by Mór Jókai
PART I
CYTHERA'S BRIGADE
CHAPTER I
A snow-storm was raging with such vigor that any one who chanced to bepassing along the silent thoroughfare might well have believed himselfin St. Petersburg instead of in Paris, in the Rue des Ours, a sidestreet leading into the Avenue St. Martin. The street, never a very busyone, was now almost deserted, as was also the avenue, as it was yet tooearly for vehicles of various sorts to be returning from the theatre.
The street-lamps on the corners had not yet been lighted. In front ofone of those old-fashioned houses which belong to a former Paris a heavyiron lantern swung, creaking in the wind, and, battling with thedarkness, shed flickering rays of light on the child who, with a fadedred cotton shawl wrapped about her, was cowering in the deep doorway ofthe house. From time to time there would emerge from the whirlingsnowflakes the dark form of a man clad as a laborer. He would walkleisurely toward the doorway in which the shivering child was concealed,but would turn when he came to the circle of light cast on the snowypavement by the swinging lantern, and retrace his steps, thus appearingand disappearing at regular intervals. Surely a singular time and placefor a promenade! The clocks struck ten--the hour which found everyhonest dweller within the Quartier St. Martin at home. On this evening,however, two belated citizens came from somewhere, their hurryingfootsteps noiseless in the deep snow, their approach announced only bythe lantern carried by one of them--an article without which norespectable citizen at the beginning of the century would have venturedon the street after nightfall. One of the pedestrians was tall andbroad-shouldered, with a handsome countenance, which bore the impress ofan inflexible determination; a dimple indented his smoothly shaven chin.His companion, and his senior by several years, was a slender,undersized man.
When the two men came abreast of the doorway illumined by the swinginglamp, it was evident that they had arrived at their destination. Theyhalted and prepared to enter the house.
At this moment the child crouching in the snow began to sob.
"See here!" exclaimed the taller of the two gentlemen. "Here is a littlegirl."
"Why, so there is!" in turn exclaimed the elder, stooping and lettingthe light of his lantern fall on the child's face. "What are you doinghere, little one?" he asked in a kindly tone.
"I want my mama! I want my mama!" wailed the child, with a fresh burstof sobs.
"Who is your mama?" queried the younger man.
"My mama is the countess."
"And where does she live?"
"In the palace."
"Naturally! In which avenue is the palace?"
"I--don't--know."
"A true child of Paris!" in an undertone exclaimed the elder gentleman."She knows that her mother is a countess, and that she lives in apalace; but she has never been told the name of the street in which isher home."
"How come you to be here, little countess?" inquired the younger man.
"Diana can tell you," was the reply.
"And who may Diana be?"
"Why, who else but mama's Diana?"
"Allow me to question her," here interposed the elder man. Then, to thechild: "Diana is the person who helps you put on your clothes, is shenot?"
"It is just the other way: she took off my clothes--just see; I havenothing on but this petticoat and this hideous shawl."
As she spoke she flung back the faded shawl and revealed how scantilyshe was clad.
"You poor child!" compassionately ejaculated the young man; and when hesaw that her thin morocco slippers were buried in the snow, he liftedher hastily in his arms. "You are half frozen."
"But why did Diana leave you half clothed in this manner?" pursued theelder man. "Why did she undress you? Can't you tell us that much?"
"Mama slapped her this morning."
"Ah! then Diana is a servant?"
"Why, of course; what else could she be?"
"Well, she might be a goddess or a hound, you know," smilingly returnedthe old gentleman.
"When mama went to the opera, this evening," explained the little one,"she ordered Diana to take me to the children's ball at the marquis's.Instead, she brought me to this street, made me get out of the carriage,took off my silk ball-gown and all my pretty ornaments, and left me herein this doorway--I am sure I don't know why, for there is n't any musichere."
"It is well she left this old shawl with you, else your mama would nothave a little countess to tell the tale to-morrow," observed the elderman. Then, turning to his companion, he added in a lower tone: "What arewe to do with her?"
"We can't leave her here; that would be inhuman," was the reply, in thesame cautious tone.
"But we can't take her in; it would be a great risk."
"What is there to fear from an innocent prattler who cannot evenremember her mother's name?"
"We might take her to the conciergerie," suggested the elder gentleman.
"_I_ think we had better not disturb the police when they are asleep,"in a significant tone responded his companion.
"That is true; but we can't take the child to our apartments. You knowthat we--"
"I have an idea!" suddenly interposed the young man. "This innocentchild has been placed in our way by Providence; by aiding her we mayaccomplish more easily the task we have undertaken."
"I understand," assented the elder; "we can accomplish two good deeds atone and the same time. Allow me to go up-stairs first; while you arelocking the door I will arrange matters up there so that you may bringthis poor little half-frozen creature directly with you." Then, to thechild: "Don't be afraid, little countess; nothing shall harm you.To-morrow morning perhaps you will remember your mama's name, or elseshe will send some one in search of you."
He opened the door, and ran hastily up the worn staircase.
When the young man, with the little girl in his arms, reached the doorat the head of the stairs, his companion met him, and, with a meaningglance, announced that everything was ready for the reception of theirsmall guest. They entered a dingy anteroom, which led, through heavilycurved antique sliding-doors, into a vaulted saloon hung with fadedtapestry.
Here the child exhibited the first signs of alarm. "Are you going tokill me?" she cried out in terror.
The old gentleman laughed merrily, and said:
"Why, surely you don't take us to be _croquemitaines_ who devour littlechildren; do you?"
"Have you got a little girl of your own?" queried the little one,suddenly.
"No, my dear," replied the old gentleman, visibly affected by thequestion. "I have no wife; therefore I cannot have a little girl."
"But my mama has no husband, and she 's got me," prattled the child.
"That is different, my dear. But if I have not got a little girl, I knowvery well what to do for one."
As he spoke he drew off the child's wet slippers and stockings, rubbedher feet with a flannel cloth, then laid her on the bed which stood inthe alcove.
"Why, how warm this bed is!" cried the child; "just as if some one hadbeen sleeping here."
The old man's face betrayed some confusion as he responded:
"Might I not have warmed it with a warming-pan?"
"But where did you get hot coals?"
"Well, well, what an inquisitive little creature it is!" muttered theold man. Then, aloud: "My dear, don't you say your prayers before goingto sleep?"
"No, indeed! Mama says we shall have plenty of time for that when wegrow old."
"An enlightened woman, truly! Well, I dare say, my little maid, yourconvictions will not prevent you from drinking a cup of egg-punch, andpartaking of a bit of pasty or a small biscuit?"
At mention of these dainties the child's countenance brightened; andwhile she was eating the repast with evident relish, the younger manrummaged from somewhere a large, beautifully dressed doll. All thoughtof fear now vanished from the small guest's mind. She clasped the toy inher arms, and, having finished her light meal, began to sing a lullaby,to which she very soon fell asleep herself.
"She is sleeping soundly," whispered the elder man, softly drawingtogether the faded damask bed-curtains, and walking on tiptoe back tothe fireplace, where his companion had fanned the fire into a freshblaze.
"It is high time," was the low and rather impatient response. "We can'tstop here much longer. Do you know what has happened to the duke?"
"Yes, I know. He has been sentenced to death. To-morrow he will beexecuted. What have you discovered?"
"A fox on the trail of a lion!" harshly replied the young man. "He whoaroused so many hopes is, after all, nothing more than an impostor--LeonMaria Hervagault, the son of a tailor at St. Leu. The true dauphin, theson of Louis XVI., really died a natural death, after he had served athree years' apprenticeship as shoemaker under Master Simho; and inorder that a later generation might not be able to secure his ashes, hewas buried in quick-lime in the Chapel of St. Margarethe."
"They were not so scrupulous concerning monsieur,"[1] observed the oldman, restlessly pacing the floor. "I received a letter from my agentto-day; he writes that monsieur was secretly shot at Dillingen."
[Footnote 1: Count de Provence, afterward Louis XVIII.]
"What! He, too? Then--"
"Hush!" cautiously interposed the elder man. "That child might not beasleep."
"And if she were awake, what could she understand?"
"True; but we must be cautious." He ceased his restless promenade, andcame close to the young man's side. "Everything is at an end here," headded in a lower tone. "We must remove our treasure to a more securehiding-place--this very night, indeed, if it be possible."
"It is possible," assented his companion. "The plan of flight wasarranged two days ago. The most difficult part was to get away from thishouse. It is watched day and night. Chance, however, has come to ouraid."
"I understand," nodded the old gentleman, glancing significantly towardthe bed.
"The most serious question now is, where shall we find a securehiding-place? Even England is not safe. The bullets of Dillingen canreach to that country! Indeed, wherever there are police no secret issafe."
"I 'll tell you something," after a moment's deliberation observed theelder man. "I know of a country in Europe where order prevails, andwhere there are no police spies; and, what is more, the place of which Ispeak is beyond the range of a gunshot!"
"I confess I am curious to learn where such a place may be found," withan incredulous smile returned the young man.
"Fetch the map, and I will point it out to you. Afterward we willarrange your route toward it." The two men spread a large map of Europeon the table, and, bending over it, were soon deeply absorbed inexamining it, the while exchanging whispered remarks.
At last they seemed to have agreed on something. The map was folded upand thrust into the younger man's pocket.
"I shall start at once," he said, with an air of decision.
"That is well," with evident satisfaction assented his companion. "Andtake with you also the steel casket. In it are all the necessarydocuments, some articles of clothing on which the mother with her ownhands embroidered the well-known symbol, and a million of francs inEnglish bank-notes. These, however, you will not use unless compelled todo so by extreme necessity. You will receive annually a sufficient sumfrom a certain banking-house which will supply all your wants. Have ourtwo trusty friends been apprised?"
"Yes; they await me hourly."
"So soon as you are beyond the French boundary you may communicate withme in the way we have agreed upon. Until I hear from you I shall be in aterror of anxiety. I am sorry I cannot accompany you, but I am alreadysuspected. You are, as yet, free from suspicion--are not yet registeredin the black book!"
"You may trust my skill to evade pursuit," said the young man, producingfrom a secret cupboard a casket richly ornamented with gold.
"I do not doubt your skill, or your ability to accomplish theundertaking; but the task is not a suitable one for so young a man. Haveyou considered the fate which awaits you?"
"I have considered everything."
"You will be buried; and, what is worse, you will be the keeper of yourown prison."
"I shall be a severe jailer, I promise you," with a grim smile respondedthe young man.
"Jester! You forget your twenty-six years! And who can tell how long youmay be buried alive?"
"Have no fear for me. I do not dread the task. Those in power now willone day be overthrown."
"But when the child, who is only twelve years old now, becomes in threeor four years a blooming maiden--what then? Already she is fond of you;then she will love you. You cannot hinder it; and yet, you will not evendare to dream of returning her love. Have you thought of this also?"
"I shall look upon myself as the inhabitant of a different planet,"answered the young man.
"Your hand, my friend! You have undertaken a noble task--one that isgreater than that of the captive knight who cut off his own foot, thathis sovereign, who was chained to him, might escape--"
"Pray say no more about me," interposed his companion. "Is the childasleep?"
"This one is; the one in the other room is awake."
"Then let us go to her and tell her what we have decided." He lifted thetwo-branched candlestick from the table; his companion carefully closedthe iron doors of the fireplace; then the two went into the adjoiningchamber, leaving the room they had quitted in darkness.
The elder gentleman had made a mistake: "this" child was _not_ asleep.She had listened attentively, half sitting up in bed, to as much of theconversation as she could hear.
A ray of light penetrated through the keyhole. The little girl sprangnimbly from the bed, ran to the door, and peered through the tinyaperture. Suddenly footsteps came toward the door. When it opened,however, the little eavesdropper was back underneath the covers of thebed. The old gentleman entered the room. He had no candle. He left thedoor open, walked noiselessly to the bed, and drew aside the curtains tosee if "this" child was still asleep. The long-drawn, regular breathingconvinced him. Then he took something from the chair beside the bed, andwent back into the other room. The object he had taken from the chairwas the faded red shawl in which the stray child had been wrapped. Hedid not close the door of the adjoining chamber, for the candles hadbeen extinguished and both rooms were now dark.
To the listening child in the bed, however, it seemed as if voices werewhispering near her--as if she heard a stifled sob. Then cautiousfootsteps crossed the floor, and after an interval of silence the streetdoor opened and closed.
Very soon afterward a light was struck in the adjoining room, and theelder man came through the doorway--alone.
He flung back the doors of the fireplace, and stirred the embers; thenhe proceeded to perform a singular task. First he tossed a number ofletters and papers into the flames, then several dainty articles ofgirls' clothing. He watched them until they had burned to ashes; then heflung himself into an arm-chair; his head sank forward on his breast, inwhich position he sat motionless for several hours.
