last a letter from her, forwarded by Adhemar, gave him the needed information. He was about to set out when a slow fever fastened upon him and kept him in bed for three months. He did not tell Amelie of his condition, fearing to alarm her. His letters were brief, but they breathed an unswerving devotion. When returning health sent the impetuous blood of youth through his veins, he declared to his mother an unalterable determination to persist in his love for the stranger girl. Then it was that, like a bomb exploding at his feet, these ominous words fell from the lips of the d.u.c.h.ess:

"It would be insanity in the Marquis de Breze to bestow his name on the daughter of a mechanic by occupation, a vagabond without lineage, of tainted blood, an adventurer who has roamed over Europe, supported in his youth by a woman of middle age whom there is good reason to suppose was his mistress. I knew well these particulars, dear son of mine, and you may imagine how they hara.s.sed me, but I rebuked myself, saying that dignity and morality might exist in the humblest rank. Still, as those who are not blinded by love must ascertain facts, I investigated the situation and obtained these corroborating doc.u.ments. You will admit that my course has not been one of capricious obstinacy. Listen. The father of your idol, by name Naundorff, seems to be of Jewish extraction. His past is sullied by grave felonies. Here is the deposition of the burgomaster of Spandau and letters from other Prussian authorities--a formal conviction, in fact. As an incendiary, he set fire to the city theatre, as a counterfeiter, he manufactured sackfuls of coins, which, when caught in the act, he flung into the river Spree. He expiated his flagitious acts by serving in the penitentiary of Alstadt the sentence imposed by a German court. Now you know the truth and if you still desire to unite the Naundorff blazonry with the unblemished arms of Breze, glorious with crusader trophies, you are free to do so. I cannot restrain you. If I could, I should. I have discharged my duty in warning you. You cannot allege ignorance. And now, Rene, leave me. I trust soon to know whether the heir of Rousillon lives or whether I must mourn his pa.s.sing."

This was the speech which the young Marquis had, earlier in the evening, abridged and modified before Amelie. And now, living over again the scene at the trellis, he felt that she would not forgive him and, nevertheless, that he could not live without her. Knightly honor, family pride, the obligations of n.o.bility--all were impotent in combating his love for the fascinating, imperious girl.

Chapter III

THE a.s.sAULT

Telling himself that he was reprehensively weak in failing to resist his pa.s.sion, Rene gazed out upon the river. He reflected that its dark surface had closed over many human sorrows and perplexities which seemed beyond alleviation. A chill crept over him, then a dizziness, as he gazed into the glistening, alluring current of the Thames.

In such situations, the slightest whisper is enough to break the spell.

The Marquis started on beholding two men emerge from a noisome alley, conversing in French. When abroad, our native tongue always claims our attention, especially when one using it happens to p.r.o.nounce a familiar name. These men twice spoke the name of Amelie's father, whereupon Rene stealthily followed the pair. He could not distinguish the topic of their conversation but was quite close enough to study the physical type of each of the suspicious characters, one of whom was close-shaven, coa.r.s.e and short of stature, the other tall, full-bearded, alert and enveloped in a huge overcoat which concealed half his face. They walked slowly, peering at intervals in all directions. On perceiving Rene, they nudged each other, for the Marquis's fine clothes were out of keeping with the place, which was the thoroughfare of dissolute and disorderly sailors. They ceased talking and, a few moments later, suddenly turned a corner and disappeared in the labyrinth of malodorous, ill-lighted alleys. Rene realized that they had eluded him, but his hunter's scent and nimble legs put him again upon their trail. Why this espionage? He could scarcely have answered had he been questioned.

When he next perceived them, they were standing beneath the yellow lantern of a tavern. He saw them enter the filthy place, order some gla.s.ses of beer, which they gulped down like genuine Londoners and make their exit. Guardedly he followed them into the wider and better-lighted streets, through which rolled an occasional cab. Again they described a capricious curve, descended towards the river and emerged upon the park which faced the small house and garden--the scene of Rene's colloquy with Amelie. On noting the coincidence, his heart beat fast and the movement was quickened when he perceived that the wily couple were ambuscading back of the great trees in the centre of the square.

Connecting the name he had twice heard spoken by the ruffians--for so he cla.s.sified them--with the place of their concealment, he conjectured that an act was about to be perpetrated which would affect Amelie, an act in which he must interpose, whether impelled by fate or chance. He crept into the zone of shade cast by the dense foliage, his gray cloak blending in color with the walls and making him almost invisible.

The park remained deserted. The night grew darker each moment and the silence was broken only by the solemn striking of the church clock or the impatient step of a laborer returning homeward. Just as the hour of nine struck, a man appeared from that side of the park opposite the spot where Rene was watching. As he entered, walking leisurely, the two concealed men stepped forth and with a preconcerted movement placed themselves, the one on the stranger's right, the other on his left. Rene had scarcely realized what had occurred when the a.s.sault began. A few vigorous leaps brought him quickly to the a.s.sistance of the victim just as the a.s.sailants were about to deliver their blows. He seized the uplifted arm of the more threatening one, the tall man with the great coat, whose intended cudgel-blow was thereby made harmless.

The stranger, having no other weapon than a cane, rained blows upon the enemy until he wrenched himself loose and fled. Rene then turned upon the accomplice, seized him by the throat with both hands and gradually tightened his hold until the man's face was purple from strangulation.

Then he released him, but, suddenly feeling a sharp sensation in his shoulder, he renewed his grasp, maintaining the pressure until the villain fell inert, dropping his weapon. The a.s.saulted man quickly seized the Marquis by the arm and dragged him toward the house, saying in a voice full of emotion:

"Come, let us hasten. If the police detect us, we are lost."

He spoke in French with a German accent.

"I cannot," said Rene staggering. "I am wounded and too weak to walk."

Throwing his arms around Rene in order to sustain him, the stranger conducted him to his home, rapping three times in a peculiar manner upon the door, which was then opened by a woman of attractive form and features and apparently about thirty-five years of age. She shrieked on beholding the condition of the two men.

"'Tis a wounded gentleman, Jeanne--wounded in defending me," said the stranger in an authoritative voice. "Close the door securely and help me to examine his wounds."

The woman obeyed, leaving her lamp on a stand, and aided her husband in placing Rene upon a lounge in the room next the entrance. Not till then did she dare to whisper:

"And you, Charles Louis; has any ill befallen you?"

"Nothing but a slight scratch on the elbow. Quickly bring some water, ether, balsam and court-plaster and linen. Call Amelie. She is courageous."

While Jeanne hastened to execute these commands, Charles Louis unfastened Rene's outer garments, also his close-fitting jacket, removing the lace-trimmed s.h.i.+rt soaked in blood and disclosing a wound near the left shoulder-blade, the ruffian's dagger having been aimed for a dangerous lung thrust. His weakness was due entirely to loss of blood, which, continuing to flow, had left a dark, clotted stain on his white skin. When Jeanne returned with the restoratives, Rene was smiling tranquilly. A girl in white entered the apartment, holding a wax taper and, upon recognizing Rene, pale, blood-stained and nude to the waist, she uttered a cry of terror and dropped the light.

"What is the matter, Amelie?" asked her father. "Do not be alarmed, my daughter. Thank G.o.d that our unknown friend is no longer in danger. Come nearer and hold the light still a moment. Now the bandage. Bring one of my s.h.i.+rts, also my great-coat and a gla.s.s of cognac or a little coffee."

"Do not trouble yourselves further. I am doing well," declared the wounded man. "At the Hotel Douglas I have changes of clothing."

Rene's eyes pa.s.sionately sought those of Amelie, which, dilated with terror, could not unfasten themselves from his face.

The host insisted: "It is too late to go to the Hotel. The streets, as we have seen, are dangerous. Accept, then, for a little while the clothes of a humble artisan, Monsieur--?"

"Rene de Giac, Marquis de Breze."

"Charles Louis Naundorff," said the host introducing himself. "And these are my wife and daughter. Will you believe me when I say that I knew you were a Frenchman when you sprang to my defense?"

On hearing that Rene had protected her father, Amelie approached her lover and gave him a look that was all radiance, an abandon of the soul, an unconditional surrender. It lasted but a moment. Had it been prolonged, it would have melted the heart of the man who, not long before, meditated a leap into the Thames.

"To be a Frenchman and to be a hero from choice are mutual corollaries.