The Queen's Necklace

CHAPTER XLII.
IN WHICH M. DUCORNEAU UNDERSTANDS NOTHING OF WHAT IS PASSING

Don Manoël was less yellow than usual, that is to say, he was more red. He had just been having a fierce altercation with his valet, and they were still disputing when Beausire entered.

"Come, M. Beausire, and set us right," said the valet.

"About what?"

"This 100,000 francs. It is the property of the association, is it not?"

"Certainly."

"Ah, M. Beausire agrees with me."

"Wait," said Don Manoël.

"Well, then," continued the valet, "the chest ought not to be kept close to the ambassador's room."

"Why not?" asked Beausire.

"M. Manoël ought to give us each a key to it."

"Not so," said Manoël; "do you suspect me of wishing to rob the association? I may equally suspect you, when you ask for a key."

"But," said the valet, "we have all equal rights."

"Really, monsieur, if you wish to make us all equal, we ought to have played the ambassador in turn. It would have been less plausible in the eyes of the public, but it would have satisfied you."

"And besides," said Beausire, "M. Manoël has the incontestable privilege of the inventor."

"Oh," replied the valet, "the thing once started, there are no more privileges. I do not speak for myself only; all our comrades think the same."

"They are wrong," said both Manoël and Beausire.

"I was wrong myself to take the opinion of M. Beausire; of course the secretary supports the ambassador."

"Monsieur," replied Beausire, "you are a knave, whose ears I would slit, if it had not already been done too often. You insult me by saying that I have an understanding with Manoël."

"And me also," said Manoël.

"And I demand satisfaction," added Beausire.

"Oh, I am no fighter."

"So I see," said Beausire, seizing hold of him.

"Help! help!" cried the valet, attacked at once by both of them. But just then they heard a bell ring.

"Leave him, and let him open the door," said Manoël.

"Our comrades shall hear all this," replied the valet.

"Tell them what you please; we will answer for our conduct."

"M. Bœhmer!" cried the porter from below.

"Well, we shall have no more contests about the 100,000 francs," said Manoël; "for they will disappear with M. Bœhmer."

M. Bœhmer entered, followed by Bossange. Both looked humble and embarrassed. Bœhmer began, and explained that political reasons would prevent their fulfilling their contract.

Manoël cried out angrily; Beausire looked fierce.

Manoël said "that the bargain was completed, and the money ready."

Bœhmer persisted.

Manoël, always through Beausire, replied, "that his Government had been apprised of the conclusion of the bargain, and that it was an insult to his queen to break it off."

M. Bœhmer was very sorry, but it was impossible to act otherwise.

Beausire, in Manoël's name, refused to accept the retractation, and abused M. Bœhmer as a man without faith, and ended by saying, "You have found some one to pay more for it."

The jewelers colored.

Beausire saw that he was right, and feigned to consult his ambassador. "Well," said he at length, "if another will give you more for your diamonds, we would do the same, rather than have this affront offered to our queen. Will you take 50,000 francs more?"

Bœhmer shook his head.

"100,000, or even 150,000," continued Beausire, willing to offer anything rather than lose the booty.

The jewelers looked dazzled for a moment, consulted together, and then said, "No, monsieur, it is useless to tempt us. A will more powerful than our own compels us to decline. You understand, no doubt, that it is not we who refuse. We only obey the orders of one greater than any of us."

Beausire and Manoël saw that it was useless to say more, and tried to look and speak indifferently on the matter.

Meanwhile the valet had been listening attentively, and just then making an unlucky movement, stumbled against the door. Beausire ran to the ante-chamber. "What on earth are you about?" cried he.

"Monsieur, I bring the morning despatches."

"Good," said Beausire, taking them from him, "now go."

They were letters from Portugal, generally very insignificant, but which, passing through their hands before going to Ducorneau, often gave them useful information about the affairs of the embassy.

The jewelers, hearing the word despatches, rose to leave like men who had received their congé.

"Well," said Manoël, when they were gone, "we are completely beaten. Only 100,000 francs, a poor spoil; we shall have but 8,000 each."

"It is not worth the trouble. But it might be 50,000 each."

"Good," replied Manoël, "but the valet will never leave us now he knows the affair has failed."

"Oh, I know how we will manage him. He will return immediately, and claim his share and that of his comrades, and we shall have the whole house on our hands. Well, I will call him first to a secret conference; then leave me to act."

"I think I understand," said Manoël.

Neither, however, would leave his friend alone with the chest while he went to call him.

Manoël said "that his dignity as ambassador prevented him from taking such a step."

"You are not ambassador to him," said Beausire; "however, I will call through the window."

The valet, who was just beginning a conversation with the porter, hearing himself called, came up.

Beausire said to him, with a smiling air, "I suppose you were telling this business to the porter?"

"Oh, no."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear!"

"For if you were, you were committing a great folly, and have lost a great deal of money."

"How so?"

"Why, at present only we three know the secret, and could divide the 100,000 francs between us, as they all now think we have given it to M. Bœhmer."

"Morbleu!" cried the valet, "it is true: 33,300 francs each."

"Then you accept?"

"I should think so."

"I said you were a rogue," said Beausire, in a thundering voice; "come, Don Manoël, help me to seize this man, and give him up to our associates."

"Pardon! pardon!" cried the unfortunate, "I did but jest."

"Shut him up until we can devise his punishment."

The man began to cry out.

"Take care," said Beausire, "that Ducorneau does not hear us."

"If you do not leave me alone," said the valet, "I will denounce you all."

"And I will strangle you," said Don Manoël, trying to push him into a neighboring closet.

"Send away Ducorneau somewhere, Beausire, while I finish this fellow."

When he had locked him up, he returned to the room. Beausire was not there; Don Manoël felt tempted. He was alone, and Beausire might be some little time; he could open the chest, take out all the bank-notes, and be off in two minutes. He ran to the room where it was: the door was locked. "Ah," thought he, "Beausire distrusted me, and locked the door before he went." He forced back the lock with his sword, and then uttered a terrible cry. The chest was opened and empty. Beausire had got, as we know, a second key; he had forestalled Manoël.

Manoël ran down like a madman; the porter was singing at the door – he asked if Beausire had passed.

"Yes, some ten minutes ago."

Manoël became furious, summoned them all, and ran to release the unfortunate valet. But when he told his story, Manoël was accused of being an accomplice of Beausire, and they all turned against him.

M. Ducorneau felt ready to faint, when he entered and saw the men preparing to hang M. de Souza. "Hang M. de Souza!" cried he. "It is high treason."

At last they threw him into a cellar, fearing his cries would arouse the neighborhood.

At that moment loud knocks at the door disturbed them, – they looked at each other in dismay. The knocks were repeated, and some one cried, "Open in the name of the Portuguese ambassador."

On hearing this, each made his escape in terror, as he best could, scrambling over walls and roofs. The true ambassador could only enter by the help of the police.

They found and arrested M. Ducorneau, who slept that night in the Châtelet.

Thus ended the adventure of the sham embassy from the Portugal.

CHAPTER XLIII.
ILLUSIONS AND REALITIES

Beausire, on leaving the house, ran as fast as possible down the Rue Coquillière, then into the Rue St. Honoré, and took everywhere the most intricate and improbable turnings he could think of, and continued this until he became quite exhausted. Then, thinking himself tolerably safe, he sat down in the corn market, on a sack, to recover his breath. "Ah!" thought he, "now I have made my fortune; I will be an honest man for the future, and I will make Oliva an honest woman. She is beautiful, and she will not mind leading a retired life with me in some province, where we shall live like lords. She is very good; she has but two faults, idleness and pride, and as I shall satisfy her on both these points, she will be perfect." He then began to reflect on what he should do next. They would seek him, of course, and most likely divide into different parties, and some would probably go first to his own house. Here lay his great difficulty, for there they would find Oliva, and they might ill-treat her. They might even take her as a hostage, speculating on his love for her. What should he do? Love carried the day; he ran off again like lightning, took a coach, and drove to the Pont Neuf. He then looked cautiously down the Rue Dauphine to reconnoiter, and he saw two men, who seemed also looking anxiously down the street. He thought they were police spies, but that was nothing uncommon in that part of the town; so, bending his back, and walking lamely, for disguise, he went on till he nearly reached his house. Suddenly he thought he saw the coat of a gendarme in the courtyard; then he saw one at the window of Oliva's room. He felt ready to drop, but he thought his best plan was to walk quietly on; he had that courage, and passed the house. Heavens! what a sight! the yard was full of soldiers, and among them a police commissioner. Beausire's rapid glance showed him what he thought disappointed faces. He thought that M. de Crosne had somehow begun to suspect him, and, sending to take him, had found only Oliva.

"I cannot help her now," thought he; "I should only lose my money and destroy us both. No, let me place that in safety, and then I will see what can be done." He therefore ran off again, taking his way almost mechanically towards the Luxembourg; but as he turned the corner of the Rue St. Germain, he was almost knocked down by a handsome carriage which was driving towards the Rue Dauphine, and, raising his head to swear at the coachman, he thought he saw Oliva inside, talking with much animation to a handsome man who sat by her. He gave a cry of surprise, and would have run after it, but he could not again encounter the Rue Dauphine. He felt bewildered, for he had before settled that Oliva had been arrested in her own house, and he fancied his brain must be turning when he believed he saw her in the carriage. But he started off again and took refuge in a small cabaret at the Luxembourg, where the hostess was an old friend. There he gradually began to recover again his courage and hope. He thought the police would not find him, and that his money was safe. He remembered also that Oliva had committed no crime, and that the time was passed when people were kept prisoners for nothing. He also thought that his money would soon obtain her release, even if she were sent to prison, and he would then set off with her for Switzerland. Such were his dreams and projects as he sat sipping his wine.

CHAPTER XLIV.
OLIVA BEGINS TO ASK WHAT THEY WANT OF HER

If M. Beausire had trusted to his eyesight, which was excellent, instead of trusting his imagination, he would have spared himself much regret and many mistakes. It was, in fact, Oliva who sat in the carriage by the side of a man, whom he would also have recognized if he had looked a little longer. She had gone that morning, as usual, to take a walk in the gardens of the Luxembourg, where she had met the strange friend whose acquaintance she had made the day of the ball at the Opera.

It was just as she was about to return that he appeared before her, and said, "Where are you going?"

"Home, monsieur."

"Just what the people want who are there waiting for you."

"Waiting for me? No one is there for me."

"Oh, yes, a dozen visitors at least."

"A whole regiment, perhaps?" said Oliva, laughing.

"Perhaps, had it been possible to send a whole regiment, they would have done so."

"You astonish me!"

"You would be far more astonished if I let you go."

"Why?"

"Because you would be arrested."

"I! arrested?"

"Assuredly. The twelve gentlemen who wait for you are sent by M. de Crosne."

Oliva trembled. Some people are always fearful on certain points. But she said:

"I have done nothing; why should they arrest me?"

"For some intrigue, perhaps."

"I have none."

"But you have had."

"Oh, perhaps."

"Well, perhaps they are wrong to wish to arrest you, but the fact is that they do desire to do so. Will you still go home?"

"You deceive me," said Oliva; "if you know anything, tell me at once. Is it not Beausire they want?"

"Perhaps; he may have a conscience less clear than yours."

"Poor fellow!"

"Pity him, if you like; but if he is taken, there is no need for you to be taken too."

"What interest have you in protecting me?" asked she. "It is not natural for a man like you."

"I would not lose time if I were you; they are very likely to seek you here, finding you do not return."

"How should they know I am here?"

"Are you not always here? My carriage is close by, if you will come with me. But I see you doubt still."

"Yes."

"Well, we will commit an imprudence to convince you. We will drive past your house, and when you have seen these gentlemen there, I think you will better appreciate my good offices."

He led her to the carriage, and drove to the Rue Dauphine, at the corner of which they passed Beausire. Had Oliva seen him, doubtless she would have abandoned everything to fly with him and share his fate, whatever it might be; but Cagliostro, who did see him, took care to engage her attention by showing her the crowd, which was already in sight, and which was waiting to see what the police would do.

When Oliva could distinguish the soldiers who filled her house, she threw herself into the arms of her protector in despair. "Save me! save me!" she cried.

He pressed her hand. "I promise you."

"But they will find me out anywhere."

"Not where I shall take you; they will not seek you at my house."

"Oh!" cried she, frightened, "am I to go home with you?"

"You are foolish," said he; "I am not your lover, and do not wish to become so. If you prefer a prison, you are free to choose."

"No," replied she, "I trust myself to you, take me where you please."

He conducted her to the Rue Neuve St. Gilles, into a small room on the second floor.

"How triste!" said she; "here, without liberty, and without even a garden to walk in."

"You are right," said he; "besides, my people would see you here at last."

"And would betray me, perhaps."

"No fear of that. But I will look out for another abode for you; I do not mean you to remain here."

Oliva was consoled; besides, she found amusing books and easy-chairs.

He left her, saying, "If you want me, ring; I will come directly if I am at home."

"Ah!" cried she, "get me some news of Beausire."

"Before everything." Then, as he went down, he said to himself, "It will be a profanation to lodge her in that house in the Rue St. Claude; but it is important that no one should see her, and there no one will. So I will extinguish the last spark of my old light."

CHAPTER XLV.
THE DESERTED HOUSE

When Cagliostro arrived at the deserted house in the Rue St. Claude, with which our readers are already acquainted, it was getting dark, and but few people were to be seen in the streets.

Cagliostro drew a key from his pocket, and applied it to the lock; but the door was swollen with the damp, and stiff with age, and it required all his strength to open it. The courtyard was overgrown with moss, the steps crumbling away; all looked desolate and deserted. He entered the hall, and lighted a lamp which he had brought with him. He felt a strange agitation as he approached the door which he had so often entered to visit Lorenza. A slight noise made his heart beat quickly; he turned, and saw an adder gliding down the staircase; it disappeared in a hole near the bottom.

He entered the room; it was empty, but in the grate still lay some ashes, the remains of the furniture which had adorned it, and which he had burned there. Among it several pieces of gold and silver still sparkled. As he turned, he saw something glittering on the floor; he picked it up. It was one of those silver arrows with which the Italian women were in the habit of confining their hair. He pressed it to his lips, and a tear stood in his eyes as he murmured, "Lorenza!" It was but for a moment; then he opened the window and threw it out, saying to himself, "Adieu! this last souvenir, which would soften me. This house is about to be profaned – another woman will ascend the staircase, and perhaps even into this room, where Lorenza's last sigh still vibrates; but to serve my end the sacrifice shall be made. I must, however, have some alterations made."

He then wrote on his tablets the following words: "To M. Lenoir, my architect, – Clean out the court and vestibule, restore the coach-house and stable, and demolish the interior of the pavilion. To be done in eight days."

"Now, let us see," said he to himself, "if we can perfectly distinguish the window of the countess. It is infallible," said he, after looking out; "the women must see each other."

The next day fifty workmen had invaded the house and commenced the projected alterations, which were completed within the given time. Some of the passers-by saw a large rat hung up by the tail.

CHAPTER XLVI.
JEANNE THE PROTECTRESS

M. le Cardinal de Rohan received, two days after his visit to M. Bœhmer, the following note:

"His Eminence the Cardinal de Rohan knows, doubtless, where he will sup this evening."

"From the little countess," said he; "I will go."

Among the footmen given to her by the cardinal, Jeanne had distinguished one, black-haired and dark-eyed, and, as she thought, active and intelligent. She set this man to watch the cardinal, and learned from him that he had been twice to M. Bœhmer's. Therefore she concluded the necklace was bought, and yet he had not communicated it to her. She frowned at the thought, and wrote the note which we have seen.

M. de Rohan sent before him a basket of Tokay and other rarities, just as if he was going to sup with La Guimard or Mademoiselle Dangeville. Jeanne determined not to use any of it at supper.

"When they were alone, she said to him:

"Really, monseigneur, one thing afflicts me."

"What, countess?"

"To see, not only that you no longer love me, but that you never have loved me."

"Oh, countess! how can you say so?"

"Do not make excuses, monseigneur; it would be lost time."

"Oh, countess!"

"Do not be uneasy; I am quite indifferent about it now."

"Whether I love you or not?"

"Yes, because I do not love you."

"That is not flattering."

"Indeed, we are not exchanging compliments, but facts. We have never loved each other."

"Oh, as for myself, I cannot allow that; I have a great affection for you, countess."

"Come, monseigneur, let us esteem each other enough to speak the truth, and that is, that there is between us a much stronger bond than love – that is, interest."

"Oh, countess, what a shame!"

"Monseigneur, if you are ashamed, I am not."

"Well, countess, supposing ourselves interested, how can we serve each other?"

"First, monseigneur, I wish to ask you a question. Why have you failed in confidence towards me?"

"I! How so, pray?"

"Will you deny that, after skilfully drawing from me the details – which, I confess, I was not unwilling to give you – concerning the desire of a certain great lady for a certain thing, you have taken means to gratify that desire without telling me?"

"Countess, you are a real enigma, a sphinx."

"Oh, no enigma, cardinal; I speak of the queen, and of the diamonds which you bought yesterday of MM. Bœhmer and Bossange."

"Countess!" cried he, growing pale.

"Oh, do not look so frightened," continued she. "Did you not conclude your bargain yesterday?"

He did not speak, but looked uncomfortable, and half angry. She took his hand.

"Pardon, prince," she said, "but I wished to show you your mistake about me; you believe me foolish and spiteful."

"Oh, countess, now I understand you perfectly. I expected to find you a pretty woman and a clever one, but you are better than this. Listen to me: you have, you say, been willing to become my friend without loving me?"

"I repeat it," replied she.

"Then you had some object?"

"Assuredly. Do you wish me to tell it to you?"

"No; I understand it. You wished to make my fortune; that once done, you are sure that my first care would be for yours. Am I right?"

"Yes, monseigneur; but I have not pursued my plans with any repugnance – the road has been a pleasant one."

"You are an amiable woman, countess, and it is a pleasure to discuss business with you. You have guessed rightly that I have a respectful attachment towards a certain person."

"I saw it at the Opera ball," she said.

"I know well that this affection will never be returned."

"Oh, a queen is only a woman, and you are surely equal to Cardinal Mazarin."

"He was a very handsome man," said M. de Rohan, laughing.

"And an excellent minister," said Jeanne.

"Countess, it is superfluous trouble to talk to you; you guess and know everything. Yes, I do wish to become prime minister. Everything entitles me to it – my birth, my knowledge of business, my standing with foreign courts, and the affection which is felt for me by the French people."

"There is but one obstacle," said Jeanne.

"An antipathy."

"Yes, of the queen's; and the king always ends by liking what she likes, and hating what she hates."

"And she hates me? Be frank, countess."

"Well, monseigneur, she does not love you."

"Then I am lost! Of what use is the necklace?"

"You deceive yourself, prince."

"It is bought."

"At least, it will show the queen that you love her. You know, monseigneur, we have agreed to call things by their right names."

"Then you say you do not despair of seeing me one day prime minister?"

"I am sure of it."

"And what are your own ambitions?"

"I will tell you, prince, when you are in a position to satisfy them."

"We will hope for that day."

"Now let us sup."

"I am not hungry."

"Then let us talk."

"I have nothing more to say."

"Then go."

"How! is that what you call our alliance? Do you send me away?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Well, countess, I will not deceive myself again about you." Before leaving, however, he turned, and said, "What must I do now, countess?"

"Nothing; wait for me to act. I will go to Versailles."

"When?"

"To-morrow."

"And when shall I hear from you?"

"Immediately."

"Then I abandon myself to your protection; au revoir, countess."