“May God protect you,” sobbed Katharina, reflecting at the same moment that it would be a great pity were a bullet to strike the spot on the noble brow where she pressed her farewell kiss.
“You will guard my treasure, Katharina? Take good care of my palladium and of yourself. Before I go, let me show you what this casket which you must guard with unceasing care contains.”
He drew the steel ring from his thumb, and pushed to one side the crown which formed the seal, whereupon a tiny key was revealed. With it he unlocked the casket.
On top lay a packet of English bank-notes of ten thousand pounds each.
“This sum,” explained Ludwig, “will defray the expenses of our undertaking. When I shall have attained my object, I shall be just so much the poorer. I am not a rich man, Katharina; I must tell you this before our marriage.”
“I should love you even were you a beggar,” was the sincere response.
A kiss was her reward.
Underneath the bank-notes were several articles of child’s clothing, such as little girls wear.
“Her mother embroidered the three lilies on these with her own hands,” said Ludwig, laying the little garments to one side. Then he took from the casket several time-stained documents, and added: “These are the certificate of baptism, the last lines from the mother to her daughter, and the deposition of the two men who witnessed the exchange of the children. This,” taking up a miniature-case, “contains a likeness of Marie, and one of the other little girl who exchanged destinies with her. The Marquis d’Avoncourt, who is now a prisoner in the Castle of Ham,—if he is still alive!—is the only one besides ourselves who knows of the existence of these things. And now, Katharina, let me beg of you to take good care of them; no matter what happens, do not lose sight of this casket.”
He locked the casket, and returned the ring to his thumb.
The baroness placed the treasure intrusted to her care in a secret cupboard in the wall of her own room.
And now, one more kiss!
The girl waiting in the adjoining room was doubtless getting weary. Suddenly Ludwig heard the tones of a piano. Some one was playing, in the timid, uncertain manner of a new beginner, Miska’s martial song. Ludwig listened, and turned questioningly toward his betrothed. Katharina did not speak; she merely smiled, and walked toward the door of the adjoining room, which she opened.
Marie sprang from the piano toward Ludwig, who caught her in his arms and rewarded her for the surprise. And thus it happened that Marie, after all, was the one to receive Ludwig’s last kiss of farewell.
CHAPTER III
The camp on the bank of the Rabcza was shared by the troop from Fertöszeg and by a militia company of infantry from Wieselburg.
The parole had been given out for the night. Count Vavel had completed his round of the outposts, and had returned to the officers’ tent. Here he found awaiting him two old acquaintances—the vice-palatine and the young attorney from Pest, each of them wearing the light-blue dolman.
The youthful attorney, whose letters to the count had voiced the national discontent, had at once girded on his sword when the call to arms had sounded throughout the land, and was now of one mind with his quondam patron: if he got near enough to a Frenchman to strike him, the result would certainly be disastrous—for the Frenchman. Bernat bácsi also found himself at last in his element, with ample time and opportunity for anecdotes. Seated on a clump of sod the root side up, with both hands clasping the hilt of his sword, the point of which rested on the ground, he repeated what he had heard from the palatine’s own lips, while dining with that exalted personage in the camp by the Raab.
At a very interesting point in his recital he was unceremoniously interrupted by the challenging call of the outposts:
“Halt! who comes there?”
Vavel hastened from the tent, flung himself on his horse, and galloped in the direction of the call. The patrol had stopped an armed man who would not give the password, but insisted that he had a right to enter the camp.
Vavel recognized Satan Laczi, and said to the guard:
“Release him; he is a friend of mine.” Then to the ex-robber: “Come with me.”
He led the way to his own private tent, where he bade his companion rest himself on a pallet of straw.
“I dare say you are tired, my good fellow.”
“Not very,” was the reply. “I have come only from Kapuvar to-day.”
“On foot?”
“Part of the way, and part of the way swimming.”
“What news do you bring?”
“We captured a French courier in the marshes near Vitnyed just as he was about to ride into the stream.”
“Where is he?”
“Well, you see, one of my fellows happened to grasp him a little too tightly by the collar, because he resisted so obstinately—and, besides, it must have been a very weak cord that fastened his soul to his body.”
“You have not done well, Satan Laczi,” reproved the count. “Another time you must bring the prisoner to me alive, for I may learn something of importance from him. Did not I tell you that I would pay a reward for a living captive?”
“Yes, your lordship, and we shall lose our reward this time. But we didn’t capture the fellow for nothing, after all. We searched his pockets, and found this sealed letter addressed to a general in the enemy’s army.”
Vavel took the letter, and said: “Rest here until I return. You will find something to eat and drink in the corner there. I may want you to ride farther to-night.”
“If I am to go on a horse, that will rest me sufficiently,” was the response.
Vavel quitted the tent to read the letter by the nearest watch-fire. It was addressed to “General Guillaume.”
That the general commanded a brigade of the viceroy of Italy’s troops, Vavel knew.
The letter was a long one—four closely written pages. Before reading it Vavel glanced at the signature: “Marquis de Fervlans.” The name seemed familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it. He was fully informed when he read the contents:
“M. GENERAL: The intrigue has been successfully carried out. Themire has found the fugitives! They are hidden in a secluded nook on the shore of Lake Neusiedl in Hungary, where their extreme caution has attracted much attention. Themire’s first move was to take up her abode in the same neighborhood, which she did in a masterly manner. The estate she bought belonged to a Viennese baron who had ruined himself by extravagance. Themire bought the property, paying one hundred thousand guilders for it, on condition that she might also assume the baron’s name; such transfers are possible, I believe, in Austria. In this wise Themire became the Baroness Katharina Landsknechtsschild, and, as she thoroughly understands the art of transformation, became a perfect German woman before she took possession of her purchase. In order not to arouse suspicion on the part of the fugitives, she carefully avoided meeting either of them, and played to perfection the rôle of a lady that had been jilted by her lover.
“Themire learned that our fugitive owned a powerful telescope with which he kept himself informed of everything that happened in the neighborhood, and this prompted her to adopt a very amusing plan of action. I wanted to put an end at once to the matter, and had gone to Vienna for the purpose of so doing. I entered the Austrian army as Count Leon Barthelmy, in order to be near my chosen emissary. But my scheme was without result. I had planned that a notorious robber of that region should steal the girl and the documents from the Nameless Castle,—as the abode of the fugitives is called,—but my robber proved unequal to the task. Consequently I was forced to accept Themire’s more tedious but successful plan. The difficulty was for Themire to become acquainted with our fugitive without arousing his suspicions. An opportunity offered. One night, when we knew to a certainty that the hermit in the Nameless Castle would be in his observatory because of an eclipse of the moon, Themire put her plan into operation. The hermit, who is only a man, after all, found a lovely woman more attractive than all the planets in the universe; he was captured in the net laid for him! When the moon entered the shadow, four masked robbers (Jocrisse was their leader!) climbed into the Baroness Landsknechtsschild’s windows. The hermit in his observatory beheld this incursion, and, being a knight as well as a recluse, what else could he do but rush to the rescue of his fair neighbor? His telescope had told him she was fair. Jocrisse played his part admirably. At the approach of the deliverer the “robbers” took to their heels, and the brave knight unbound the fettered and charming lady he had delivered from the ruffians. As Themire had prepared herself for the meeting, you may guess the result: the hermit was captured!”