CHAPTER XII
A CONFERENCE WITH CELLAMARE
“What have we here?” cried a voice from the staircase. I could perceive no one because of the darkness, but I knew from the accent that the speaker was not a Frenchman.
“Enter, monsieur,” I said, realizing that I could do nothing against an antagonist who remained invisible. “Enter, and we shall doubtless be able to arrive at an explanation.”
“Ah, ah!” cried the voice again, “but I do not know you, monsieur. Stay; do not move,” he continued, as I advanced a step towards the door. “I have you covered with two pistols, and I desire you to remain where you are for the present. I might miss with one, but I should surely kill you with the other. Now, pray tell me what you are doing in this room.”
“I heard a lady cry out in distress,” I answered, reflecting rapidly that the statement of this simple fact could compromise no one and that it was necessary to gain time. “I ran up the stairs, broke open the door, and cut down a scoundrel whom I found choking her.”
“And where is this lady, may I ask?” inquired the voice in an anxious tone.
“In the corner there, and I doubt not in great need of attention. But I am growing weary of this questioning, monsieur,” and I made another step towards the door.
“One question more,” said the man. “Did you accompany the lady hither?”
“Yes,” I answered, without hesitation.
“Then everything is as it should be,” he cried, “and you have rendered me a great service. Come, put down your sword as I put up my pistols. It was I whom the lady came to see. You will believe this when I tell you that she is Mlle. de Launay and that she comes from Madame du Maine,” and as he spoke he entered the room, his pistols in his belt. I saw him to be a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with a soldierly carriage and haughty bearing which the dark cloak he wore could not conceal. I was not surprised, therefore, when he threw off his cloak and disclosed beneath it a handsome cavalier’s dress. His moustache, which described a straight line across his upper lip, was slightly tinged with gray, and from the darkness of his skin and the fire in his eyes I judged him to be a Spaniard or Italian.
“The devil,” I thought, “have I stumbled into another love-affair? It seems to me that I have enough on my hands already,” but I continued my survey of the new-comer without saying a word.
“Come, monsieur,” he said, with a smile, “it is evident that you do not know me. Before I can tell you who I am I must ask you one other question. You are, perhaps, acquainted with certain plans of Madame du Maine?”
“Perhaps,” I answered.
“And you were aware that Mlle. de Launay was to leave some papers here?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“But you did not know for whom the papers were intended,—is it not so?”
“That is so, monsieur.”
“Well, I will tell you for whom they were intended. They were intended for Antonio Giudice, Duke of Giovennazzo and Prince of Cellamare, ambassador of Spain at the court of Versailles. In other words, monsieur, they were intended for myself.”
I had for a moment suspected what was coming, and it needed no second glance to tell me that he was speaking the truth.
“Ah, M. le Prince,” I cried, sending my sword into its sheath, “I am indeed glad to see you! But who, then, was the fellow whom I cut down?”
Cellamare bent over the man and looked into his face.
“’Tis a servant of mine!” he exclaimed. “He came to me with excellent recommendations a month ago and I employed him. I sent him on here to inform mademoiselle that I should be a few moments late.”
“Doubtless a police spy, then,” I said. “He is not dead, and perhaps we may get something more out of him. But come, let us close the door and see what injury has been done her.”
Cellamare sprang to the door and soon had it in place again, while I kneeled beside her body and placed my hand above her heart. I was overjoyed to feel it still faintly beating. Stooping closer, I saw that she was unconscious, and some livid marks about her neck indicated that the brute had been choking her.
“Good,” I said, “I believe that she has only fainted. Could you procure some water and some wine, monsieur?”
Cellamare went into an adjoining room, and in a moment returned with a glass of water and a bottle of wine. I dipped my handkerchief in the water and bathed her face. In a moment she opened her eyes.
“Ah, that is better,” I said, supporting her head with my arm. “Now drink some of this, mademoiselle,” and I filled a second glass with wine and held it to her lips. Mechanically she swallowed it, and I saw the color returning to her face.
“Oh, what has happened?” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“Quite safe, I assure you, mademoiselle,” answered Cellamare, and between us we assisted her to her feet.
She looked at him a moment.
“Ah, yes, I recollect,” she cried, suddenly. “I was bringing you the papers. Where are the papers?” and her hands flew to her waist in an agony of apprehension, which I fully shared. “They are safe,” she said, and she drew from the folds of her dress the packet of papers which I had seen Madame du Maine give her. “Take them, M. le Prince,” she added, handing them to him, “and now tell me what has happened.”
“Do you tell us first what happened to you, mademoiselle,” I suggested, “then we can better understand the story.”
“Well,” she said, quickly, “when I left M. de Brancas at the foot of the stairs,” Cellamare bowed to me as she mentioned my name, “I ran quickly up and knocked at the door of this room. A man whom I did not know opened it. He said he had been sent to meet me by M. de Cellamare. He told me to enter, and closed the door behind me. He continued that M. de Cellamare would not be able to keep the appointment, and that I was to leave any papers I might have for him and he would get them later in the day. Something in the man’s manner frightened me, and I replied that I should not leave the papers, but would make another appointment with M. le Prince. I started to leave the room, when he sprang upon me. I threw him off and rushed to the window, broke it, and screamed for help, hoping that M. de Brancas would hear me. At that instant I felt strong fingers on my throat and knew no more.”
I related briefly my share in the adventure, and Cellamare repeated what he had already told me in reference to the stranger.
“Perhaps he can tell us something more,” I suggested, as Cellamare concluded, and I dragged the prostrate man to the wall and propped him against it. He groaned as I did so. “Ah, come,” I said, “he is not dead yet. Let us see where my sword went through him.” I stripped his doublet from his shoulder and found the blood welling from a wound which had undoubtedly pierced his breast, but which was yet some distance above his heart. “This will not kill him if his blood be good,” I remarked, and bathed the wound with my wet handkerchief. The bleeding slowly ceased and I tied the fellow’s scarf tightly over it. “Let us see, now, if we cannot bring him to consciousness,” and prying his teeth apart, I forced a little wine between his lips. He groaned again, and this time opened his eyes. He seemed to comprehend at once where he was, for he glanced from me to Cellamare and back again, and grew even more livid, if such a thing were possible.
“Do not fear,” I said, “we are not going to harm you further, and you will soon get well of this little wound if you are properly cared for. Now we will care for you, but only on one condition.”
His eyes questioned me.
“The condition is,” I continued, answering their glance, “that you tell us for whom you wished to secure these papers. Do you agree?”
He looked at me again and then at Cellamare, but there was no relenting.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Then who sent you here?”
“Hérault.” We all started at the word, for if Hérault suspected, there was no telling what might happen.
“He told you to enter the employ of M. de Cellamare?”
“Yes.”
“And provided you with recommendations?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“To watch him.”
“But why?”
“I do not know. I was to obtain possession, if I could, of any papers or correspondence he might receive from Madame du Maine.”
Again we exchanged a glance.
“And Hérault told you that these papers might be brought by Mlle. de Launay?”
“Yes.”
“What were you to do with the papers when you had once obtained them?”
“I was to leave them at a certain place.”
“Where?”
The fellow hesitated, but a glance at our faces told him that we would take no equivocation.
“With the concierge of the house at the corner of the Rue Jean St. Denis and the Rue de Beauvais,” he answered, at last.
“Have you taken any papers there as yet?”
“No. This afternoon was the first chance I had to get any.”
I paused to consider.
“This man can tell us nothing further,” I said, after a moment. “Let us put him out of the way for a time.”
“There is a bed in the next room,” said Cellamare.
We lifted him as gently as we could and laid him on the bed. Then we returned to the larger room and carefully closed the door between the two.
“It seems to me that we are lost,” and Cellamare threw himself into a chair, his face dark with disappointment.
“Oh, do not say so, monsieur!” and Mlle. de Launay, who had been a silent spectator of the foregoing scene, wrung her hands in anguish.
“But if Hérault knows,” protested the prince.
“Perhaps he does not know,” I answered. “Perhaps he only suspects, without knowing exactly what to suspect. He has doubtless observed that many couriers have passed between the Spanish embassy and the court of Madrid. He has, perhaps, been told that Madame du Maine and M. de Cellamare exchange many communications. He suspects something, he knows not what, and he is trying to find out more. This in itself would not be very serious. Only,” I added, “we must prevent his finding out anything more.”
“You may be right, monsieur,” and Cellamare’s face brightened a little. “But to prevent his finding out anything more,—that will be a difficult task.”
“He must be thrown on the wrong scent.”
“How do you mean?”
“You heard what disposition was to be made of the papers?”
“Yes.”
“Well, to-night a package of papers will be left for M. Hérault at this house in the Rue de Beauvais. They will be papers from Madame du Maine to yourself. Only, they will have no connection with this enterprise, but with something quite different. In a word, they will be papers prepared expressly for the eye of M. Hérault. You understand?”
“Perfectly,” and Cellamare’s eyes sparkled with their old brilliancy. “The plan is admirable, monsieur; permit me to compliment you.”
I bowed.
“Perhaps monsieur could suggest some subject upon which correspondence would be necessary, and which would yet not have the air of a conspiracy,” I continued.
“I have it!” cried Mlle. de Launay. “Let us prepare a lot of petitions, papers, and memorials praying the King of Spain to intercede with the regent to annul the decree which shuts the Duke du Maine from the throne. This would be a subject requiring no little correspondence, and at the same time would be nothing concerning which the regent could take action.”
“Excellent,” I said; “but these papers must be prepared at once, mademoiselle.”
“The duchess already has a thousand such,” and the girl smiled. “She has been preparing them for many months. It will be necessary only to tie them together. But how shall we get them into Hérault’s hands?”
“I will deliver them,” I said. “Nobody knows me in Paris.”
“Good. That is arranged, then,” said Cellamare. “Now as to these papers which you have just given me, mademoiselle. Let us see what they contain.”
At that moment there was a blinding flash of lightning, and the rain, which had been long delayed, came down in torrents. The room grew very dark, and Cellamare arose and lighted two candles which stood on the table.
“These papers, M. le Prince,” said Mlle. de Launay, as he sat down again, “contain a detailed account of the aid we may expect in France. Let me have them a moment.”
Cellamare shot a questioning glance in my direction, which the girl intercepted.
“We have already had sufficient proof of the fidelity of M. de Brancas,” she said.
“True!” he cried, heartily. “Pardon me, I pray you, monsieur.”
“In affairs of this kind,” I said, with a smile, “it is necessary for one to be cautious. I am quite ready to withdraw,” and I arose from my chair.
“Stay, I beg of you,” and Cellamare also arose and pressed me back. “Your advice will be invaluable.”
The girl opened the packet and drew out one of the papers.
“This,” she said, “is a statement of the forces which will muster to our support in Brittany. As you see, we can count upon nearly all the noble houses. Here is the name of each of them and the number of troops each can muster.”
“Good,” said Cellamare, taking the paper and looking it over carefully. “This promises at least eight thousand men.”
She opened another paper.
“Here is a statement from Bayonne,” she said. “The town will be opened to the Spanish troops without resistance. The regiment quartered there, which is commanded by the Duc de Richelieu, will join the Spanish army, and the town has also promised to raise a regiment.”
“A good point,” and Cellamare scanned this paper as he had the first. “This will give us a stronghold on the border of France, through which we can advance upon Paris. And two regiments are not to be laughed at.”
Mlle. de Launay opened a third paper.
“This is a statement of de Mesmes, president of parliament,” she said. “He has gained to our interests a majority of the members, and so soon as we strike a blow the parliament will declare for us and will instruct the citizen soldiery of Paris to take up arms in our behalf.”
“Ah, ah!” and Cellamare’s eyes were sparkling. “This is best of all. We shall be able to strike the regency right at its heart.”
The girl doubtless felt the enthusiasm of the Spaniard, but she preserved an admirable composure. As for me, I judged it best to use my ears and not my tongue.
“This is a statement from Cardinal de Polignac,” she continued, opening yet another paper. “It was he, you may remember, who in 1797 caused the Prince de Conti to be chosen King of Poland, although, unfortunately, he never ascended the throne. Still, the Poles idolized him and they remember Polignac. Five thousand lances are assembling at the frontier and will be ready to follow him into France in a week’s time. They are concentrating at two points, Arlon and Landau.”
“Nothing could be better!” cried Cellamare, and as for myself, I confess that I felt slipping from me one by one the doubts I had entertained as to the success of the conspiracy.
“The other papers are of less importance,” she concluded, “though important enough in themselves. These, for instance, are pledges of support from the Marquis de Pompadour and the Marquis de Laval, who will bring us the united strength of the Montmorencies. Here are some papers from the Abbé Brigaut, who has attended to much of the correspondence for us, assisted by the Chevalier de Menil, and who assures us that half the remaining nobility of the kingdom, who have been insulted by the regent, will be with us. And here are a dozen others of the same kind.”
“All of which would have made interesting reading for the regent,” I remarked, dryly, and Cellamare nodded thoughtfully.
“And now, M. le Prince, what have you done?” demanded the girl, with blazing eyes. “Madame du Maine wishes me to urge haste above everything. To-day’s affair shows we have no time to lose.”
“I received a letter this morning from Cardinal Alberoni, prime minister of Spain,” answered Cellamare, “and he assures me that the armies of Spain will be ready to cross the frontiers of France in a week’s time.”
“We shall, then, send out instructions to all our allies to strike the first blow one week from to-day. Do you agree?”
“One week from to-day let it be,” said Cellamare, his hands trembling with emotion.
“This is the fifteenth of December. One week from to-day will be the twenty-second. At seven in the morning, then, let Philip of Spain be proclaimed regent of France. Do you your part, M. le Prince, and Madame du Maine will do hers.” I swear she was the coolest of the three.
“It is agreed,” and Cellamare bowed.
“Come, monsieur,” said mademoiselle to me, “let us hasten back and inform the duchess of our decision.”
“But what of our wounded friend in the room there?” I asked.
“I will attend to him,” said Cellamare, “and see that he is kept in a place where he can do no harm.”
“All is arranged then; come,” and Mlle. de Launay hurried from the room and down the stairs.
The clocks were striking three as we reached the street. The sky had cleared and the sun was shining, but the rainfall had been very heavy. The streets were filled with water almost to the houses, and the wide gutters in the middle had been converted into great turgid streams. Across these planks were thrown here and there, forming rude bridges for the accommodation of pedestrians. We picked our way along the slippery stones near the houses, my companion choosing a circuitous route which finally brought us again to the Rue des Frondeurs, and along it to the Rue St. Honoré. Here the floods of water from the neighboring streets had concentrated into a perfect river, through which a continuous stream of carriages splashed, making it impossible to keep the bridges in position.
“Oh, what shall we do?” she cried, as we stopped at the edge of this torrent. “We must not remain here. How are we to cross?”
“I see only one way, mademoiselle,” I answered, and before she could protest I caught her up in my arms and was splashing through the muddy water. Just as I reached the middle of it a passing carriage barred my progress. An irresistible attraction drew my eyes to the window, and I saw there the face of Louise Dacour. She was looking into my eyes, a disdainful smile just curving her lips. I bowed to her, but she made no sign of recognition, and in an instant had disappeared.