by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE HALL OF THE PORTRAITS.
Half an hour later none of that brilliant company remained in the homeof the Count of Plouernel save the Count himself, and Victoria Lebrenn.The two were in the Hall of the Portraits, in contemplation of which thebeautiful Marchioness seemed lost. Struck with her long silence, andseeing her gaze riveted upon the pictures, the Count approached her,saying in a surprised and passionate voice:
"Do you know, Madam Marchioness, that I shall end by becoming jealous ofmy ancestors? For several minutes they alone have been happy enough todraw your attention."
"True, Count. I was reflecting on the glory of your race. Proud was I,for your sake, of your illustrious origin."
"Ah, Victoria, such words! But allow me to tell you, my radiantMarchioness, how I love you. Every day I feel my mad passion grow. By myhonor as a gentleman, you could have led me on to treason as easily asyou have confirmed me in the path of loyalty which I now tread. You haveso mastered me that to possess your love I would have betrayed my King,and forever stained my escutcheon." Then, casting himself on his kneesbefore the Marchioness, the Count continued in a trembling voice, "Isthat not yet sufficient, Victoria?"
At the moment that the Count of Plouernel had seized and was coveringwith kisses the hand of Victoria, a loud knock was heard at the door ofthe salon.
"Rise, Count," said Victoria, quickly. "It is one of your men."
Robert the steward entered precipitately, bearing in one hand a tray onwhich lay a despatch. He said to his master:
"A courier from Versailles brought this despatch for my lord. Thecourier reached the house only with the greatest difficulty. To escapearrest by the people in the streets he was forced to leave his horsesome distance from the barrier, and to throw off his royal livery."
"You may go," replied Monsieur Plouernel, as he took the message.
He tore open the envelope and made haste to read the contents of themissive, while Victoria followed him with curiosity burning in her eyes,and said in her most winning voice as she drew close to him, "News ofimportance, no doubt, my dear Gaston? You seem much moved by it."
"Read, Marchioness, for I have no secrets from you," answered Plouernel,handing the despatch to Victoria. "Judge of the extreme urgency of myinformation!"
The young woman eagerly grasped the letter, cast her eyes over it, andthen said, with a silvery laugh: "But it is in cipher. Give me the key.I cannot read it--without your help."
"True--pardon my distraction," replied the Count, and he read asfollows, translating the cipher as he went:
"To-day's events in Paris, and the news from the country, are of such nature that our measures must be pushed forward to execution. Repair to Versailles at once. Let not one of our friends be missing. It will probably be done to-morrow.
"Versailles, seven o'clock in the evening."
"And it is now past midnight!" exclaimed Victoria, "You should havereceived the message at least two or three hours ago. Whence the delay?Must it be laid to negligence, or treachery? Both suppositions arepossible."
"You forget, Marchioness, that the messenger was compelled to use greatprecautions to enter Paris, and that his precautions in themselves, werequite capable of causing the delay. So that it is neither false play norcarelessness--no one is guilty."
"So it may be. But there is not a moment to lose. You must be off toVersailles at once. Order your carriage immediately. Let yourcoach-wheels scorch the pavement."
"It would be imprudent to take a carriage into the streets to-night. Ishall go on horseback accompanied by one of my men; I shall go towardsGreat Rock and Queen's Court, till I pick up the road that runs fromCourbevoie to Versailles. Then, like the wind for Versailles."
Monsieur Plouernel grasped the young woman's hand and added in a voiceof emotion--"God save the throne!"
Victoria turned towards the door, paused a moment on the sill to make afinal gesture of farewell, and left the room, musing to herself:
"_In order to strike terror to the court, to make their plant miscarry,the people must take the Bastille to-morrow! No hesitation--it must bedone!_"