The Prisoner in the Mask

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Merci, mon General. St. Cyr is quite near to Paris, is it not?’

  ‘Yes. The college is at the west end of the great park at Versailles. But the students there are kept hard at work, so they are not often able to go into Paris.’

  The Count shrugged, as though indifferent, but silently he said to himself: ‘No matter, there will be the week-ends,’ and he threw a quick glance in Angela’s direction.

  At that moment the Duke’s major-domo informed him that the sleigh convoy was ready, so he came up and offered his arm to the Marquise de Galliffet. Among a chorus of good-byes the other guests moved towards the door. As the son of the house it was for the Count to give his arm to the Vicomtess de Camargue, the second senior of the ladies who were leaving; so it was Prince Igor who escorted Angela to the third troika in the line. As she sank back under the great folding hood, which had been put up for protection against the bitter wind, her husband climbed in after her, temporarily cutting off her view of the group in the doorway.

  The drivers cracked their whips, the servants shouted, then the troikas slid forward over the crisp snow, and poor Angela was carried away without obtaining the last surreptitious glance she had tried to catch of the young man who in the past ten days had wrought such havoc with her heart.

  De Quesnoy had not deliberately been either offhand or unkind. It was simply that he was very much aware how narrow had been their escape the night before; and, having succeeded in dissipating Syveton’s suspicions, he was anxious not to rearouse them by exchanging even a few words in private with Angela. He had taken the strong stare with which she met his wink quite wrongly, as expressing disappointment that he had not managed to make possible a last tête-à-tête with her. But, in the circumstances, he considered it much more important that he should continue on good terms with her husband than that they should indulge, more or less openly, in any form of sentimental leave-taking.

  His discretion was based on the hope that he would soon be able to get to Paris and there renew his affaire with her. But that depended on how much resolution he could summon up to overcome the opposition which he would have to face on this, for him now, most critical of days.

  5

  THE ROAD TO GLORY

  No sooner were the troikas out of sight round the corner of the house than Armand ceased to think of Angela and, going up to the aged Abbé Nodier, who was among those who had been seeing the guests off, he said:

  ‘Father, I would like to talk to you for a while. Can you spare me half an hour?’

  The old man nodded his silvery head. ‘Of course, my son. Come with me to my room.’

  Together they walked down the wide corridor to the northwest corner of the house, where the Abbé had his sanctum. Its walls were covered with old books, many of them tattered and of little monetary value, but esteemed by their owner on account of their contents. Among them were many which might have been stigmatised as either heretical or Rabelaisian by narrow-minded priests of the present era, but Nodier still lived in the tradition of the eighteenth century, when priests were the leading scholars and made up their own minds what was, and what was not, suitable reading for themselves and their educated acquaintances.

  As soon as de Quesnoy entered the room, the Chaplain asked, a shade huffily: ‘Is your mind so burdened with fresh sin that you cannot wait until Friday to make your confession?’

  ‘No, Father, no,’ replied de Quesnoy blandly, as they sat down opposite one another in two worn arm-chairs. ‘I’ve not a thing on my conscience.’

  ‘I find that difficult to believe. I know you far too well not to have seen through that trick of yours for going early to bed last night. Can you put your hand on the cross and tell me that you did not commit adultery with that young Englishwoman, Madame Syveton?’

  ‘I can, Father.’ The Count smiled suddenly. ‘My luck was out.’

  ‘There!’ exclaimed the Abbé. ‘Being aware of the evil habits into which you have fallen this past year, I felt certain you had designs upon her. And I’d have you know that the intention is near as grave a sin as the act.’

  ‘That seems to me most unreasonable; but Friday will be time enough for you to inflict me with a few Hail Marys to be said as penance for what never came to more than an enchanting daydream.’

  ‘You are a reprobate of the first order. I am now utterly ashamed to have had a hand in your upbringing.’

  ‘Then, Father, you should not be. Had you failed to win both my heart and mind I certainly would not come, as I do now, to consult you on a matter which must have far-reaching effects on my future.’

  The Abbé sat forward and, dropping his joking manner, said: ‘Tell me, my son? Knowing my fondness for you the good God could never be so unkind as to permit me to advise you wrongly. I am all attention.’

  With equal seriousness the young Count replied: ‘Life at Jvanets has nothing further to offer me. I wish to go to France and become an officer in the French army.’

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ the priest exclaimed, holding up his hands. ‘But what of your father?’

  De Quesnoy nodded. ‘That is the difficulty. Do you consider that morally I am under an obligation to submit to Monsieur le Due’s restraint should he lay it upon me?’

  ‘Honour thy father and thy mother …’ quoted the Abbé. ‘No man can ignore the fourth Commandment with impunity.’

  ‘One can honour without necessarily obeying,’ remarked the Count.

  ‘You split straws!’ came the sharp retort.

  ‘Well, perhaps,’ de Quesnoy admitted. ‘But this is a case of divided loyalties. I have a duty to my country as well as to my father.’

  ‘If you regard serving in the French Army as a duty it is one which you might well be excused, seeing that you have been brought up in exile.’

  ‘It is not the fact of serving, Father, but the possible results of doing so—that it might enable me to play a part in saving France from anarchy and restoring her to greatness.’

  The Abbé gave him a shrewd look. ‘You have been talking to General de Galliffet on these matters, have you not?’

  ‘Yes. He holds the view that the Army is the only organised body having any real patriotism and integrity now left in France. He therefore maintains that it is the duty of every young man like myself to join and strengthen it.’

  ‘There is much in what he says; but I find it regrettable that he should make no mention of the Church.’

  ‘Father, even you could not persuade me that I have a vocation.’

  The old man smiled. ‘No, my son; if you ever become a saint it will be as a St. George, not as a St. Francis of Assisi. It was to the part which the Church has played these past twenty years in the national life of France, that I was referring.’

  ‘About that I know only what I have picked up in casual conversation.’

  ‘There I am in part to blame; but it was Monsieur le Due’s wish that I should exclude all matters connected with the development of modern France from your courses of instruction. It seems now, though, that I ought to give you at least an outline of Ultramontane endeavours to prevent the French people from falling entirely into the clutches of the devil.’

  ‘Ultramontane means “from beyond the mountains”; or, in other words, “guidance from Rome”, does it not?’ de Quesnoy remarked. ‘And I have heard it said that by subscribing to it the French Royalists have done themselves more harm than good.’

  ‘That will not prove so in the long run.’

  ‘I had in mind the military support given by Napoleon III to Pope Pius IX, with the object of maintaining His Holiness’s temporal claims against the new Italian Monarchy, and pressure by the Church on France after the fall of the Second Empire to continue that costly policy.’

  The Abbé gave a slight shrug. ‘Admittedly the crusade of which you speak proved highly unpopular; but that was a quarter of a century ago. When His Holiness Leo XIII succeeded to the Tiara he initiated the Railliement, and so more than regained the ground lost by the Churc
h.’

  ‘I have often heard the Railliement spoken of, Father; but I know little about it.’

  ‘Then I will inform you. Whilst it is true that the Monarchist cause suffered to some extent because an army had been sent to Italy in response to Pope Pius’s appeal for help, the cause of the Church in France suffered even more from its affiliation with the Monarchists, owing to French Catholics constantly being called on to support measures in the interests of the Pretender. Moreover, it was clear that the chances of a Restoration were growing ever more remote. In consequence, Pope Leo decided that, for a while at least, the connection must be severed, so that French Catholics would no longer be regarded as enemies by their Government, and he issued …’

  ‘This betrayal …’ de Quesnoy cut in. ‘Yes, why should one not call a spade a spade—this betrayal by His Holiness of his allies does not appear to have done the Church much good. It did not prevent Jules Ferry and his gang of unbelievers from driving into exile the Jesuits, the Eudists, the Assumptionists, and a score of other Orders; or of enforcing a secular education on the masses.’

  ‘The new diplomacy came too late to prevent the persecutions of the eighties, but it put a check upon them when they might have been carried much further. The French Government could not fail to be impressed by the series of Encyclicals issued by the Holy Father, calling upon all Catholics to abandon further attempts at political domination, accept democracy and recognise Republican institutions.’

  The young Count raised his ‘devils’ eyebrows. ‘I wonder that the bones of the martyrs did not rattle in their crystal pyxes on the Church ordering her faithful servants to prostrate themselves before the “Slut”.’

  With a reproving shake of his dangling silver curls, the Abbé replied: ‘It ill becomes one of your age to criticise the policy of the Holy See; and, although its results may not appear obvious, they are in fact highly satisfactory. After eight years of consistent wooing His Holiness has succeeded in convincing the French Republicans that he has no designs against them. In consequence their enmity has evaporated and an armistice come into existence. So, you see, much has been saved, and even achieved, for the faithful. Their position is now stronger than it has been for many years, and they are once again at liberty to carry on a peaceful penetration into all spheres of French official life.’

  ‘If that is so, Father, I must admit that you have made your case. But you were saying just now that the chances of a restoration were becoming ever more remote. Surely if that is so the withdrawal of the Church’s support from the principle of Monarchy must be largely responsible?’

  ‘My son, I was speaking of the eighties. Matters are now very different. Today Socialism, Communism, and even Anarchy menace France; and few people have any faith in the ability of the Republican politicians to behead these monsters. If the affair were handled with skill and resolution I believe the bulk of the nation would willingly accept a Monarchy, as in so doing lies the only hope of securing a government which will prove both strong and lasting.’

  ‘Would the Church continue to stand aside or would she lend her help in an attempt to overthrow the Republic?’

  The Abbé shrugged. The Holy Father could not be expected to go back on his public pronouncements as long as France remained officially a Republic; but French Catholics would be free to espouse the Royalist cause if they wished, and who can doubt that the great majority of them would do so? And that brings me, my son, to the point I wish to make. Should you decide to go to France and enter into the designs to place the Duke de Vendôme on the Throne …’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed the Count. ‘Is it settled, then, that this youngster should be groomed for King?’

  ‘Not definitely; but last night, after you had gone up to bed, there was further talk of it, and all agreed that no more promising candidate could be found. Should the Monarchist Committee endorse that view, it is quite possible that in a few years’ time you will become involved in a Royalist conspiracy. During it you may become exasperated by the refusal of prominent Catholics to give you their active help. That is why I have explained Ultramontanism to you.’

  De Quesnoy smiled. ‘It seems, Father, that you are taking it for granted that I shall decide to go to France.’

  ‘My son, I know you better than you know yourself. Directly you spoke to me of this I realised that you had already made up your mind to do so; but I fear Monsieur le Duke will stop you if he can.’

  ‘I may defy him. If so, can I still count upon your blessing?’

  The old man nodded. ‘Since your conscience urges you to exchange an easy life for a hard one, how could I deny it to you.’

  Prince Igor and his wife were still staying in the house, which meant that the household would follow the same routine as on previous nights; so Armand decided that the best time to tackle his father was before they went up to change for dinner.

  The Duke, not being accustomed to having his privacy disturbed at this hour, raised his grey eyebrows slightly as Armand came into his room, and inquired:

  ‘What is it, my boy?’

  ‘Perching himself on an arm of the settee, the Count smiled a trifle nervously. ‘It is, Sir, that I wish to discuss my future with you.’

  ‘Indeed!’ De Richleau looked slightly surprised. ‘I thought you were quite happy here, and would be as long as the hunting lasts. But we spoke vaguely some time ago of your doing a tour of Greece and Italy in the spring. If you feel restless I am quite agreeable to your advancing the date of your departure.’

  ‘It is not that, Sir. I wish to become a soldier.’

  The Duke stared at him. ‘A soldier! In God’s name why? If you had to make your way in the world the career of arms is, for a gentleman, as good as any. But you have not. Your name and the one you will inherit from me are career enough. Why give the best years of your life to a dreary routine in barracks and camp, when you might spend them travelling the world, and enjoying the companionship of the most distinguished men and most beautiful women wherever you may go?’

  ‘It is an urge that I have which will not be denied.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ de Richleau said, after a moment. ‘If you are really set on this, I will write to the Czar. I am sure His Imperial Majesty would be happy to give you a commission as an Ensign in one of his regiments of Guards; and it should be easy enough to get you out again when a year or two of marching up and down has brought you to your senses.’

  De Quesnoy drew a deep breath. ‘I thank you, Sir; but you seem to forget that I am not a Russian.’

  ‘What the devil do you mean?’

  ‘Why, that even my dear mother was only half a Russian; so I am three-quarters French by blood, and wholly so by inclination.’

  ‘That makes no difference. Officers of foreign extraction are still favourably received into the service of most European Courts, and that is certainly the case in St. Petersburg.’

  ‘True, Sir; but it is with the French Army that I wish to serve. Now that I am eighteen, I am, as a French national, liable to be called up for military service in it. I have no wish to lose my French citizenship, or to serve in the ranks; but both can be avoided by my volunteering for a commission. And that is my intention.’

  ‘Your intention!’ The Duke jumped to his feet. His rosy cheeks had gone redder above his carefully parted beard, and his blue eyes flashed angrily. ‘How dare you talk to me of your intentions! You know well enough my views on France. Is it likely that I would allow you to take a commission in the French Army?’

  The young Count shrugged. ‘I feared that you might take this view, Sir; but permit me to say that I find it unreasonable. I am a Frenchman, so it is in the French Army that I should serve.’

  ‘Nonsense! There is no earthly reason why you should serve with any army. There is something behind this, I’ve not a doubt. Yes, I have it! That little English witch. Madame Syveton. Anyone could see that you had gone quite mad about her. This is nothing more nor less than a moon-struck youngster’s clumsily-
thought-up excuse for following her to Paris.’

  ‘Were it that, Sir, I would have gone without bothering you; but I assure you it is not.’

  ‘Then de Galliffet has been getting at you, and inflaming your mind with tales of cavalry charges.’

  ‘No; he said only that the Army of France could not have too many young men like myself.’

  ‘Then, since he knows my views, his behaviour as a guest was despicable!’

  ‘Surely that is unfair. He believes France to be in peril of internal collapse, and that the only thing which can save her is a strong Army officered by honest, patriotic men.’

  De Richleau had been pacing up and down. Suddenly he stopped and swung round upon his son. ‘What is it to me what happens to France? When we have French guests here, as a matter of courtesy I discuss the latest news from Paris with them. But you know my views about France well enough. For half a century after she murdered her rightful King, all that was best in France drained from her. She was left like an orange that has been sucked dry. She is like a carcass that has become the prey of jackals, vultures and worms. Last night you heard Syveton make his extraordinary proposal that I should let him and his friends endeavour to put me on the Throne. Only politeness restrained me from laughing. If I had to choose I would sooner become King of some country in which the inhabitants were naked blackamoors. I would then, at least, have some hope of inculcating decency and honesty into such simple subjects. But the French are now a race without honour, principles or any of the higher aspirations. Apart from a few eccentrics like de Galliffet and de Camargue, the nation now consists of a greedy, treacherous, self-seeking bourgeoisie, and workers who have become ever more irresponsible and brutalised by a succession of bloody revolutions. Yet you, my son, the future Duke de Richleau, calmly propose that I should allow you to become an officer in an army which takes its orders from the criminals these people now elect to represent them.’

  ‘Father, you exaggerate,’ de Quesnoy protested. ‘Because a part of a nation has gone rotten that is no justification for condemning the whole. There must still be many millions of good, honest men and women in France, and it is them whom I hope to serve.’