by Maurus Jokai
Vavel recognized Satan Laczi, and said to the guard:
“Release him; he is a friend of mine.” Then to the ex-robber: “Come with me.”
He led the way to his own private tent, where he bade his companion rest himself on a pallet of straw.
“I dare say you are tired, my good fellow.”
“Not very,” was the reply. “I have come only from Kapuvar to-day.”
“On foot?”
“Part of the way, and part of the way swimming.”
“What news do you bring?”
“We captured a French courier in the marshes near Vitnyed just as he was about to ride into the stream.”
“Where is he?”
“Well, you see, one of my fellows happened to grasp him a little too tightly by the collar, because he resisted so obstinately—and, besides, it must have been a very weak cord that fastened his soul to his body.”
“You have not done well, Satan Laczi,” reproved the count. “Another time you must bring the prisoner to me alive, for I may learn something of importance from him. Did not I tell you that I would pay a reward for a living captive?”
“Yes, your lordship, and we shall lose our reward this time. But we didn’t capture the fellow for nothing, after all. We searched his pockets, and found this sealed letter addressed to a general in the enemy’s army.”
Vavel took the letter, and said: “Rest here until I return. You will find something to eat and drink in the corner there. I may want you to ride farther to-night.”
“If I am to go on a horse, that will rest me sufficiently,” was the response.
Vavel quitted the tent to read the letter by the nearest watch-fire. It was addressed to “General Guillaume.”
That the general commanded a brigade of the viceroy of Italy’s troops, Vavel knew.
The letter was a long one—four closely written pages. Before reading it Vavel glanced at the signature: “Marquis de Fervlans.” The name seemed familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it. He was fully informed when he read the contents:
“M. GENERAL: The intrigue has been successfully carried out. Themire has found the fugitives! They are hidden in a secluded nook on the shore of Lake Neusiedl in Hungary, where their extreme caution has attracted much attention. Themire’s first move was to take up her abode in the same neighborhood, which she did in a masterly manner. The estate she bought belonged to a Viennese baron who had ruined himself by extravagance. Themire bought the property, paying one hundred thousand guilders for it, on condition that she might also assume the baron’s name; such transfers are possible, I believe, in Austria. In this wise Themire became the Baroness Katharina Landsknechtsschild, and, as she thoroughly understands the art of transformation, became a perfect German woman before she took possession of her purchase. In order not to arouse suspicion on the part of the fugitives, she carefully avoided meeting either of them, and played to perfection the rôle of a lady that had been jilted by her lover.
“Themire learned that our fugitive owned a powerful telescope with which he kept himself informed of everything that happened in the neighborhood, and this prompted her to adopt a very amusing plan of action. I wanted to put an end at once to the matter, and had gone to Vienna for the purpose of so doing. I entered the Austrian army as Count Leon Barthelmy, in order to be near my chosen emissary. But my scheme was without result. I had planned that a notorious robber of that region should steal the girl and the documents from the Nameless Castle,—as the abode of the fugitives is called,—but my robber proved unequal to the task. Consequently I was forced to accept Themire’s more tedious but successful plan. The difficulty was for Themire to become acquainted with our fugitive without arousing his suspicions. An opportunity offered. One night, when we knew to a certainty that the hermit in the Nameless Castle would be in his observatory because of an eclipse of the moon, Themire put her plan into operation. The hermit, who is only a man, after all, found a lovely woman more attractive than all the planets in the universe; he was captured in the net laid for him! When the moon entered the shadow, four masked robbers (Jocrisse was their leader!) climbed into the Baroness Landsknechtsschild’s windows. The hermit in his observatory beheld this incursion, and, being a knight as well as a recluse, what else could he do but rush to the rescue of his fair neighbor? His telescope had told him she was fair. Jocrisse played his part admirably. At the approach of the deliverer the “robbers” took to their heels, and the brave knight unbound the fettered and charming lady he had delivered from the ruffians. As Themire had prepared herself for the meeting, you may guess the result: the hermit was captured!”
Oh, how every drop of blood in Vavel’s veins boiled and seethed! His face was crimsoned with shame and rage. He read further:
“Themire was perfectly certain that the mysterious hermit of the Nameless Castle had fallen in love with her; and I am not so sure but Themire has ended by falling in love with the knight! Women’s hearts are so impressionable.
“I managed to have my regiment sent to her neighborhood, and took up my quarters in her house. I sought by every means to lure the hermit from his den; but he is a cunning fox, is this protector of fair ladies! I could not get a sight of him. I decided at last to waylay him (when he would be out driving with the veiled lady), to pretend that I was a betrayed husband in search of his errant wife, and ask to see the face of his veiled companion. This, naturally, he would refuse. A duel would be the result; and as he has not for years had a weapon in his hand, and as I am a dead shot, you can guess the result—a hermit against a Spadassin! With a bullet in his brain, the mysterious maid would become my property.”
Here an icy chill shook Vavel’s frame. He read on:
“That was my intention. But something on which I had not counted prevented me from carrying it out. When I insisted on seeing the face of the veiled lady, after telling him I believed her to be my wife, Ange Barthelmy (I need not tell you that that entire story was an invention of my own; I published it in a provincial newspaper, whence it spread all over Europe), my brave hermit showed a very bold front, and we were on the point of exchanging blows, when the lady suddenly flung back her veil and revealed the face of—Themire! You may believe that I was dumfounded for an instant; then I began to believe that my faith in this woman had been misplaced. Could it be possible that she had been caught in her own trap—that she had found this Vavel’s eyes more alluring than the fortune we promised her, and that instead of betraying him to us she would do the very opposite—betray us to him? It may be that she has woven a more delicate web than I can detect with which to entangle her romantic victim the more securely. At all events, when I asked Vavel what relation the lady at his side bore to him, he replied: ‘She is my betrothed wife.’
“I confess I am puzzled. But I have the means of compelling Themire to keep her promise. Her daughter is in my power!”
(“Her daughter?” gasped Vavel. “Her daughter? Then Katharina is a married woman!”)
“But,” he continued to read, “it might happen that a woman who is in love would sacrifice her child. So soon as this war broke out, Vavel threw off his hermit’s mask, and is now leading a company of troopers—which he equipped at his own expense—against us.
“From Jocrisse’s letters I learn that Vavel’s treasures are now in Themire’s hands. That which our fair emissary was commissioned to find is in her possession. Now, however, the question is, What will she do with it?
“Jocrisse also informs me that Themire is quite bewitched with the amiability of the maid who has been intrusted to her care. If this be true, then matters are in a bad way. If this is not another of Themire’s schemes, but actual sympathy, if this girl, whose remarkable loveliness of character (even Jocrisse is compelled to praise her) has won the piquant little Amélie’s place in her mother’s heart, then it will be more difficult to separate Themire from the girl than to win her from her lover.”
This was a solitary ray of sunshine amid the threatening clou
ds which enveloped Ludwig. He continued to read with rapidly beating heart:
“I must know to a certainty what Themire proposes to do. To-day I sent her a message by a trusty courier, informing her that I should be at a certain place at an appointed time—that I wanted her to meet me and deliver into my hands the treasures she now holds. She will have an excellent excuse for leaving the manor. Our troops are approaching Steiermark, and have already crossed the Hungarian border. Thus it will seem as if she fell by accident into the hands of the enemy.”
Vavel’s heart almost ceased to beat. The letter shook in his trembling hands.
“I shall not, however,” he continued to read, “depend on the fickle mood of a woman, who may be swayed by a tear or a love-letter. If Themire does not appear with the maid and the documents at the designated spot tomorrow evening, then I shall ride with my troop to the manor. My troop, as you know, belongs to the ‘Legion of Demons,’ and they do not know the definition of the word ‘impossible’! If Themire of her own free will delivers the treasures into my hands, I shall thank her becomingly. If, however, she fails to meet me, I shall take the maid and the documents by force.”
Vavel did not notice that the firelight by which he was reading the letter had begun to grow dim; he believed the characters on the page before him were swimming in a blood-red mist.
“And now,” the letter went on, “I come to my instructions to you, general. You will move with your division toward the southern shore of Lake Neusiedl, and cut off the way of our fugitives toward the Tyrol. There is also another task which you must undertake. The mysterious maid, once she is in our hands, must be treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. A remarkable destiny awaits her. You know the emperor is going to separate from Josephine. A new palace will be built for the new empress. Who is the fortunate lady? As yet, no one can tell. A royal maid who can bring as her dowry the crown of a sovereign. A marriage that would unite the imperial crown with the crown of Hugo Capet would firmly establish Napoleon’s throne. The legitimate dynasty would then be satisfied with the sovereign chosen by the people. This fugitive maid is, I hear, lovely, amiable, generous, pure, as only the ideal of a sovereign can be.”
Vavel stamped his foot in a paroxysm of fury. Had this miscreant written that Marie was to be imprisoned in a convent, he could have borne it. But to suggest that his idol, his pure, adored image of a saint, might become the consort of the man on whom all the savage hatred of his nature was concentrated—this was more horrible than all the torments of hell. But he must calm himself and read the letter to the end.
“With this probability in view, I request that you send your wife and daughter, with a proper escort, of course, to meet me in one of the border cities, say Friedberg, where the ladies will be prepared to take charge of the maid. You will understand that a lady of her exalted position must travel only in company with distinguished persons. Countess Themire Dealba’s rôle is concluded. She must not be allowed, in any character, to accompany our presumptive sovereign to Paris. She will receive her five millions of francs, as promised, and that will conclude our business transactions with her. Pray communicate my desire to your wife and daughter, and bid them prepare for the journey.
“Very truly,
“MARQUIS DE FERVLANS.”
Not for one instant did Ludwig Vavel deliberate as to his course of action.
He could not leave his post. For a soldier to quit his post before the enemy is treason. He hurried back to his tent. Satan Laczi was stretched on the bare ground, sleeping soundly.
Ludwig shook him vigorously.
“Awake—awake! You must depart at once.”
Satan Laczi sprang to his feet.
“Take my own horse, and ride for your life the shortest way to Fertöszeg.”
“And what am I to do there?”
“Do you remember that an officer once asked you to steal the treasure I kept concealed in the Nameless Castle?”
“Yes; but I didn’t do it.”
“Well, I want you to do it now for me.”
“Which do you want, the maid or the casket?”
“Both, if possible; the maid in any case. But you must be sure that she is alone when you approach her. Then say merely the name ‘Sophie Botta,’ and she will listen quietly to what you have to say. Then show her this ring,—here, put it on your left thumb”—he drew the steel ring from his own thumb and slipped it on to Satan Laczi’s,—“and say, ‘The person who wears this ring sent me to fetch you away from here. You are to come with me at once.’ ”
“And where am I to take her?”
“You will have a carriage with four swift horses at the park gate nearest the cemetery, and must drive with the maid to Raab.—Don’t stop on any account until you get there. In Raab you will inquire for the house of Dr. Tromfszky, who is our army physician. He will have been advised of your coming, and will take charge of the maid. Then you will return to me here, and report what you have done. Here is a passport; if you are stopped at our lines show it to the guard. And here is a purse; don’t spare the contents. And do not speak to a living soul about your mission.”
“Your orders shall be obeyed,” responded Satan Laczi, as he turned to leave the tent.
Vavel did not go back to the officers’ tent. He went out into the night, and stood with folded arms, gazing with unseeing eyes into the darkness.
PART VIII
KATHARINA OR THEMIRE?
CHAPTER I
It was a delightful May evening. Marie was practising diligently her piano lesson, in order to surprise Ludwig with her progress when he should return from the war. That he would return Marie was quite certain.
Katharina had gone into the park for a solitary promenade. She had complained all day of a headache—a headache that began to trouble her after she had read the letter she had received that morning from the Marquis de Fervlans. She held the letter in her hand now, and read it again for the hundredth time.
Yes, she had accomplished her mission successfully; the fugitive maid and the important documents were in her possession; and yet her trembling hand refused to grasp the promised reward. A fortune awaited her for the comedy she had played with such success—a comedy in which she had acted the part of the charitable lady of the manor.
And what if there had been something of reality in the farce? Suppose her heart had learned to thrill with emotions hitherto unknown to it? Suppose it had learned to know the true meaning of gratitude—of love?
But five millions of francs!
If she were alone in the world! But there was Amélie, her dear little daughter, who was now almost fifteen years old—almost a young lady. Should she leave Amélie in her present disagreeable position, a member of “Cythera’s Brigade,” or should she send for her, and confess to the man whose respect she desired to retain that the child was her daughter, and that she was a widow? Could she tell him what she had once been? Would he continue to respect, to love her?
Five millions of francs!
It was an enormous sum, and would become hers if she should order the carriage, and, taking Marie and the casket with her, drive leisurely along the highway until stopped by a troop of soldiers that would suddenly surround the carriage. A politely smiling face would then appear at the window of the carriage, and a courteous voice would say:
“Don’t be alarmed, ladies. You are with friends. We are Frenchmen.”
But to renounce the love and respect so hardly won! Ah, how very dearly she loved the man to whom she had betrothed herself in jest! In jest? No, no; it was not a jest!
But five millions of francs!
Would all the millions in the world buy one faithful heart?
Katharina was suffering for her transgressions. She had intended to play with the heart of another, and had lost her own. Besides, she could not bear to think of betraying the innocent girl who loved and trusted her and called her “mother.”
But time pressed. Three times already Jocrisse had interrupted her meditations
to inquire if her answer to the marquis’s letter was ready. And still she struggled with herself. When Jocrisse appeared again, she said to him:
“My letter is of such importance that I cannot think of intrusting it to the hands of a stranger. You yourself, Jocrisse, must take it to the marquis.”
“I am ready to depart at once, madame.”
Katharina wrote her reply, sealed it carefully, and gave it to Jocrisse, who set out at once on his errand.
In the letter he carried were but three words:
“Io non posso” (“I cannot”).
Katharina locked herself in the pavilion in the park, and gave orders to the servants not to admit any visitors, whether acquaintances or strangers.
An hour or more had passed when she heard a timid knock at the door, and an apologetic voice said:
“A strange gentleman is here. I told him your ladyship would see no one; then he bade me give your ladyship this, which he said he had brought from Paris.”
Katharina opened the door wide enough to receive the object. It was a small ivory locket, yellow with age. Katharina’s hand shook violently as she pressed the spring to open it. She cast a hasty glance at the miniature,—the likeness of her daughter Amélie,—then said in a faltering voice: “You may tell the gentleman I will see him.”
In a few minutes the visitor entered the pavilion.
“M. Cambray!” exclaimed the baroness.
“Yes, madame; I am Cambray, with my other name, Marquis Richard d’Avoncourt. I am he to whom you once said: ‘I shall be grateful to you so long as I live.’ ”