“I’ll tell you something,” after a moment’s deliberation observed the elder man. “I know of a country in Europe where order prevails, and where there are no police spies; and, what is more, the place of which I speak is beyond the range of a gunshot!”
“I confess I am curious to learn where such a place may be found,” with an incredulous smile returned the young man.
“Fetch the map, and I will point it out to you. Afterward we will arrange your route toward it.” The two men spread a large map of Europe on the table, and, bending over it, were soon deeply absorbed in examining it, the while exchanging whispered remarks.
At last they seemed to have agreed on something. The map was folded up and thrust into the younger man’s pocket.
“I shall start at once,” he said, with an air of decision.
“That is well,” with evident satisfaction assented his companion. “And take with you also the steel casket. In it are all the necessary documents, some articles of clothing on which the mother with her own hands embroidered the well-known symbol, and a million of francs in English bank-notes. These, however, you will not use unless compelled to do so by extreme necessity. You will receive annually a sufficient sum from a certain banking-house which will supply all your wants. Have our two trusty friends been apprised?”
“Yes; they await me hourly.”
“So soon as you are beyond the French boundary you may communicate with me in the way we have agreed upon. Until I hear from you I shall be in a terror of anxiety. I am sorry I cannot accompany you, but I am already suspected. You are, as yet, free from suspicion—are not yet registered in the black book!”
“You may trust my skill to evade pursuit,” said the young man, producing from a secret cupboard a casket richly ornamented with gold.
“I do not doubt your skill, or your ability to accomplish the undertaking; but the task is not a suitable one for so young a man. Have you considered the fate which awaits you?”
“I have considered everything.”
“You will be buried; and, what is worse, you will be the keeper of your own prison.”
“I shall be a severe jailer, I promise you,” with a grim smile responded the young man.
“Jester! You forget your twenty-six years! And who can tell how long you may be buried alive?”
“Have no fear for me. I do not dread the task. Those in power now will one day be overthrown.”
“But when the child, who is only twelve years old now, becomes in three or four years a blooming maiden—what then? Already she is fond of you; then she will love you. You cannot hinder it; and yet, you will not even dare to dream of returning her love. Have you thought of this also?”
“I shall look upon myself as the inhabitant of a different planet,” answered the young man.
“Your hand, my friend! You have undertaken a noble task—one that is greater than that of the captive knight who cut off his own foot, that his sovereign, who was chained to him, might escape—”
“Pray say no more about me,” interposed his companion. “Is the child asleep?”
“This one is; the one in the other room is awake.”
“Then let us go to her and tell her what we have decided.” He lifted the two-branched candlestick from the table; his companion carefully closed the iron doors of the fireplace; then the two went into the adjoining chamber, leaving the room they had quitted in darkness.
The elder gentleman had made a mistake: “this” child was not asleep. She had listened attentively, half sitting up in bed, to as much of the conversation as she could hear.
A ray of light penetrated through the keyhole. The little girl sprang nimbly from the bed, ran to the door, and peered through the tiny aperture. Suddenly footsteps came toward the door. When it opened, however, the little eavesdropper was back underneath the covers of the bed. The old gentleman entered the room. He had no candle. He left the door open, walked noiselessly to the bed, and drew aside the curtains to see if “this” child was still asleep. The long-drawn, regular breathing convinced him. Then he took something from the chair beside the bed, and went back into the other room. The object he had taken from the chair was the faded red shawl in which the stray child had been wrapped. He did not close the door of the adjoining chamber, for the candles had been extinguished and both rooms were now dark.
To the listening child in the bed, however, it seemed as if voices were whispering near her—as if she heard a stifled sob. Then cautious footsteps crossed the floor, and after an interval of silence the street door opened and closed.
Very soon afterward a light was struck in the adjoining room, and the elder man came through the doorway—alone.
He flung back the doors of the fireplace, and stirred the embers; then he proceeded to perform a singular task. First he tossed a number of letters and papers into the flames, then several dainty articles of girls’ clothing. He watched them until they had burned to ashes; then he flung himself into an arm-chair; his head sank forward on his breast, in which position he sat motionless for several hours.
CHAPTER II
When the younger of the two men stepped into the street he carried in his arms a little girl wrapped in a faded red shawl, to whom he was speaking encouragingly, in tones loud enough for any passer-by to hear:
“I know the little countess will be able to find her mama’s palace; for there is a fountain in front of it in which there is a stone man with a three-pronged fork, and a stone lady with a fish-tail! Oh, yes; we shall be sure to find it; and very soon we shall be with mama.”
Here the child in his arms began to sob bitterly.
“For heaven’s sake, do not weep; do not let your voice be heard,” whispered the young man in her ear.
At this moment a man wearing a coarse blouse, with his cap drawn over his eyes and a short pipe between his lips, came staggering toward them. The young man, in order to make room for him, pressed close to the wall, whereupon the new-comer, who seemed intoxicated, began in drunken tones:
“Hello, citizen! What do you mean? Do you want me to walk in the gutter?—because you have got on fine boots, and I have only wooden sabots! I am a citizen like yourself, and as good as you. We are alike, aren’t we?”
The young man now knew with whom he had to deal—a police spy whose duty it was to watch him. He therefore replied quietly:
“No, we are not alike, citizen; for I have in my arms an unfortunate child who has strayed from its mother. Every Frenchman respects a child and misfortune. Is not that so, citizen?”
“Yes, that is so, citizen. Let’s have a little conversation about it”; and the pretended drunkard seized hold of the young man’s mantle to detain him.
“It is very cold,” returned the young man. “Instead of talking here, suppose you help me get this child to its home. Go to the nearest corner and fetch a coach. I will wait here for you.”
The blouse-wearer hesitated a moment, then walked toward the street-corner, managing, however, to keep an eye on the young man and his charge. At the corner he whistled in a peculiar manner, whereupon the rumbling of wheels was heard. In a few moments the leather-covered vehicle drew up beside the curb where the young man was waiting.
“I am very much obliged to you for your kindness, citizen,” he said to the blouse-wearer, who had returned with the coach. “Here,” pressing a twenty-sou piece into the man’s palm, “is something for your trouble. I wish you would come with me to help hunt for this little girl’s home. If you have time, and will come with me, you shall be paid for your trouble.”