Delphi collected works o.., p.544
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 544
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
He sipped his coffee leisurely, and opened a few letters; there were none of very pressing importance. He was just about to glance through the morning’s newspaper, when his man-servant entered bearing a note marked ‘Private and Immediate.’ He recognized the handwriting of David Jost.
“Anyone waiting for an answer?” he enquired.
“No, Excellency.”
The man retired. The Marquis broke the large splotchy seal bearing the coat-of-arms which Jost affected, but to which he had no more right than the man in the moon, and read what seemed to him more inexplicable than the most confusing conundrum ever invented.
“MY DEAR MARQUIS, — I received your confidential messenger last night, and explained the entire situation. He left for Moscow this morning, but will warn us of any further developments. Sorry matters look so grave for you. Should like a few minutes private chat when you can spare the time. —
“Yours truly, DAVID JOST.”
Over and over again the Marquis read this brief note, staring at its every word and utterly unable to understand its meaning.
“What in the world is the fellow driving at!” he exclaimed angrily—”’My messenger’! ‘Explained the entire situation’! The devil! ‘Left for Moscow’! Upon my soul, this is maddening!” And he rang the bell sharply.
“Who brought this note?” he asked, as his servant entered.
“Mr. Jost’s own man, Excellency.”
“Has he gone?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“Wait!” And sitting down he wrote hastily the following lines:
“DEAR SIR, — Your letter is inexplicable. I sent no messenger to you last night. If you have any explanation to offer, I shall be disengaged and alone till 11.30 this morning.
“Yours truly, — DE LUTERA.”
Folding, sealing, and addressing this, he marked it ‘Private’ and gave it to his man.
“Take this yourself,” he said, “and put it into Mr. Jost’s own hands. Trust no one to deliver it. Ask to see him personally, and then give it to him. You understand?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
His note thus despatched, the Marquis threw himself down in his arm-chair, and again read Jost’s mysterious communication.
“Whatever messenger has passed himself off as coming from me, Jost must have been crazy to receive him without credentials,” he said. “There must be a mistake somewhere!”
A vague alarm troubled him; he was not moved by conscientious scruples, but the idea that any of his secret moves should be ‘explained’ to a stranger was, to say the least of it, annoying, and not conducive to the tranquillity of his mind. A thousand awkward possibilities suggested themselves at once to his brain, and as he carried a somewhat excitable disposition under his heavy and phlegmatic exterior, he fumed and fretted himself for the next half hour into an impatience which only found vent in the prosaic and everyday performance of dressing himself. Ah! — if those who consider a Prime Minister great and exalted, could only see him as he pulls on his trousers, and fastens his shirt collar, what a disillusion would be promptly effected! Especially if, like the Marquis de Lutera, he happened to be over-stout, and difficult to clothe! This particular example of Premiership was an ungainly man; his proud position could not make him handsome, nor lend true dignity to his deportment. Old Mother Nature has a way of marking her specimens, if we will learn to recognize the signs she sets on certain particular ‘makes’ of man. The Marquis de Lutera was ‘made’ to be a stock-jobber, not a statesman. His bent was towards the material gain and good of himself, more than the advantage of his country. His reasoning was a slight variation of Falstaff’s logical misprisal of honour. He argued; “If I am poor, then what is it to me that others are rich? If I am neglected, what do I care that the people are prosperous? Let me but secure and keep those certain millions of money which shall ensure to me and my heritage a handsome endowment, not only for my life, but for all lives connected with mine which come after me, — and my ‘patriotism’ is satisfied!”
He had just finished insinuating himself by degrees into his morning coat, when his servant entered.
“Well!” he asked impatiently.
“Mr. Jost is coming round at once, Excellency. He ordered his carriage directly he read your note.”
“He sent no answer?”
“None, Excellency.”
“When he arrives, show him into the library.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
The Marquis thereupon left his sleeping apartment, and descended to the library himself. The sun was streaming brilliantly into the room, and the windows, thrown wide open, showed a cheerful display of lawn and flower-garden, filled with palms and other semi-tropical shrubs, for though the Premier’s house was in the centre of the fashionable quarter of the city, it had the advantage of extensive and well-shaded grounds. A law had been passed in the late King’s time against the felling of trees, it having been scientifically proved that trees in a certain quantity, not only purify the air from disease germs affecting the human organization, but also save the crops from many noxious insect-pests and poisonous fungi. Having learned the lesson at last, that the Almighty may be trusted to know His own business, and that trees are intended for wider purposes than mere timber, the regulations were strict concerning them. No one could fell a tree on his own ground without, first of all, making a statement at the National Office of Aboriculture as to the causes for its removal; and only if these causes were found satisfactory, could a stamped permission be obtained for cutting it down or ‘lifting’ it to other ground. The result of this sensible regulation was that in the hottest days of summer the city was kept cool and shady by the rich foliage branching out everywhere, and in some parts running into broad avenues and groves of great thickness and beauty. The Marquis de Lutera’s garden had an additional charm in a beautiful alley of orange trees, and the fragrance wafted into his room from the delicious blossoms would have refreshed and charmed anyone less troubled, worried and feverish, than he was at the time. But this morning the very sunshine annoyed him; — never a great lover of Nature, the trees and flowers forming the outlook on which his heavy eyes rested were almost an affront. The tranquil beauty of an ever renewed and renewing Nature is always particularly offensive to an uneasy conscience and an exhausted mind.
The sound of wheels grinding along the outer drive brought a faint gleam of satisfaction on his brooding features, and he turned sharply round, as the door of the library was thrown open to admit Jost, whose appearance, despite his jaunty manner, betokened evident confusion and alarm.
“Good-morning, Mr. Jost!” said the Marquis stiffly, as his confidential man ushered in the visitor, — then when the servant had retired and closed the door, he added quickly— “Now what does this mean?”
Jost dropped into a chair, and pulling out a handkerchief wiped the perspiration from his brow.
“I don’t know!” he said helplessly; “I don’t know what it means! I have told you the truth! A man came to see me late last night, saying he was sent by you on urgent business. He said you wished me to explain the position we held, and the amount of the interests we had at stake, as there were grave discoveries pending, and complexities likely to ensue. He gave his name — there is his card!”
And with a semi-groan, he threw down the bit of pasteboard in question.
The Marquis snatched it up.
“‘Pasquin Leroy’! I never heard the name in my life,” he said fiercely. “Jost, you have been done! You mean to tell me you were such a fool as to trust an entire stranger with the whole financial plan of campaign, and that you were credulous enough to believe that he came from me — me — De Lutera, — without any credentials?”
“Credentials!” exclaimed Jost; “Do you suppose I would have received him at all had credentials been lacking? Not I! He brought me the most sure and confidential sign of your trust that could be produced — your own signet-ring!”
The Marquis staggered back, as though Jost’s words had been so many direct blows on the chest, — his countenance turned a livid white.
“My signet-ring!” he repeated, — and almost unconsciously he looked at the hand from which the great jewel was missing; “My signet!” — Then he forced a smile— “Jost, I repeat, you have been done! — doubly fooled! — no one could possibly have obtained my signet, — for at this very moment it is on the hand of the King!”
Jost rose slowly out of his chair, his eyes protruding out of his head, his jaw almost dropping in the extremity of his amazement.
“The King!” — he gasped— “The King!”
“Yes, man, the King!” repeated De Lutera impatiently,— “Only yesterday morning his Majesty, having mislaid his own ring for the moment, borrowed mine just before starting on his yachting cruise. How you stare! You have been fooled! — that is perfectly plain and evident!”
“The King!” repeated Jost stupidly— “Then the man who came to me last night—” He broke off, unable to find any words for the expression of the thoughts which began to terrify him.
“Well! — the man who came to you last night,” echoed the Marquis,— “He was not the King, I suppose, was he?” And he laughed derisively.
“No — he was not the King,” said Jost slowly; “I know him well enough! But it might have been someone in the King’s service! For he knew, or said he knew, the King’s intentions in a certain matter affecting both you and Carl Pérousse, — and in a more distant way, myself — and warned me of a coming change in the policy. Ah! — it is now your turn to stare, Marquis! You had best be on your guard, for if the person who came to me last night was not your messenger, he was the King’s spy! And, in that case, we are lost!”
The Marquis paced the room with long uneven strides, — his mind was greatly agitated, but he had no wish to show his perturbation too openly to one whom he considered as a mere tool in his service.
“I know,” went on Jost emphatically, “that the ring he wore was yours! I noticed it particularly while I was talking to him. It would take a long time and exceptional skill to make any imitation of that sapphire. There is no doubt that it was your signet!”
The Premier halted suddenly in his nervous walk.
“You told him the whole scheme, you say?”
“I did.”
“And his reply?”
“Was, that the King had discovered it, and proposed insisting on an enquiry.”
“And then?”
“Well! Then he warned me to look out for myself, — as anyone connected with Carl Pérousse’s financial deal would inevitably be ruined during the next few weeks.”
“Who is going to work the ruin?” asked the Marquis with a sneer; “Do you not know that if the King dared to give an opinion on a national crisis, he would be dethroned?”
“There are the People—” began Jost.
“The People! Human emmets — born for crushing under the heel of power! A couple of ‘leaders’ in your paper, Jost, can guide the fool-mob any way!”
“That depends!” said Jost hesitatingly; “If what the fellow said last night be true—”
“It is not true!” said the Premier authoritatively. “We are going on in precisely the same course as originally arranged. Neither King nor People can interfere! Go home, and write an article about love of country, Jost! You look in the humour for it!”
The Jew’s expression was anything but amiable.
“What is to be done about last night?” he asked sullenly.
“Nothing at present. I am going to the palace at two o’clock — I shall see the King, and find out whether my signet is lost, stolen or strayed. Meanwhile, keep your own counsel! If you have been betrayed into giving your confidence to a spy in the foreign service, as I imagine — (for the King has never employed a spy, and is not likely to do so), and he makes known his information, it can be officially denied. The official denial of a Government, Jost, like charity, has before now covered a multitude of sins!”
An instinctive disinclination for further conversation brought the interview between them abruptly to a close, and Jost, full of a suspicious alarm, which he was ashamed to confess, drove off to his newspaper offices. The Premier, meantime, though harassed by secret anxiety, managed to display his usual frigid equanimity, when, after Jost’s departure, his private secretary arrived at the customary time, to transact under his orders the correspondence and business of the day. This secretary, Eugène Silvano by name, was a quiet self-contained young man, highly ambitious, and keenly interested in the political situation, and, though in the Premier’s service, not altogether of his way of thinking. He called the Marquis’s attention now to a letter that had missed careful reading on the previous day. It was from the Vicar-General of the Society of Jesus, expressing surprise and indignation that the King should have refused the Society’s request for such land as was required to be devoted to religious and educational purposes, and begging that the Premier would exert his influence with the monarch to persuade him to withdraw or mitigate his refusal.
“I can do nothing;” said the Marquis irritably,— “the lands they want belong to the Crown. The King can dispose of them as he thinks best.”
The secretary set the letter aside.
“Shall I reply to that effect?” he enquired.
The Marquis nodded.
“I know,” said Silvano presently with a slight hesitation, “that you never pay any attention to anonymous communications. Otherwise, there is one here which might merit consideration.”
“What does it concern?”
“A revolutionary meeting,” replied Silvano, “where it appears the woman, Lotys, is to speak.”
The Premier shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “You must enlighten me! Who is the woman Lotys?”
“Ah, that no one exactly knows!” replied the secretary. “A strange character, without doubt, but—” He paused and spoke more emphatically— “She has power!”
Lutera gave a gesture of irritation.
“Bah! Over whom does she exercise it. Over one man or many?”
“Over one half the population at least,” responded Silvano, quietly, turning over a few papers without looking up.
The Marquis stared at him, slightly amused.
“Have you taken statistics of the lady’s followers,” he asked; “Are you one of them yourself?”
Silvano raised his eyes, — clear dark eyes, deep-set and steady in their glance.
“Were I so, I should not be here;” he replied— “But I know how she speaks; I know what she does! and from a purely political point of view I think it unwise to ignore her.”
“What is this anonymous communication you speak of?” asked the Premier, after a pause.
“Oh, it is brief enough,” answered Silvano unfolding a paper, and he read aloud:
“To the Marquis de Lutera, Premier.
“Satisfy yourself that those who meet on Saturday night where Lotys speaks, have already decided on your downfall!”
“Oracular!” said the Marquis carelessly;— “To decide is one thing — to fulfil the decision is another! Lotys, whoever she may be, can preach to her heart’s content, for all I care! I am rather surprised, Silvano, that a man of your penetration and intelligence should attach any importance to revolutionary meetings, which are always going on more or less in every city under the sun. Why, it was but the other day, the police were sent to disperse a crowd which had gathered round the fanatic, Sergius Thord; only the people had sufficient sense to disperse themselves. A street-preacher or woman ranter is like a cheap-jack or a dispenser of quack medicines; — the mob gathers to such persons out of curiosity, not conviction.”
The secretary made no reply, and went on with other matters awaiting his attention.
At a few minutes before two o’clock the Marquis entered his carriage, and was driven to the palace. There he learned that the King was receiving, more or less unofficially, certain foreign ambassadors and noblemen of repute in the Throne-room. A fine band was playing military music in the great open quadrangle in front of the palace, where pillars of rose-marble, straight as the stems of pine-trees, held up fabulous heraldic griffins, clasping between their paws the country’s shield. Flags were flying, — fountains flashing, — gay costumes gleamed here and there, — and the atmosphere was full of brilliancy and gaiety, — yet the Marquis, on his way to the audience-chamber, was rendered uncomfortably aware of one of those mysterious impressions which are sometimes conveyed to us, we know not how, but which tend to prepare us for surprise and disappointment. Some extra fibre of sensitiveness in his nervous organization was acutely touched, for he actually fancied he saw slighting and indifferent looks on the faces of the various flunkeys and retainers who bowed him along the different passages, or ushered him up the state stairway, when — as a matter of fact, — all was precisely the same as usual, and it was only his own conscience that gave imaginary hints of change. Arrived at the ante-chamber to the Throne-room, he was surprised to find Prince Humphry there, talking animatedly to the King’s physician, Professor Von Glauben. The Prince seemed unusually excited; his face was flushed, and his eyes extraordinarily brilliant, and as he saw the Premier, he came forward, extending his hand, and almost preventing Lutera’s profound bow and deferential salutation.
