The Conspirators. Dumas Alexandre
replied the unknown, "it is easy to see that you are a weak mortal, and that you are happy enough never to have raised yourself above your sphere, otherwise you would know that if we, as you say, know the past, the present and the future, this science is silent as to what regards ourselves, and that the things we most desire remain to us plunged in the most dense obscurity."
"Diable! Monsieur le Genie," answered D'Harmental, "do you know that you will make me very vain if you continue in that tone; for, take care, you have told me, or nearly so, that you had a great desire that I should come to your rendezvous."
"I did not think I was telling you anything new, chevalier. It appeared to me that my letter would leave you no doubt as to the desire I felt of seeing you."
"This desire, which I only admit because you confess it, and I am too gallant to contradict you – had it not made you promise in your letter more than is in your power to keep?"
"Make a trial of my science; that will give you a test of my power."
"Oh, mon Dieu! I will confine myself to the simplest thing. You say you are acquainted with the past, the present and the future. Tell me my fortune."
"Nothing easier; give me your hand."
D'Harmental did what was asked of him.
"Sir," said the stranger, after a moment's examination, "I see very legibly written by the direction of the 'adducta,' and by the arrangement of the longitudinal lines of the palm, five words, in which are included the history of your life. These words are, courage, ambition, disappointment, love, and treason."
"Peste!" interrupted the chevalier, "I did not know that the genii studied anatomy so deeply, and were obliged to take their degrees like a Bachelor of Salamanca!"
"Genii know all that men know, and many other things besides, chevalier."
"Well, then, what mean these words, at once so sonorous and so opposite? and what do they teach you of me in the past, my very learned genius?"
"They teach me that it is by your courage alone that you gained the rank of colonel, which you occupied in the army in Flanders; that this rank awakened your ambition; that this ambition has been followed by a disappointment; that you hoped to console yourself for this disappointment by love; but that love, like fortune, is subject to treachery, and that you have been betrayed."
"Not bad," said the chevalier; "and the Sybil of Cuma could not have got out of it better. A little vague, as in all horoscopes, but a great fund of truth, nevertheless. Let us come to the present, beautiful mask."
"The present, chevalier? Let us speak softly of it, for it smells terribly of the Bastille."
The chevalier started in spite of himself, for he believed that no one except the actors who had played a part in it could know his adventure of the morning.
"There are at this hour," continued the stranger, "two brave gentlemen lying sadly in their beds, while we chat gayly at the ball; and that because a certain Chevalier d'Harmental, a great listener at doors, did not remember a hemistich of Virgil."
"And what is this hemistich?" asked the chevalier, more and more astonished.
"'Facilis descensus Averni,'" said the mask, laughing.
"My dear genius," cried the chevalier, trying to peep through the openings in the stranger's mask, "that, allow me to inform you, is a quotation rather masculine."
"Do you not know that genii are of both sexes?"
"Yes; but I had never heard that they quoted the Æneid so fluently."
"Is not the quotation appropriate? You speak to me of the Sybil of Cuma; I answer you in her language. You ask for existing things; I give them you. But you mortals are never satisfied."
"No; for I confess that this knowledge of the past and the present inspires me with a terrible desire to know the future."
"There are always two futures," said the mask; "there is the future of weak minds, and the future of strong minds. God has given man free will that he might choose. Your future depends on yourself."
"But we must know these two futures to choose the best."
"Well, there is one which awaits you, somewhere in the environs of Nevers, in the depth of the country, among the rabbits of your warren, and the fowls of your poultry-yard. This one will conduct you straight to the magistrate's bench of your parish. It is an easy ambition, and you have only to let yourself go to attain it. You are on the road."
"And the other?" replied the chevalier, visibly piqued at the supposition that in any case such a future could be his.
"The other," said the stranger, leaning her arm on that of the young man, and fixing her eyes on him through her mask; "the other will throw you back into noise and light – will make you one of the actors in the game which is playing in the world, and, whether you gain or lose, will leave you at least the renown of a great player."
"If I lose, what shall I lose?" asked the chevalier.
"Life, probably."
The chevalier tossed his head contemptuously.
"And if I win?" added he.
"What do you say to the rank of colonel of horse, the title of Grandee of Spain, and the order of the Saint Esprit, without counting the field-marshal's baton in prospective?"
"I say that the prize is worth the stake, and that if you can prove to me that you can keep your promise, I am your man."
"This proof," replied the mask, "must be given you by another, and if you wish to have it you must follow me."
"Oh!" said D'Harmental, "am I deceived, and are you but a genius of the second order – a subaltern spirit, an intermediate power? Diable! this would take away a little of my consideration for you."
"What does it matter if I am subject to some great enchantress, and she has sent me to you?"
"I warn you that I do not treat with ambassadors."
"My mission is to conduct you to her."
"Then I shall see her?"
"Face to face." – "Let us go, then."
"Chevalier, you go quickly to the work; you forget that before all initiations there are certain indispensable ceremonies to secure the discretion of the initiated."
"What must I do?"
"You must allow your eyes to be bandaged, and let me lead you where I like. When arrived at the door of the temple, you must take a solemn oath to reveal nothing concerning the things you may hear, or the people you may see."
"I am ready to swear by the Styx," said D'Harmental, laughing.
"No, chevalier," said the mask, in a grave voice; "swear only by your honor; you are known, and that will suffice."
"And when I have taken this oath," asked the chevalier, after an instant's reflection, "will it be permitted to me to retire, if the proposals made are not such as a gentleman may entertain?"
"Your conscience will be your sole arbiter, and your word the only pledge demanded of you."
"I am ready," said the chevalier.
"Let us go, then," said the mask.
The chevalier prepared to cross the room in a straight line toward the door; but perceiving three of his friends, who might have stopped him on the way, he made a turn, and described a curve which would bring him to the same end.
"What are you doing?" asked the mask.
"I am avoiding some one who might detain us."
"Ah!" said the mask, "I began to fear."
"Fear what?" asked D'Harmental.
"To fear that your ardor was diminished in the proportion of the diagonal to the two sides of a square."
"Pardieu!" said D'Harmental, "this is the first time, I believe, that ever a rendezvous was given to a gentleman at an opera ball to talk anatomy, ancient literature, and mathematics. I am sorry to say so, but you are the most pedantic genius