The Secret of Sarek

by Maurice Leblanc

  CHAPTER VI

  ALL'S WELL

  Walking erect, with a stiff and mechanical gait, without turning roundto look at the abominable spectacle, without recking of what mighthappen if she were seen, Veronique went back to the Priory.

  A single aim, a single hope sustained her: that of leaving the Isle ofSarek. She had had her fill of horror. Had she seen three corpses, threewomen who had had their throats cut, or been shot, or even hanged, shewould not have felt, as she did now, that her whole being was in revolt.But this, this torture, was too much. It involved an ignominy, it was anact of sacrilege, a damnable performance which surpassed the bounds ofwickedness.

  And then she was thinking of herself, the fourth and last victim. Fateseemed to be leading her towards that catastrophe as a person condemnedto death is pushed on to the scaffold. How could she do other thantremble with fear? How could she fail to read a warning in the choice ofthe hill of the Great Oak for the torture of the three sistersArchignat?

  She tried to find comfort in words:

  "Everything will be explained. At the bottom of these hideous mysteriesare quite simple causes, actions apparently fantastic but in realityperformed by beings of the same species as myself, who behave as theydo from criminal motives and in accordance with a determined plan. Nodoubt all this is only possible because of the war; the war brings abouta peculiar state of affairs in which events of this kind are able totake place. But, all the same, there is nothing miraculous about it noranything inconsistent with the rules of ordinary life."

  Useless phrases! Vain attempts at argument which her brain founddifficulty in following! In reality, upset as she was by violent nervousshocks, she came to think and feel like all those people of Sarek whosedeath she had witnessed. She shared their weakness, she was shaken bythe same terrors, besieged by the same nightmares, unbalanced by thepersistence within her of the instincts of bygone ages and lingeringsuperstitions ever ready to rise to the surface.

  Who were these invisible beings who persecuted her? Whose mission was itto fill the thirty coffins of Sarek? Who was it that was wiping out allthe inhabitants of the luckless island? Who was it that lived incaverns, gathering at the fateful hours the sacred mistletoe and theherbs of St. John, using axes and arrows and crucifying women? And inview of what horrible task, of what monstrous duty? In accordance withwhat inconceivable plans? Were they spirits of darkness, malevolentgenii, priests of a dead religion, sacrificing men, women and childrento their blood-thirsty gods?

  "Enough, enough, or I shall go mad!" she said, aloud. "I must go! Thatmust be my only thought: to get away from this hell!"

  But it was as though destiny were taking special pains to torture her!On beginning her search for a little food, she suddenly noticed, in herfather's study, at the back of a cupboard, a drawing pinned to the wall,representing the same scene as the roll of paper which she had foundnear Maguennoc's body in the deserted cabin.

  A portfolio full of drawings lay on one of the shelves in the cupboard.She opened it. It contained a number of sketches of the same scene,likewise in red chalk. Each of them bore above the head of the firstwoman the inscription, "V. d'H." One of them was signed, "Antoined'Hergemont."

  So it was her father who had made the drawing on Maguennoc's paper! Itwas her father who had tried in all these sketches to give the torturedwoman a closer and closer resemblance to his own daughter!

  "Enough, enough!" repeated Veronique. "I won't think, I won't reflect!"

  Feeling very faint, she pursued her search but found nothing with whichto stay her hunger.

  Nor did she find anything that would allow her to light a fire at thepoint of the island, though the fog had lifted and the signals wouldcertainly have been observed.

  She tried rubbing two flints against each other, but she did notunderstand how to go to work and she did not succeed.

  For three days she kept herself alive with water and wild grapesgathered among the ruins. Feverish and utterly exhausted, she had fitsof weeping which nearly every time produced the sudden appearance ofAll's Well; and her physical suffering was such that she felt angry withthe poor dog for having that ridiculous name and drove him away. All'sWell, greatly surprised, squatted on his haunches farther off and beganto sit up again. She felt exasperated with him, as though he could helpbeing Francois' dog!

  The least sound made her shake from head to foot and covered her withperspiration. What were the creatures in the Great Oak doing? From whichside were they preparing to attack her? She hugged herself nervously,shuddering at the thought of falling into those monsters' hands, andcould not keep herself from remembering that she was a beautiful womanand that they might be tempted by her good looks and her youth.

  But, on the fourth day, a great hope uplifted her. She had found in adrawer a powerful reading-glass. Taking advantage of the brightsunshine, she focussed the rays upon a piece of paper which ended bycatching fire and enabling her to light a candle.

  She believed that she was saved. She had discovered quite a stock ofcandles, which allowed her, to begin with, to keep the precious flamealive until the evening. At eleven o'clock, she took a lantern and wenttowards the summer-house, intending to set fire to it. It was a finenight and the signal would be perceived from the coast.

  Fearing to be seen with her light, fearing above all the tragic visionof the sisters Archignat, whose tragic Calvary was flooded by themoonlight, she took, on leaving the Priory, another road, more to theleft and bordered with thickets. She walked anxiously, taking care notto rustle the leaves or stumble over the roots. When she reached opencountry, not far from the summer-house, she felt so tired that she hadto sit down. Her head was buzzing. Her heart almost refused to beat.

  She could not see the place of execution from here either. But, onturning her eyes, despite herself, in the direction of the hill, shereceived the impression that something resembling a white figure hadmoved. It was in the very heart of the wood, at the end of an avenuewhich intersected the thick mass of trees on that side.

  The figure appeared again, in the full moonlight; and Veronique saw,notwithstanding the considerable distance, that it was the figure of aperson clad in a robe and perched amid the branches of a tree whichstood alone and higher than the others.

  She remembered what the sisters Archignat had said:

  "The sixth day of the moon is near at hand. _They_ will climb the GreatOak and gather the sacred mistletoe."

  And she now remembered certain descriptions which she had read in booksand different stories which her father had told her; and she felt as ifshe were present at one of those Druid ceremonies which had appealed toher imagination as a child. But at the same time she felt so weak thatshe was not convinced that she was awake or that the strange sightbefore her eyes was real. Four other figures formed a group at the footof the tree and raised their arms as though to catch the bough ready tofall. A light flashed above. The high-priest's golden sickle had cut offthe bunch of mistletoe.

  Then the high-priest climbed down from the oak; and all five figuresglided along the avenue, skirted the wood and reached the top of theknoll.

  Veronique, who was unable to take her haggard eyes from those creatures,bent forward and saw the three corpses hanging each from its tree oftorment. At the distance where she stood, the black bows of the capslooked like crows. The figures stopped opposite the victims as though toperform some incomprehensible rite. At last the high-priest separatedhimself from the group and, holding the bunch of mistletoe in his hand,came down the hill and went towards the spot where the first arch of thebridge was anchored.

  Veronique was almost fainting. Her wavering eyes, before whicheverything seemed to dance, fastened on to the glittering sickle whichswung from side to side on the priest's chest, below his long whitebeard. What was he going to do? Though the bridge no longer existed,Veronique was convulsed with anguish. Her legs refused to carry her. Shelay down on the ground, keeping her eyes fixed upon the terrifyingsight.

  On reaching the edge of the
chasm, the priest again stopped for a fewseconds. Then he stretched out the arm in which he carried the mistletoeand, preceded by the sacred plant as by a talisman which altered thelaws of nature in his favour, he took a step forward above the yawninggulf.

  And he walked thus in space, all white in the moonlight.

  What happened Veronique did not know, nor was she quite sure what hadbeen happening, if she had not been the sport of an hallucination, norat what stage of the strange ceremony this hallucination had originatedin her enfeebled brain.

  She waited with closed eyes for events which did not take place andwhich, for that matter, she did not even try to foresee. But other, morereal things preoccupied her mind. Her candle was going out inside thelantern. She was aware of this; and yet she had not the strength to pullherself together and return to the Priory. And she said to herself that,if the sun should not shine again within the next few days, she wouldnot be able to light the flame and that she was lost.

  She resigned herself, weary of fighting and realizing that she wasdefeated beforehand in this unequal contest. The only ending that wasnot to be endured was that of being captured. But why not abandonherself to the death that offered, death from starvation, fromexhaustion? If you suffer long enough, there must come a moment when thesuffering decreases and when you pass, almost unconsciously, from life,which has grown too cruel, to death, which Veronique was graduallybeginning to desire.

  "That's it, that's it," she murmured. "To go from Sarek or to die: it'sall the same. What I want is to get away."

  A sound of leaves made her open her eyes. The flame of the candle wasexpiring. But behind the lantern All's Well was sitting, beating the airwith his fore-paws.

  And Veronique saw that he carried a packet of biscuits, fastened roundhis neck by a string.

  * * * * *

  "Tell me your story, you dear old All's Well," said Veronique, nextmorning, after a good night's rest in her bedroom at the Priory. "For,after all, I can't believe that you came to look for me and bring mefood of your own accord. It was an accident, wasn't it? You werewandering in that direction, you heard me crying and you came to me. Butwho tied that little box of biscuits round your neck? Does it mean thatwe have a friend in the island, a friend who takes an interest in us?Why doesn't he show himself? Speak and tell me, All's Well."

  She kissed the dog and went on:

  "And whom were those biscuits intended for? For your master, forFrancois? Or for Honorine? No? Then for Monsieur Stephane perhaps?"

  The dog wagged his tail and moved towards the door. He really seemed tounderstand. Veronique followed him to Stephane Maroux's room. All's Wellslipped under the tutor's bed. There were three more cardboard boxes ofbiscuits, two packets of chocolate and two tins of preserved meat. Andeach parcel was supplied with a string ending in a wide loop, from whichAll's Well must have released his head.

  "What does it mean?" asked Veronique, bewildered. "Did you put them underthere? But who gave them to you? Have we actually a friend in theisland, who knows us and knows Stephane Maroux? Can you take me to him?He must live on this side of the island, because there is no means ofcommunicating with the other and you can't have been there."

  Veronique stopped to think. But, in addition to the provisions stowedaway by All's Well, she also noticed a small canvas-covered satchelunder the bed; and she wondered why Stephane Maroux had hidden it. Shethought that she had the right to open it and to look for some clue tothe part played by the tutor, to his character, to his past perhaps, tohis relations with M. d'Hergemont and Francois:

  "Yes," she said, "it is my right and even my duty."

  Without hesitation, she took a pair of big scissors and forced the fraillock.

  The satchel contained nothing but a manuscript-book, with a rubber bandround it. But, the moment she opened the book, she stood amazed.

  On the first page was her own portrait, her photograph as a girl, withher signature in full and the inscription:

  "To my friend Stephane."

  "I don't understand, I don't understand," she murmured. "I remember thephotograph: I must have been sixteen. But how did I come to give it tohim? I must have known him!"

  Eager to learn more, she read the next page, a sort of preface worded asfollows:

  "Veronique, I wish to lead my life under your eyes. In undertaking the education of your son, of that son whom I ought to loathe, because he is the son of another, but whom I love because he is your son, my intention is that my life shall be in full harmony with the secret feeling that has swayed it so long. One day, I have no doubt, you will resume your place as Francois' mother. On that day you will be proud of him. I shall have effaced all that may survive in him of his father and I shall have exalted all the fine and noble qualities which he inherits from you. The aim is great enough for me to devote myself to it body and soul. I do so with gladness. Your smile shall be my reward."

  Veronique's heart was flooded with a singular emotion. Her life was litwith a calmer radiance; and this new mystery, which she was unable tofathom any more than the others, was at least, like that of Maguennoc'sflowers, gentle and comforting.

  As she continued to turn the pages, she followed her son's educationfrom day to day. She beheld the pupil's progress and the master'smethods. The pupil was engaging, intelligent, studious, zealous loving,sensitive, impulsive and at the same time thoughtful. The master wasaffectionate, patient and borne up by some profound feeling which showedthrough every line of the manuscript.

  And, little by little, there was a growing enthusiasm in the dailyconfession, which expressed itself in terms less and less restrained:

  "Francois, my dearly-beloved son--for I may call you so, may I not?--Francois, your mother lives once again in you. Your eyes are pure and limpid as hers. Your soul is grave and simple as her soul. You are unacquainted with evil; and one might almost say that you are unacquainted with good, so closely is it blended with your beautiful nature."

  Some of the child's exercises were copied into the book, exercises inwhich he spoke of his mother with passionate affection and with thepersistent hope that he would soon see her again.

  "We shall see her again, Francois," Stephane added, "and you will then understand better what beauty means and light and the charm of life and the delight of beholding and admiring."

  Next came anecdotes about Veronique, minor details which she herself didnot remember or which she thought that she alone knew:

  "One day, at the Tuileries--she was only sixteen--a circle was formed round her . . . by people who looked at her and wondered at her loveliness. Her girl friends laughed, happy at seeing her admired . . . .

  "Open her right hand, Francois. You will see a long, white scar in the middle of the palm. When she was quite a little girl, she ran the point of an iron railing into her hand . . . ."

  But the last pages were not written for the boy and had certainly notbeen read by him. The writer's love was no longer disguised beneathadmiring phrases. It displayed itself without reserve, ardent, exalted,suffering, quivering with hope, though always respectful.

  Veronique closed the book. She could read no more.

  "Yes, I confess, All's Well," she said to the dog, who was alreadysitting up, "my eyes are wet with tears. Devoid of feminine weaknessesas I am, I will tell you what I would say to nobody else: that reallytouches me. Yes, I must try to recall the unknown features of the manwho loves me like this . . . some friend of my childhood whoseaffection I never suspected and whose name has not left even a trace inmy memory."

  She drew the dog to her:

  "Two kind hearts, are they not, All's Well? Neither the master nor thepupil is capable of the crimes which I saw them commit. If they are theaccomplices of our enemies here, they are so in spite of themselves andwithout knowing it. I cannot believe in philtres and incantatio
ns andplants which deprive you of your reason. But, all the same, there issomething, isn't there, you dear little dog? The boy who plantedveronicas round the Calvary of Flowers and who wrote, 'Mother'sflowers,' is not guilty, is he? And Honorine was right, when she spokeof a fit of madness, and he will come back to look for me, won't he?Stephane and he are sure to come back."

  The hours that went by were full of soothing quiet. Veronique was nolonger lonely. The present had no terrors for her; and she had faith inthe future.

  Next morning, she said to All's Well, whom she had locked up to preventhis running away:

  "Will you take me there now my man? Where? Why, to the friend, ofcourse, who sent provisions to Stephane Maroux. Come along."

  All's Well was only waiting for Veronique's permission. He dashed off inthe direction of the grassy sward that led to the dolmen; and he stoppedhalf way. Veronique came up with him. He turned to the right and took apath which brought them to a huddle of ruins near the edge of thecliffs. Then he stopped again.

  "Is it here?" asked Veronique.

  The dog lay down flat. In front of him, at the foot of two blocks ofstones leaning against each other and covered with the same growth ofivy, was a tangle of brambles with under it a little passage like theentrance to a rabbit-warren. All's Well slipped in, disappeared and thenreturned in search of Veronique, who had to go back to the Priory andfetch a bill-hook to cut down the brambles.

  She managed in half an hour to uncover the top step of a staircase,which she descended, feeling her way and preceded by All's Well, andwhich took her to a long tunnel, cut in the body of the rock and lightedon the left by little openings. She raised herself on tip-toe and sawthat these openings overlooked the sea.

  She walked on the level for ten minutes and then went down some moresteps. The tunnel grew narrower. The openings, which all looked towardsthe sky, no doubt so as not to be seen from below, now gave light fromboth the right and the left. Veronique began to understand how All'sWell was able to communicate with the other part of the island. Thetunnel followed the narrow strip of cliff which joined the Priory estateto Sarek. The waves lapped the rocks on either side.

  They next climbed by steps under the knoll of the Great Oak. Two tunnelsopened at the top. All's Well chose the one on the left, which continuedto skirt the sea.

  Then on the right there were two more passages, both quite dark. Theisland appeared to be riddled in this way with invisible communications;and Veronique felt something clutch at her heart as she reflected thatshe was making for the part which the sisters Archignat had described asthe enemy's subterranean domains, under the Black Heath.

  All's Well trotted in front of her, turning round from time to time tosee if she was following.

  "Yes, yes, dear, I'm coming," she whispered, "and I am not a bit afraid:I am sure that you are leading me to a friend . . . a friend who hastaken shelter down here. But why has he not left his shelter? Why didyou not show him the way?"

  The passage had been chipped smooth throughout, with a rounded ceilingand a very dry granite floor, which was amply ventilated by theopenings. There was not a mark, not a scratch of any kind on the walls.Sometimes the point of a black flint projected.

  "Is it here?" asked Veronique, when All's Well stopped.

  The tunnel went no farther and widened into a chamber into which thelight filtered more thinly through a narrower window.

  All's Well seemed undecided. He listened, with his ears pricked up,standing on his hind-legs and resting his fore-paws against the end wallof the tunnel.

  Veronique noticed that the wall, at this spot, was not formed throughoutits length of the bare granite but consisted of an accumulation ofstones of unequal size set in cement. The work evidently belonged to adifferent, doubtless more recent period.

  A regular partition-wall had been built, closing the undergroundpassage, which was probably continued on the other side.

  She repeated:

  "It's here, isn't it?"

  But she said nothing more. She had heard the stifled sound of a voice.

  She went up to the wall and presently gave a start. The voice was raisedhigher. The sounds became more distinct. Some one, a child, was singing,and she caught the words:

  "And the mother said, Rocking her child abed:

  'Weep not. If you do, The Virgin Mary weeps with you.'"

  Veronique murmured:

  "The song . . . the song . . ."

  It was the same that Honorine had hummed at Beg-Meil. Who could besinging it now? A child, imprisoned in the island? A boy friend ofFrancois'?

  And the voice went on:

  "'Babes that laugh and sing Smiles to the Blessed Virgin bring.

  Fold your hands this way And to sweet Mary pray.'"

  The last verse was followed by a silence that lasted for a few minutes.All's Well appeared to be listening with increasing attention, as thoughsomething, which he knew of, was about to take place.

  Thereupon, just where he stood, there was a slight noise of stonescarefully moved. All's Well wagged his tail frantically and barked, soto speak, in a whisper, like an animal that understands the danger ofbreaking the silence. And suddenly, about his head, one of the stoneswas drawn inward, leaving a fairly large aperture.

  All's Well leapt into the hole at a bound, stretched himself out and,helping himself with his hind-legs, twisting and crawling, disappearedinside.

  "Ah, there's Master All's Well!" said the young voice. "How are we,Master All's Well? And why didn't we come and pay our master a visityesterday? Serious business, was it? A walk with Honorine? Oh, if youcould talk, my dear old chap, what stories you would have to tell! And,first of all, look here . . ."

  Veronique, thrilled with excitement, had knelt down against the wall.Was it her son's voice that she heard? Was she to believe that he wasback and in hiding? She tried in vain to see. The wall was thick; andthere was a bend in the opening. But how clearly each syllable uttered,how plainly each intonation reached her ears!

  "Look here," repeated the boy, "why doesn't Honorine come to set mefree? Why don't you bring her here? You managed to find me all right.And grandfather must be worried about me . . . . But _what_ anadventure! . . . So you're still of the same mind, eh, old chap? All'swell, isn't it? All's as well as well can be!"

  Veronique could not understand. Her son--for there was no doubt that itwas Francois--her son was speaking as if he knew nothing of what hadhappened. Had he forgotten? Had his memory lost every trace of the deedsdone during his fit of madness?

  "Yes, a fit of madness," thought Veronique, obstinately. "He was mad.Honorine was quite right: he was undoubtedly mad. And his reason hasreturned. Oh, Francois, Francois! . . ."

  She listened, with all her tense being and all her trembling soul, tothe words that might bring her so much gladness or such an added load ofdespair. Either the darkness would close in upon her more thickly andheavily than ever, or daylight was to pierce that endless night in whichshe had been struggling for fifteen years.

  "Why, yes," continued the boy, "I agree with you, All's Well. But allthe same, I should be jolly glad if you could bring me some real proofof it. On the one hand, there's no news of grandfather or Honorine,though I've given you lots of messages for them; on the other hand,there's no news of Stephane. And that's what alarms me. Where is he?Where have they locked him up? Won't he be starving by now? Come, All'sWell, tell me: where did you take the biscuits yesterday? . . . But,look here, what's the matter with you? You seem to have something onyour mind. What are you looking at over there? Do you want to go away?No? Then what is it?"

  The boy stopped. Then, after a moment, in a much lower voice:

  "Did you come with some one?" he asked. "Is there anybody behind thewall?"

  The dog gave a dull bark. Then there was a long pause, during whichFrancois also must have been listening.

  Veronique's emotion was so great that it seemed to her that Francoismust hear the beating of her heart.

  He whi
spered:

  "Is that you, Honorine?"

  There was a fresh pause; and he continued:

  "Yes, I'm sure it's you . . . . I can hear you breathing . . . . Whydon't you answer?"

  Veronique was carried away by a sudden impulse. Certain gleams of lighthad flashed upon her mind since she had understood that Stephane was aprisoner, no doubt like Francois, therefore a victim of the enemy; andall sorts of vague suppositions flitted through her brain. Besides, howcould she resist the appeal of that voice? Her son was asking her aquestion . . . her son!

  "Francois . . . Francois!" she stammered.

  "Ah," he said, "there's an answer! I knew it! Is it you, Honorine?"

  "No, Francois," she said.

  "Then who is it?"

  "A friend of Honorine's."

  "I don't know you, do I?"

  "No . . . but I am your friend."

  He hesitated. Was he on his guard?

  "Why didn't Honorine come with you?"

  Veronique was not prepared for this question, but she at once realizedthat, if the involuntary suppositions that were forcing themselves uponher were correct, the boy must not yet be told the truth.

  She therefore said:

  "Honorine came back from her journey, but has gone away again."

  "Gone to look for me?"

  "That's it, that's it," she said, quickly. "She thought that you hadbeen carried away from Sarek and your tutor with you."

  "But grandfather?"

  "He's gone too: so have all the inhabitants of the island."

  "Ah! The old story of the coffins and the crosses, I suppose?"

  "Just so. They thought that your disappearance meant the beginning ofthe disasters; and their fear made them take to flight."

  "But you, madame?"

  "I have known Honorine for a long time. I came from Paris with her totake a holiday at Sarek. I have no reason to go away. All thesesuperstitions have no terrors for me."

  The child was silent. The improbability and inadequacy of the repliesmust have been apparent to him: and his suspicions increased inconsequence. He confessed as much, frankly:

  "Listen, madame, there's something I must tell you. It's ten days sinceI was imprisoned in this cell. During the first part of that time, I sawand heard nobody. But, since the day before yesterday, every morning alittle wicket opens in the middle of my door and a woman's hand comesthrough and gives a fresh supply of water. A woman's hand . . . so . . .you see?"

  "So you want to know if that woman is myself?"

  "Yes, I am obliged to ask you."

  "Would you recognize that woman's hand?"

  "Yes, it is lean and bony, with a yellow arm."

  "Here's mine," said Veronique. "It can pass where All's Well did."

  She pulled up her sleeve; and by flexing her bare arm she easily passedit through.

  "Oh," said Francois, at once, "that's not the hand I saw!"

  And he added, in a lower voice:

  "How pretty this one is!"

  Suddenly Veronique felt him take it in his own with a quick movement;and he exclaimed:

  "Oh, it can't be true, it can't be true!"

  He had turned her hand over and was separating the fingers so as touncover the palm entirely. And he whispered:

  "The scar! . . . It's there! . . . The white scar! . . ."

  Then Veronique became greatly agitated. She remembered Stephane Maroux'sdiary and certain details set down by him which Francois must haveheard. One of these details was this scar, which recalled an old andrather serious injury.

  She felt the boy's lips pressed to her hand, first gently and then withpassionate ardour and a great flow of tears, and heard him stammering:

  "Oh, mother, mother darling! . . . My dear, dear mother! . . ."