Александр Дюма
The Conspirators
Bathilde went up to him solemnly and kissed him.
"But what are you going to do, my child?"
"My duty," answered Bathilde.
She opened a little cupboard in the prie-Dieu, took out a black pocket-book, opened it, and drew out a letter.
"You are right, you are right, my child, I had forgotten that letter."
"I remembered it," answered Bathilde, kissing the letter, and placing it next her heart, "for it was the sole inheritance my mother left me."
At that moment they heard the noise of a coach at the door.
"Adieu, father! adieu, Nanette! Pray for my success."
And Bathilde went away, with a solemn gravity which made her, in the eyes of those who watched her, almost a saint.
At the door she found Boniface waiting with a coach.
"Shall I go with you, Mademoiselle Bathilde?" asked he.
"No, no, my friend," said Bathilde, "not now; to-morrow, perhaps."
She entered the coach.
"Where to?" asked the coachman.
"To the Arsenal."
CHAPTER XLI.
THE THREE VISITS
On arriving at the Arsenal Bathilde asked for Mademoiselle de Launay, who – at her request – led her at once to Madame de Maine.
"Ah, it is you, my child!" said the duchess, with a distracted air and voice; "it is well to remember one's friends when they are in misfortune."
"Alas, madame!" replied Bathilde, "I come to your royal highness to speak of one still more unfortunate. Doubtless you may have lost some of your titles, some of your dignities, but their vengeance will stop, for no one would dare to attack the life, or even the liberty, of the son of Louis XIV., or the granddaughter of the great Conde."
"The life, no; but the liberty, I will not answer for it. Do you know that that idiot of an Abbe Brigaud has got arrested three days ago at Orleans, dressed as a peddler, and – on false revelations, which they represented to him as coming from me – has confessed all, and compromised us terribly, so that I should not be astonished at being arrested this very day?"
"He for whom I come to implore your pity, madame, has revealed nothing, but, on the contrary, is condemned to death for having kept silence."
"Ah! my dear child," cried the duchess, "you speak of poor D'Harmental; he is a gentleman; you know him, then?"
"Alas!" said Mademoiselle de Launay, "not only Bathilde knows him, but she loves him."
"Poor child! but what can I do? I can do nothing: I have no influence. For me to attempt anything in his favor would be to take away from him the last hope remaining."
"I know it, madame," said Bathilde, "and I only ask of your highness one thing; it is, that, through some of your friends or acquaintances, I may gain admission to Monseigneur the Regent. The rest lies with me."
"My child, do you know what you are asking?" inquired the duchess. "Do you know that the regent respects no one? Do you know – that you are beautiful as an angel, and still more so from your present paleness? Do you know – "
"Madame," said Bathilde, with dignity, "I know that my father saved his life, and died in his service."
"Ah, that is another thing," said the duchess; "stay, De Launay, call Malezieux."
Mademoiselle de Launay obeyed, and a moment afterward the faithful chancellor entered.
"Malezieux," said the duchess, "you must take this child to the Duchesse de Berry, with a recommendation from me. She must see the regent, and at once; the life of a man depends upon it – it is that of D'Harmental, whom I would myself give so much to save."
"I go, madame," said Malezieux.
"You see, my child," said the duchess, "I do all I can for you; if I can be useful to you in any other way – if, to prepare his flight, or to seduce a jailer, money is needed, I have still some diamonds, which cannot be better employed than in saving the life of so brave a gentleman. Come, lose no time, go at once to my niece; you know that she is her father's favorite."
"I know, madame," said Bathilde, "that you are an angel, and, if I succeed, I shall owe you more than my life."
"Come, De Launay," continued Madame de Maine, when Bathilde was gone, "let us return to our trunks."
Bathilde, accompanied by Malezieux, arrived at the Luxembourg in twenty minutes. Thanks to Malezieux, Bathilde entered without difficulty; she was conducted into a little boudoir, where she was told to wait while the chancellor should see her royal highness, and inform her of the favor they came to ask.
Malezieux acquitted himself of the commission with zeal, and Bathilde had not waited ten minutes when she saw him return with the Duchesse de Berry. The duchess had an excellent heart, and she had been greatly moved by Malezieux' recital, so that, when she appeared, there was no mistaking the interest she already felt in the young girl who came to solicit her protection. Bathilde came to her, and would have fallen at her feet, but the duchess took her by the hand, and kissing her on the forehead —
"My poor child," said she, "why did you not come to me a week ago?"
"And why a week ago rather than to-day, madame?" asked Bathilde, with anxiety.
"Because a week ago I should have yielded to none the pleasure of taking you to my father, and that now is impossible."
"Impossible! and why?" cried Bathilde.
"Do you not know that I am in complete disgrace since the day before yesterday? Alas! princess as I am, I am a woman like you, and like you I have had the misfortune to love. We daughters of the royal race, you know, may not dispose of our hearts without the authority of the king and his ministers. I have disposed of my heart, and I have nothing to say, for I was pardoned; but I disposed of my hand, and I am punished. See, what a strange thing! They make a crime of what in any one else would have been praised. For three days my lover has been my husband, and for three days, that is to say, from the moment when I could present myself before my father without blushing, I am forbidden his presence. Yesterday my guard was taken from me; this morning I presented myself at the Palais Royal and was refused admittance."
"Alas!" said Bathilde, "I am unhappy, for I had no hope but in you, madame, and I know no one who can introduce me to the regent. And it is to-morrow, madame, at eight o'clock, that they will kill him whom I love as you love M. de Riom. Oh, madame, take pity on me, for if you do not, I am lost!"
"Mon Dieu! Riom, come to our aid," said the duchess, turning to her husband, who entered at this moment; "here is a poor child who wants to see my father directly, without delay; her life depends on the interview. Her life! What am I saying? More than her life – the life of a man she loves. Lauzun's nephew should never be at a loss; find us a means, and, if it be possible, I will love you more than ever."
"I have one," said Riom, smiling.
"Oh, monsieur," cried Bathilde, "tell it me, and I will be eternally grateful."
"Oh, speak!" said the Duchesse de Berry, in a voice almost as pressing as Bathilde's.
"But it compromises your sister singularly."
"Which one?"
"Mademoiselle de Valois."
"Aglaé! how so?"
"Do you not know that there exists a kind of sorcerer, who has the power of appearing before her day or night, no one knows how?"
"Richelieu? it is true!" cried the Duchesse de Berry; "but – "
"But what, madame?"
"He will not, perhaps – "
"I will beg him so that he will take pity on me," said Bathilde; "besides, you will speak a word for me, will you not? He will not dare to refuse what your highness asks."
"We will do better than that," said the duchess. "Riom, call Madame de Mouchy, beg her to take mademoiselle herself to the duke. Madame de Mouchy is my first lady-in-waiting," said the duchess, turning to Bathilde, "and it is supposed that the Duc de Richelieu owes her some gratitude. You see, I could not choose you a better introductress."
"Oh, thanks, madame," cried Bathilde, kissing the duchess's hands, "you are right, and all hope is not yet lost. And you say that the Duc de Richelieu has a means of entering the Palais Royal?"
"Stay, let us understand each other. I do not say so, report says so."
"Oh!" cried Bathilde, "if we only find him at home!"
"That is a chance; but yet, let me see, what time is it? scarcely eight o'clock. He will probably sup in town, and return to dress. I will tell Madame de Mouchy to wait for him with you. Will you not," said she, turning to the lady-in-waiting, who now entered, "wait for the duke till he returns?"
"I will do whatever your highness orders," said Madame de Mouchy.
"Well, I order you to obtain from the Duc de Richelieu a promise that mademoiselle shall see the regent, and I authorize you to use, for this purpose, whatever influence you may possess over him."
"Madame goes a long way," said Madame de Mouchy, smiling.
"Never mind, go and do what I tell you; and you, my child, take courage, follow madame, and if, on your road in life, you hear much harm of the Duchesse de Berry, whom they anathematize, tell them that I have a good heart, and that, in spite of all these excommunications, I hope that much will be forgiven me, because I have loved much. Is it not so, Riom?"
"I do not know, madame," said Bathilde, "whether you are well or ill spoken of, but I know that to me you seem so good and great that I could kiss the trace of your footsteps."
"Now go, my child; if you miss M. de Richelieu you may not know where to find him, and may wait for him uselessly."
"Since her highness permits it, come, then, madame," said Bathilde, "for every minute seems to me an age."
A quarter of an hour afterward, Bathilde and Madame de Mouchy were at Richelieu's hotel. Contrary to all expectation, he was at home. Madame de Mouchy entered at once, followed by Bathilde. They found Richelieu occupied with Raffe, his secretary, in burning a number of useless letters, and putting some others aside.
"Well, madame," said Richelieu, coming forward with a smile on his lips, "what good wind blows you here? And to what event do I owe the happiness of receiving you at my house at half-past eight in the evening?"
"To my wish to enable you to do a good action, duke."
"In that case, make haste, madame."
"Do you leave Paris this evening?"
"No, but I am going to-morrow morning – to the Bastille."
"What joke is this?"
"I assure you it is no joke at all to leave my hotel, where I am very comfortable, for that of the king, where I shall be just the reverse. I know it, for this will be my third visit."
"What makes you think you will be arrested to-morrow?"
"I have been warned."
"By a sure person?"
"Judge for yourself."
And he handed a letter to Madame de Mouchy, who took it and read —
"Innocent or guilty you have only time to fly. The regent has just said aloud before me that at last he has got the Duc de Richelieu. To-morrow you will be arrested."
"Do you think the person in a position to be well informed?"
"Yes, for I think I recognize the writing."
"You see, then, that I was right in telling you to make haste. Now, if it is a thing which may be done in the space of a night, speak, I am at your orders."
"An hour will suffice."
"Speak, then; you know I can refuse you nothing."
"Well," said Madame de Mouchy, "the thing is told in a few words. Do you intend this evening to go and thank the person who gave you this advice?"
"Probably," said the duke, laughing.
"Well, you must present mademoiselle to her."
"Mademoiselle!" cried the duke, astonished, and turning toward Bathilde, who till then had remained hidden in the darkness, "and who is mademoiselle?"
"A young girl who loves the Chevalier d'Harmental – who is to be executed to-morrow, as you know, and whose pardon she wishes to ask from the regent."
"You love the Chevalier d'Harmental, mademoiselle?" said the duke, addressing Bathilde.
"Oh, monsieur!" stammered Bathilde, blushing.
"Do not conceal it, mademoiselle. He is a noble young man, and I would give ten years of my own life to save him. And do you think you have any means of interesting the regent in his favor?"
"I believe so."
"It is well. I only hope it may be so. Madame," continued the duke, turning to Madame de Mouchy, "return to her royal highness and tell her that mademoiselle shall see the regent in an hour."
"Oh, M. le Duc!" cried Bathilde.
"Decidedly, my dear Richelieu, I begin to think, as people say, that you have made a compact with the devil; that you may pass through key-holes, and I confess I shall be less uneasy now, in seeing you go to the Bastille."
"At any rate, you know, madame, that charity teaches us to visit prisoners, and if you retain any recollection of poor Armand – "
"Silence, duke, be discreet, and we will see what can be done for you. Meanwhile, you promise that mademoiselle shall see the regent?"
"It is a settled thing."
"Adieu, duke, and may the Bastille be easy to you."
"Is it adieu you say?"
"Au revoir!"
"That is right."
And having kissed Madame de Mouchy's hand he led her to the door; then, returning to Bathilde:
"Mademoiselle," said he, "what I am about to do for you compromises the reputation and honor of a princess of the blood, but the gravity of the occasion demands some sacrifice. Swear to me, then, that you will never tell, but to one person (for I know there are persons for whom you have no secrets), swear that you will never tell any but him, and that no other shall ever know in what manner you came to the regent."
"Monsieur, I swear it by all I hold most sacred in the world – by my mother's memory."
"That will suffice," said the duke, ringing a bell. A valet-de-chambre entered.
"Lafosse," said the duke, "the bay horses and the carriage without arms."
"Monsieur," said Bathilde, "if you would save time, I have a hired carriage below."
"That is still better. I am at your orders, mademoiselle."
"Am I to go with monsieur?" asked the servant.
"No, stay and help Raffe to put these papers in order. There are several which it is quite unnecessary for Dubois to see."
And the duke offered his arm to Bathilde, went down, handed her into the carriage, and after telling the coachman to stop at the corner of the Rue Saint Honore and the Rue de Richelieu, placed himself by her side, as thoughtless as though the fate from which he was about to save the chevalier might not also await himself.
CHAPTER XLII.
THE CLOSET
The carriage stopped at its destination, and Richelieu, getting out and taking a key from his pocket, opened the door of a house at the corner of the Rue de Richelieu.
"I must ask your pardon, mademoiselle," said the duke, offering his arm to Bathilde, "for leading you by badly-lighted staircases and passages; but I am anxious not to be recognized, should any one meet me here. We have not far to go."
Bathilde had counted about twenty steps, when the duke stopped, drew a second key from his pocket, and opened a door, then entered an antechamber, and lighted a candle at a lamp on the staircase.
"Once again I must ask pardon, mademoiselle," said the duke, "but you will soon understand why I chose to dispense with a servant here."
It mattered little to Bathilde whether the duke had a servant or not; she entered the antechamber without replying, and the duke locked the door behind her.
"Now follow me," said the duke; and he walked before the young girl, lighting her with the candle which he held in his hand. They crossed a dining-room and drawing-room, then entered a bedroom, where the duke stopped.
"Mademoiselle," said Richelieu, placing the candle on the chimney-piece, "I have your word that you will reveal nothing of what you are about to see."
"I have given you my promise, and I now renew it; I should be ungrateful indeed if I were to fail."
"Well, then, be the third in our secret, which is one of love; we put it under the safeguard of love."
And the Duc de Richelieu, sliding away a panel in the woodwork, discovered an opening in the wall, beyond which was the back of a closet, and he knocked softly three times. Presently they heard a key turn in the lock, then saw a light between the planks, then a low voice asked, "Is it you?" On the duke's replying in the affirmative, three of these planks were quietly detached, opening a means of communication from one room to the other, and the duke and Bathilde found themselves in the presence of Mademoiselle de Valois, who uttered a cry on seeing her lover accompanied by a woman.
"Fear nothing, dear Aglaé," said the duke, passing into the room where she was, and taking her hand, while Bathilde remained motionless in her place, not daring to move a step till her presence was explained.
"But will you tell me?" began Mademoiselle de Valois, looking at Bathilde uneasily.
"Directly. You have heard me speak of the Chevalier d'Harmental, have you not?"
"The day before yesterday you told me that by a word he might save his own life and compromise you all, but that he would never speak this word."
"Well, he has not spoken, and he is condemned to death, and is to be executed to-morrow. This young girl loves him, and his pardon depends on the regent. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes!" said Mademoiselle de Valois.
"Come, mademoiselle," said the duke to Bathilde, taking her by the hand; then, turning again to the princess, "She did not know how to reach your father, my dear Aglaé, and came to me just as I had received your letter. I had to thank you for the good advice you gave me; and, as I know your heart, I thought I should please you by showing my gratitude, in offering you an opportunity to save the life of a man to whose silence you probably owe my own."
"And you were right, duke. You are welcome, mademoiselle. What can I do for you?"
"I wish to see the regent," said Bathilde, "and your highness can take me to him."
"Will you wait for me, duke?" asked Mademoiselle de Valois uneasily.
"Can you doubt it?"
"Then go into the closet, lest any one should surprise you here. I will take mademoiselle to my father, and return directly."
"I will wait," said the duke, following the instructions of the princess and entering the closet. Mademoiselle de Valois exchanged some low words with her lover, locked the closet, put the key in her pocket, and holding out her hand to Bathilde —
"Mademoiselle," said she, "all women who love are sisters; Armand and you did well to rely upon me; come."
Bathilde kissed the hand she held out, and followed her. They passed through all the rooms facing the Palais Royal, and then, turning to the left, entered those which looked on the Rue de Valois, among which was the regent's bedroom.
"We have arrived," said Mademoiselle de Valois, stopping before a door, and turning to Bathilde, who at this news trembled and turned pale; for all the strength which had sustained her for the last three or four hours was ready to disappear just as she needed it the most.
"Oh, mon Dieu! I shall never dare to speak," said Bathilde.
"Courage, mademoiselle! enter, fall at his feet, God and his own heart will do the rest."
At these words, seeing that the young girl still hesitated, she opened the door, pushed Bathilde in, and closed it behind her. She then ran down with a light step to rejoin Richelieu, leaving Bathilde to plead her cause tete-à-tete with the regent.
At this unforeseen action, Bathilde uttered a low cry, and the regent, who was walking to and fro with his head bent down, raised it, and turned toward Bathilde, who, incapable of making a step in advance, fell on her knees, drew out her letter, and held it toward the regent. The regent had bad sight; he did not understand what was going on, and advanced toward this woman, who appeared to him in the shade as a white and indistinct form; but soon in that form he recognized a woman, and, in that woman, a young, beautiful, and kneeling girl.
As to the poor child, in vain she attempted to articulate a prayer. Voice and strength failing her together, she would have fallen if the regent had not held her in his arms.
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle," said the regent, on whom the signs of grief produced their ordinary effect, "what is the matter? What can I do for you? Come to this couch, I beg."
"No, monseigneur, it is at your feet that I should be, for I come to ask a boon."
"And what is it?"
"See first who I am, monseigneur, and then I may dare to speak."
And again Bathilde held out the letter, on which rested her only hope, to the Duc d'Orleans.
The regent took the letter, and, by the light of a candle which burned on the chimney-piece, recognized his own writing, and read as follows:
"'Madame – Your husband is dead for France and for me. Neither France nor I can give you back your husband; but, remember, that if ever you are in want of anything we are both your debtors.
"'Your affectionate,"'Philippe d'Orleans.'
"I recognize this letter perfectly as being my own," said the regent, "but to the shame of my memory I must confess that I do not know to whom it was written."
"Look at the address, monseigneur," said Bathilde, a little reassured by the expression of benevolence on the duke's face.
"Clarice du Rocher," cried the regent, "yes, indeed, I remember now; I wrote this letter from Spain after the death of Albert, who was killed at the battle of Almanza. I wrote this letter to his widow. How did it fall into your hands, mademoiselle?"
"Alas, monseigneur, I am the daughter of Albert and Clarice."
"You, mademoiselle! And what has become of your mother?"
"She is dead."
"Long since?"
"Nearly fourteen years."
"But happy, doubtless, and wanting nothing."
"In despair, monseigneur, and wanting everything."
"But why did she not apply to me?"
"Your highness was still in Spain."
"Oh! mon Dieu! what do you say? Continue, mademoiselle, for you cannot tell how much you interest me. Poor Clarice, poor Albert, they loved each other so much, I remember. She could not survive him. Do you know that your father saved my life at Nerwinden, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I know it, and that gave me courage to present myself before you."
"But you, poor child, poor orphan, what became of you?"
"I, monseigneur, was taken by a friend of our family, a poor writer called Jean Buvat."
"Jean Buvat!" cried the regent, "I know that name; he is the poor copyist who discovered the whole conspiracy, and who some days ago made his demands in person. A place in the library, was it not, some arrears due?"
"The same, monseigneur."
"Mademoiselle," replied the regent, "it appears that those who surround you are destined to save me. I am thus twice your debtor. You said you had a boon to ask of me – speak boldly, I listen to you."
"Oh, my God!" murmured Bathilde, "give me strength."
"Is it, then, a very important and difficult thing that you desire?"
"Monseigneur," said Bathilde, "it is the life of a man who has deserved death."
"Is it the Chevalier d'Harmental?"
"Alas, monseigneur, it is."
The regent's brow became pensive, while Bathilde, seeing the impression produced by her demand, felt her heart beat and her knees tremble.
"Is he your relation, your ally, your friend?"
"He is my life, he is my soul, monseigneur; I love him."
"But do you know that if I pardon him I must pardon all the rest, and that there are some still more guilty than he is?"
"His life only, monseigneur, all I ask is that he may live."
"But if I change his sentence to a perpetual imprisonment you will never see him again. What would become of you, then?" asked the regent.
Bathilde was obliged to support herself by the back of a chair.
"I would enter into a convent, where I could pray the rest of my life for you, monseigneur, and for him."
"That cannot be," said the regent.
"Why not, monseigneur?"
"Because this very day, this very hour, I have been asked for your hand, and have promised it."
"You have promised my hand, monseigneur; and to whom?"
"Read," said the regent, taking an open letter from his desk, and presenting it to the young girl.
"Raoul's writing!" cried Bathilde; "what does this mean?"
"Read," repeated the regent.
And in a choking voice, Bathilde read the following letter: —
"'Monseigneur – I have deserved death – I know it, and I do not ask you for life. I am ready to die at the day and hour appointed; but it depends on your highness to make this death sweeter to me. I love a young girl whom I should have married if I had lived; grant that she may be my wife before I die. In leaving her forever alone and friendless in the world, let me at least have the consolation of giving her the safeguard of my name and fortune. On leaving the church, monseigneur, I will walk to the scaffold. This is my last wish, my sole desire. Do not refuse the prayer of a dying man.
"'Raoul d'Harmental.'
"Oh, monseigneur," said Bathilde, sobbing, "you see that while I thought of him, he thought of me. Am I not right to love him, when he loves me so much?"
"Yes," said the regent, "and I grant his request, it is just; may it, as he says, sweeten his last moments."
"Monseigneur," cried the young girl, "is that all you grant him?"
"You see," said the regent, "he is just; he asks nothing else."
"Oh, it is cruel! it is frightful! to see him again, and lose him directly; his life, monseigneur, his life, I beg; and let me never see him again – better so."
"Mademoiselle," said the regent, in a tone which admitted of no reply, and writing some lines on a paper which he sealed, "here is a letter to Monsieur de Launay, the governor of the Bastille; it contains my instructions with regard to the prisoner. My captain of the guards will go with you, and see that my instructions are followed."
"Oh! his life, monseigneur, his life; on my knees, and in the name of Heaven, I implore you."
The regent rang the bell; a valet entered.
"Call Monsieur the Marquis de Lafare," he said.
"Oh, monseigneur, you are cruel," said Bathilde, rising; "at least permit me then to die with him. We will not be separated, even on the scaffold; we will be together, even in the tomb."
"Monsieur de Lafare, accompany mademoiselle to the Bastille," said the regent. "Here is a letter for Monsieur de Launay, read it with him, and see that the orders it contains are punctually executed."
Then, without listening to Bathilde's last cry of despair, the Duc d'Orleans opened the door of a closet and disappeared.
