What! this house that Maurice had so often visited with the purest pleasure; this house which had formed for him a paradise on earth,—was in reality only a den of sanguinary intrigues. The kind and flattering receptions bestowed on his ardent friendship resulted then from sheer hypocrisy; the love of Geneviève from fear.
The plan of the garden is well-known, our readers having more than once followed our young folks there. Maurice glided from bush to bush till he was shaded from the moon's rays by the little conservatory where he had been imprisoned previous to his first introduction to the house. This conservatory was opposite the pavilion inhabited by Geneviève. But this evening, instead of gleaming stationary from her chamber, the light moved frequently from one window to another. Maurice saw Geneviève through the curtain, evidently raised by accident, hastily packing some things in a portmanteau, and with astonishment beheld some weapons in her hands. He raised himself upon a post to enable him to see[Pg 293] farther into the room. A large fire was blazing on the hearth, where Geneviève was destroying papers.
At this moment the door opened and a young man entered the room. At first Maurice imagined this man was Dixmer. The young woman ran toward him, seized his hands, and they both stood facing each other for a moment, evidently influenced by some deep emotion. What this emotion meant he could not divine, as their words did not reach his hiding-place. But all at once Maurice measured his height with his eye.
"This is not Dixmer," murmured he. Indeed, the man who had entered was small and delicate, while Dixmer was tall and masculine. Jealousy is an active stimulant, and in a second he had compared the figure of this man with that of her husband.
"This is not Dixmer!" murmured he, compelled as it were to repeat it, to convince himself of the perfidy of Geneviève.
He approached still nearer to the window, but the nearer he came the less he saw. His brain was on fire. He stumbled on a ladder; the window was seven or eight feet high. He seized the ladder, and planting it firmly against the wall, ascended and placed his eye at an aperture in the curtain.
Geneviève's unknown visitor was a fair young man, about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, with blue eyes, and an elegant demeanor; he retained both the young woman's hands within his own, and was speaking soothingly, endeavoring fruitlessly to assuage the grief of Geneviève, which was plainly evinced by the tears which suffused her charming countenance. A slight noise, accidentally made by Maurice, caused the young man to turn his face toward the window. Maurice suppressed a cry of astonishment, he recognized his mys[Pg 294]terious deliverer of the Place du Châtelet. At this moment Geneviève withdrew her hands from those of the unknown, and went toward the fireplace to ascertain that the papers were utterly consumed.
Maurice could no longer command his indignation. All those fierce passions which torture the heart of man—love, vengeance, and jealousy—lacerated him with their fangs of fire. He at once threw open the ill-closed casement, and vaulted into the chamber. At the same moment two pistols were pressed to his breast.
Geneviève, who had turned round at the noise, on perceiving Maurice stood speechless.
"Sir," said the young Republican, coldly, to him who had a double hold on his life, "you are the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"And what if I am?" replied the Chevalier.
"It is this: you are a brave man, and consequently a cool one, and I would say two words to you."
"Say on," said the Chevalier, without lowering his pistols.
"You can kill me; but you cannot do so before I have uttered a cry, or rather I will not die without giving an alarm. Should I do so, the thousand men who surround this house will have reduced it to ashes ere the lapse of ten minutes; so lower your pistols and listen to what I have to say to the lady."
"To Geneviève?" said the Chevalier.
"To me?" murmured the young woman.
"Yes, to you."
Geneviève, pale as a statue, seized Maurice's arm; but he repulsed her coldly.
"You know what you affirmed, Madame," said Maurice, with profound contempt. "I now see that you told the truth. You indeed do not love Monsieur Morand."
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"Maurice! hear me," said Geneviève.
"I have nothing to hear, Madame; you have severed with a single stroke every cord that united my heart with your own. You told me you did not love Morand, but you did not tell me you loved another."
"Sir," said the Chevalier, "what say you of Morand; or rather of what Morand do you speak?"
"Of Morand the chemist."
"Morand the chemist stands before you. Morand the chemist is the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
And extending his hand toward the table, he in an instant resumed the black wig which for so long a period had concealed him from the young Republican.
"Ah, yes," said he, with redoubled disdain,—"yes, I understand. It is not Morand that you love, since Morand does not exist; but the subterfuge, for all its acuteness, is none the less contemptible."
The Chevalier made a threatening movement.
"Sir," said Maurice, "permit me to speak a moment with the lady; join in the conversation if you like; it will not be long, I assure you."
Geneviève, with a gesture, asked Maison-Rouge to have patience.
"Thus, Geneviève, thus," continued Maurice, "you have made me a laughing-stock to my friends and a curse to my party. You have rendered me, blind fool that I was, an instrument in all your plots and an easy tool in your hands. Listen! It was an infamous deed; but you will be punished, Madame, for in five minutes this man, who is going to kill me before your eyes, will be lying dead at your feet; or if his life be spared, it will only be to lose his head upon the scaffold."
"He die!" cried Geneviève; "he lose his head upon the scaffold! But you do not know then, Maurice, that[Pg 296] he is my protector, and that of my family; that I will give my life for his; that if he dies I will die; and that if you are my love, he is my religion!"
"Ah!" said Maurice, "perhaps you still mean to pretend that you love me. Really, women are sadly weak and contemptible."
Then turning to the young Royalist,—
"Now, sir," said he, "you must either kill me or die yourself."
"Why so?"
"Because, if you do not kill me, I shall arrest you."
Maurice extended his hand to seize him by the collar.
"I shall not dispute my life with you," said the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge; and he flung his pistols on a chair.
"And why do you not dispute your life?"
"Because my life is not equivalent in value to the remorse I should experience in feeling that I had killed a brave man, and more than all since Geneviève loves you."
"Ah!" cried the young woman, clasping her hands, "you are always kind, great, loyal, and generous, Armand!"
Maurice regarded them both, almost stupefied with astonishment.
"One moment," said the Chevalier, "allow me to return to my chamber. I give you my word of honor it is not to escape; I wish to conceal a portrait."
Maurice turned his eyes quickly toward that of Geneviève; it hung in its place. Perhaps the Chevalier divined Maurice's thoughts, or perhaps he wished to try his generosity to the utmost.
"Come," said he, "I know you are a Republican, but I know also that you possess a pure and loyal heart. I will trust you to the end. Look!"
And he drew a miniature from his breast, and displayed[Pg 297] it to Maurice. He beheld before him the portrait of the queen. Maurice bowed his head, and rested his forehead on his hand.
"I await your orders, sir," said Maison-Rouge; "if you desire my arrest, knock at this door when it is time for me to give myself up. I care not for my life from the moment it is not sustained by the hope of saving my queen."
The Chevalier quitted the room without a gesture from Maurice offering to detain him.
As he left the chamber Geneviève cast herself at the young man's feet.
"Pardon, Maurice," sobbed she,—"pardon for all the evil I have done. Forgive my deception; forgive me, if only on account of my tears and suffering, for believe me I have wept much and suffered much. My husband left me this morning; I know not where he is gone, and perhaps I may see him no more. And now I have only one friend left,—nay more than friend, a brother,—and you will destroy him. Pardon, Maurice, pardon!"
Maurice raised the young woman.
"What would you?" said he. "There is fatality in all this. Every one stakes his life in these days; the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge has played like all the rest, but he has lost the game, and he must therefore pay."
"That means that he must die, if I understand you rightly?"
"Yes."
"He must die; and it is you who tell me this?"
"It is not I, Geneviève; it is fatality."
"Fatality has not uttered its last word, since you can save him."
"At the expense of my word, and consequently of my honor. I comprehend, Geneviève."
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"Shut your eyes, Maurice; that is all I ask; and as far as a woman may evince her gratitude I will promise you mine."
"I should close my eyes to little purpose, Madame; there is a password given, and without this password no one could go out. Besides, the house, as I have told you, is surrounded."
"And you know the word?"
"Certainly I know it."
"Maurice!"
"Well?"
"Dear friend Maurice, tell me this password; I must know it."
"Geneviève," cried Maurice, "do you mean to say to me, 'Maurice, for the love I bear you, sacrifice your word and your honor, betray your cause, abjure your opinions.' What do you offer me, Geneviève, in exchange for all this, you who tempt me thus?"
"Oh, Maurice, save him, save him first! and then ask of me my life."
"Geneviève," replied Maurice, in a desponding tone, "hear me! I have one foot on the road to infamy; before I make a final descent I wish at least to find a sufficient excuse for so doing. Geneviève, swear to me you do not love the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge!"
"I love him as a sister and a friend; not otherwise, I swear."
"Geneviève, do you love me?"
"Maurice, I do love you; it is true, as God now hears me."
"If I do what you ask me, will you abandon relatives, friends, country, and fly with the traitor?"
"Maurice! Maurice!"
"She hesitates! Oh, she hesitates!"
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And he turned from her with all the violence of disdain. Geneviève, who was leaning upon him, feeling suddenly her support give way, fell upon her knees.
"Maurice," said she, wringing her hands, "I will swear to do all that you require of me. Order, and I will obey."
"You will be mine, Geneviève?"
"I will."
"Swear it, by Christ."
Geneviève extended her arms.
"My God," cried she, "thou didst pardon one poor woman who had gone astray; I trust in thy mercy that thou wilt also pardon me."
And the great tears rained down her cheeks, falling upon her long hair hanging dishevelled on her bosom.
"Not thus!" said Maurice, "swear not thus! or I cannot accept that oath."
"O Heaven!" replied she, "I swear to devote my life to Maurice, to die with him, and if requisite, for him, if he will save my friend, my brother, my protector, the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge."
"'T is well: he shall be saved," said Maurice.
And he went toward his chamber.
"Sir," said he, "resume your costume of the tanner Morand; I return your parole, you are free. And you, Madame," said he turning to Geneviève, "this is the password, 'Carnation and Vault.'" And as if horrified to remain in the chamber where he had pronounced the words which constituted him a traitor, he opened the window, and sprang from the room into the garden below.
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