Saint Michael

"And I confirm that delivery; the paper is in my desk."

"Is it really there?"

"To what can this lead?" asked the general, sharply. "I tell you that I locked it up there with my own hands."

"And I pray your Excellency to convince yourself that it is still where you placed it. The immense importance of the matter must excuse my audacity. I willingly incur the reproach of presumption to be assured of the safety of this document."

Steinrück shrugged his shoulders impatiently, but he took the key which he always carried about him and went to his writing-desk. The lock was a complicated one, and usually yielded with reluctance to the key. To-day the lid of the desk sprang open at a slight touch. The general changed colour.

"The desk has been broken into," Michael said, in a low voice, pointing to the key-hole, which showed evident signs of having been tampered with. "I thought so."

Steinrück said not a word, nor did he waste an instant upon an examination of the papers that lay before him, and which were probably of little importance. He hurriedly pressed a spot in the wooden side of the desk, to all appearance identical with the rest of the partition, but which instantly slipped aside, revealing an ingeniously–constructed secret drawer, now, to Steinrück's dismay, entirely empty.

"This is the work of a traitor!" the Count exclaimed, angrily. "No one except myself is aware of this secret drawer, or how to open it. Captain Rodenberg, what do you know of this robbery? You have some suspicion, some trace. Tell me!"

Michael was wont, in speaking to his superior officers, to be brief and to the point; to-day he departed from his rule and went into detail, as if to prepare his hearer for what was to come before it should be uttered.

"Late last evening I was sent, with a despatch that had just arrived, to the conference at which your Excellency was assisting. On my return I was obliged to pass by your house upon the garden side. As I turned the corner–it was about midnight–I saw a man disappear through the small door in the wall beside the grated iron gate. I should hardly have noticed his doing so–the servants probably had a right to use this entrance–had I not thought that I recognized the figure, although I saw it but for a moment beneath the light of the street-lamp."

"And who did you think it was?" the general asked, with intense eagerness.

"The brother of Frau von Nérac,–Henri Clermont."

"Clermont? I always have considered him as an adventurer, and have closed my doors against him. You are right: his appearance on that spot at that hour was more than suspicious. Did you not follow up the clue?"

"I did, your Excellency, but it ended where all was above suspicion–or, at least, seemed to be so."

He laid significant emphasis upon the last words, but Steinrück paid no heed; he insisted, impatiently, "Go on! go on!"

"' I tried to persuade myself that I had been mistaken, and walked on, but the matter left me no rest. I turned after a while, and as I walked around the house I noticed a strange light in your Excellency's study; it was not the light of a lamp, but like that of a solitary candle burning at the farther end of the room. It might well be accident, but, my suspicions roused by the sight of Clermont, I determined to have the matter explained at all hazards. I rang the bell, and told the servant that in passing I had observed a singular light in the study, which might possibly proceed from the beginning of a fire, and advised his seeing to it immediately. The man was startled, and hurried away, returning after a few moments, however, to inform me that I was mistaken; he begged pardon, but there was only a single candle burning in the room, and there was no one there except–"

"Well? Why hesitate? Go on! Who was there?"

"Count Raoul Steinrück."

The general's face was ghastly pale, and his breath came short and quick as he said, "My grandson–here?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

"At midnight?"

"At midnight."

A long pause ensued; neither man spoke. The eyes of the old Count looked strangely fixed; the dim, dark foreboding that had once before assailed him again emerged from the gloom and took on shape and form. But this dark presage faded; he collected himself and repelled the horrible thought.

"Then we must apply to Raoul," he said, regaining his composure. "I will send for him."

"The Count is not at home," interposed Michael.

"Then he is at the Foreign Office; I will send there instantly. This matter must be cleared up; there is not a minute to lose."

He stretched out his hand towards the bell, but suddenly paused, encountering Rodenberg's glance. There must have been something terrible in the young man's eyes, for the general slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and said, in a low tone, "What is it? Out with it!"

"I have bad news for you, Count Steinrück,–news hard to bear; you must prepare for the worst."

The general passed his hand across his forehead and gazed as if spell-bound at the speaker. "The worst? Where is Raoul?"

"Gone!–to France!"

Steinrück did not start, did not even exclaim. He put his hand to his heart without a word, and would have fallen if Michael had not supported him as he sank into a seat.

Several minutes passed thus. Michael stood silent beside the arm-chair, where the Count leaned back half unconscious. The young officer felt that any word, any offer of help, would be useless. At last he stooped over him.

"Your Excellency!"

There was no reply. The general seemed to know nothing of what was around him.

"Count Steinrück!"

Still the same distressing silence. The Count leaned back motionless, his eyes gazing into vacancy, his labouring breath the only sign that he still lived.

"Grandfather!"

The word came gently and with hesitation from the lips that had resolved never to utter it, but it was spoken, and it dissolved the old man's icy torpor. Steinrück started, and suddenly buried his face in his hands.

"Grandfather, look at me!" Michael at last broke forth. "Break this fearful silence; say at least one word to me."

Obeying as if mechanically, the general dropped his hands and looked up at the young man. "Michael," he groaned, "you are avenged!"

It was indeed a Nemesis. Upon this very spot the son, tortured by the disgrace of his father's memory, had declared to his pitiless grandfather, "Your scutcheon is not so lofty and unimpeachable as the sun in the heavens; a day may come when it will wear a stain that you cannot efface, and then you will feel what an implacable judge you have been." The day had come, and had felled at one stroke the mighty old oak that had defied so many tempests.

"Courage!" said Michael. "You must not succumb now. Remember what is at stake. We must devise some plan."

It was the right appeal to make. The thought of the peril that menaced him roused the general from his dull despair. He arose, at first with difficulty, but as he stood once more erect he seemed to recover his self-possession.

"If I could but overtake the scoundrel! With my own hands I would force him–but there is no time. The hour is fixed for my arrival at headquarters."

"Then send me," interposed Michael. "Orders from my general in relation to a secret and important mission will relieve me from all other duty. Railway travel is obstructed and delayed everywhere by the transportation of troops; it takes double time to make even a short journey. My uniform and your orders will place every military train at my disposal; I shall overtake Raoul this side of the border."

"Then you know which way he has gone?"

"Yes, and I have kept trace of the Clermonts also. I would not, I could not give utterance to a suspicion founded upon mere possibilities so long as proof was lacking, and I was upon duty from which I was relieved only an hour ago, when I hurried to Clermont's lodgings. He had departed with his sister, and by the South German line, as being the swiftest. I drove directly to that station, which was thronged with troops for transportation. The morning train had already left, the mid-day train was just ready to depart. How far it could go and what delays it might encounter could not be foreseen. As I was speaking with an official I saw Raoul on the other side of the platform, alone and hurrying along beside the carriages, in which he seemed to be searching for some one. Suddenly the final signal was given, he tore open the first door at hand, entered the train, and was whirled away. I could not overtake him, the breadth of the railway-station was between us, but I hurried to the office to learn for what point the last single passenger had purchased his ticket, and was told for Strasburg."

The general leaned heavily upon the back of the arm-chair by which he stood as he listened to this hasty report, but he lost not a syllable of it; and at the last word, which might well have crushed him, he stood erect again with much of his old vigour.

"You are right. There is still a chance of overtaking him." He did not mention Raoul's name. "If any one can come to the rescue it is you, Michael! This I know. Recover the papers from him, living–or dead!"

"Grandfather!" exclaimed the young officer, recoiling.

"On my head be the consequences. You shall be scathless. I once required you to spare my blood flowing in the veins of each of you,–now I tell you not to spare the traitor. Wrest his booty from him,–you know what is at stake,–wrest it from him, living or dead!"

The words were terrible, and more terrible still was the expression in the old man's eyes, gleaming with no ray of pity, but filled with the iron resolution of the inexorable judge. It was plain that he would have sacrificed his grandson, the heir of his name, who had once been so dear to his heart, without the quiver of an eyelash.

"I shall do my duty," Michael said, in an undertone that, nevertheless, had in it an echo of that other voice.

The general went to his writing-table and took up a pen; his hand trembled and almost refused to perform its duty, but he controlled the weakness and wrote a few lines, which he handed to the captain.

"I trust everything to you, Michael. Go! Perhaps you will succeed in saving me from the worst. If I hear nothing from you in the course of the next twenty-four hours I must speak, and must declare the last Steinrück–"

He could not finish the sentence; his voice broke, but he grasped Michael's hand in a convulsive clasp. The repudiated son of the outcast daughter was to be the saviour of the honour of the family; he was the old Count's last, sole hope, and the young man answered the clasp of his hand,–

"Rely upon me, grandfather! Have you not said that I can do all that can be done? You shall hear from me at your head-quarters. Farewell!"

The confusion and bustle reigning in the South-German railway-station at E– had increased incredibly, for the comparatively insignificant little town was the point of meeting of three railway lines, and lay in the direct road to the Rhine. Trains for the transportation of troops were running day and night, and the town itself was crowded with soldiers.

Some hundred paces from the station there was a third-rate inn, usually frequented by peasants only, and certainly no fit stopping-place for the strangers who had reached it an hour previously,–a young lady, apparently of high rank, accompanied by an elderly priest and a servant. The apartment to which they had been shown was neither comfortable nor clean, and yet it was the only shelter that they could find.

The lady, who sat at a table leaning her head upon her hand, was in mourning, and looked very grave and pale, although this in no wise detracted from the beauty of the face beneath her crape veil. The priest was seated opposite her at the table, and had just said, "I am afraid we must stay here for a while; your servant has searched the entire town: all the hotels are overcrowded, and various private mansions are occupied by strangers. You might perhaps endure this house for a night, but any longer stay would be impossible for you, Countess Hertha."

"But why?" asked Hertha, calmly. "We shall have no choice to-morrow either, and at a time like the present we must yield to necessity."

The priest of St. Michael, for it was he, looked in amazement at the petted young Countess, now so ready to content herself with accommodations that would under other circumstances have been indignantly rejected by her.

"But there really was no necessity," he observed. "Michael wrote expressly that he could not be here with his regiment until the day after to-morrow, and that he would telegraph you beforehand. Until then we might have stayed quietly in Berkheim."

Hertha shook her head. "Berkheim is full four leagues away. The orders might be changed, the telegram might be delayed, and then I should be too late. Only here on the spot can I be sure of the time of the arrival of the regiment. Do not blame me, your reverence! I must bid Michael farewell; when he is going perhaps to death, even the bare possibility of missing him is terrible!"

Valentin did not look inclined to blame her, but he marvelled at the dominion which Michael exercised over the proud, wayward girl.

"I am thankful that I was able to come with you," said he. "The pastor of Tannberg was quite ready to send me his chaplain to take my place for a while, and I can conduct you back to Berkheim."

Hertha gratefully held out her hand to him. "I have no one but you! My guardian is angry with me, as I foresaw that he would be. He never even answered my letter, and Aunt Hortense was so furious when she learned of my betrothal to Michael, that I could not possibly remain a day longer at Steinrück, loath as I was to leave my mother's grave so soon. I am grieved to have caused your reverence so much trouble and exertion. I am afraid that your accommodations are even worse than mine."

"For the present I have a room upon the ground-floor which certainly is not very inviting," said Valentin, smiling, "but the host has promised me for the night the gable-room in the upper story, since the strangers now occupying it will leave by the evening train. The time for its departure is at hand; I will go and attend to matters."

He left the room, and Hertha walked to the window, which she opened wide. The day had been very hot, and the evening brought no refreshment; the air was sultry and oppressive. Not a star was visible in the clouded heavens, and on the distant horizon there was from time to time a gleam of lightning, unveiling the dim mountain-range. Near at hand sparkled the lights of the railway-station, and close to the house the river rushed, seeming to emerge from the darkness only to be lost in it again. The ripple and dash of its waters were the only signs of its existence.

The young Countess leaned her glowing forehead against the window-frame, resolving to be steadfast and brave. Michael should see no grief that could make departure harder for him; but now that she was alone she could weep her fill. Her sense of loss in her mother's death, the pain occasioned by the strife with her family, all faded in her anguish for the lover whom perhaps she had won only to lose again forever.

Suddenly she heard voices close beneath her window. The host was standing at the inn door with a stranger, and Hertha could hear that they were speaking of the gable-room. The innkeeper asked civilly when the room would be vacant, as some one was waiting to occupy it, and the stranger replied that he had just learned at the station that the evening train would not leave for two hours; for so long he and the lady with him must retain the room. His voice attracted the young Countess's attention. She knew that fluent German spoken with a slight foreign accent, and in another moment she recognized, by the light of the lamp just lit before the house, the speaker, Henri Clermont, who, since he spoke of a lady with him, must be on his way back to France with his sister.

Hertha retired from the window with a pained sensation. Until a short time previously she had had but the merest superficial acquaintance with these people, meeting them from time to time in society. Only lately had she learned of Raoul's relations with Frau von Nérac. A chance meeting was certainly to be avoided, and the young Countess resolved not to leave her room for the next two hours.

Meanwhile, bustle and noise were on the increase at the railway-station. Trains came and went, engines whistled, and the platform was crowded with travellers and onlookers, making inquiries or condemned to an involuntary delay.

This last was the fate that had befallen the passengers who had arrived half an hour previously by a train already delayed several hours. They were told that it could not proceed immediately, since, in addition to the military transport which was just gliding into the station, other troops were expected, and the passenger-trains must wait until the road was clear again. All had patiently resigned themselves to circumstances, with the exception of a solitary passenger, who evidently was in great haste and found the delay hard to endure. He had retired to a dark, secluded part of the station, where he was pacing to and fro with signs of intense impatience, consulting his watch every five minutes. Suddenly he paused, and then withdrew into still deeper shadow, for an officer who had arrived with the military train came talking with a railway official, directly towards where he stood.

"The express–train passed through with but little delay, then?" asked the officer. "But the passenger-train that arrived at noon is still here? Are its passengers here also?"

"Certainly, Herr Captain," replied the official. "They are still waiting, and must wait for some time yet."

The solitary passenger seemed to recognize the officer's voice, and to wish to avoid meeting him, for he turned hastily and walked in another direction. His sudden movement, however, betrayed his presence to the sharp eyes of the officer searching the gloom. He briefly thanked the official, and in a few steps overtook the stranger, and barred his way.

"Count Raoul Steinrück!"

The encounter was most unwelcome to the young Count, this was plain, but he thought it purely accidental,–the captain was doubtless on his way with his regiment to the seat of war. He stood still, and asked, bluntly, "What do you wish, Captain Rodenberg?"

"First of all, I wish for a private interview with you."

"I regret that I am in great haste."

"So am I. But I trust that the matter I have to settle can be disposed of briefly."

Raoul hesitated an instant, and then called out to the official, who still stood near, "How long will the passenger-train be delayed?"

"For an hour at least," the man replied, shrugging his shoulders and walking away. Raoul turned to Rodenberg.

"Well, then, I am ready; but here at the station, where every word can be overheard, we cannot–"

"No, but over there I see a small inn. We can go there; it is close at hand."

"As you please, since the matter admits of no delay. I beg you to be very brief, however, since, as you see, I am on my way elsewhere," the young Count said, haughtily, turning in the desired direction. Michael followed him closely, never taking his eyes from him, and evidently surprised by his ready compliance.

They reached the house, and entered the gloomy, dim inn-parlour, at present deserted. The host showed them into a small adjoining room, which seemed appropriated to the use of the better sort of guests. Ho brought a light, and then, finding they had no further orders to give, vanished. They were left alone.

Raoul stood in the centre of the room. He was ghastly pale; there was a feverish gleam in his eyes, and with all his effort at self-control he could not conceal his intense agitation.

"Time and place seem to me but ill chosen for an explanation," he began. "I should certainly have called you to an account later with regard to the disclosures made by you to my grandfather in the name of the Countess Hertha."

"No need to refer to that now," Michael interrupted him. "I have a question to put to you. You are on your way to Strasburg; what do you want there?"

"What does this mean?" exclaimed Raoul, indignantly. "You forget that you are speaking to Count Steinrück."

"I speak in the name of General Steinrück, who has sent me to recover the papers which you have with you, and the value of which you know as well as I do."

The young Count started as if he had received a blow. "The papers? My grandfather believes–?"

"He and I believe! And I think we are justified in so doing. Pray let us have no circumlocution. I have but little time to lose, and am resolved to use force if necessary. Will you compel me to do so?"

Raoul gazed at him as if dazed; suddenly he covered his face with his hands and groaned, "Ah, this is terrible!"

"Spare me this farce!" said Rodenberg, harshly. "It can avail nothing. The general's desk has been broken open, the document stolen, and the servant who unexpectedly entered the room found the thief–"

A savage exclamation from Raoul interrupted him; the young Count seemed about to throw himself upon him. Michael raised his hand. "Control yourself, Count Steinrück; you have lost the right to be treated with any consideration."

"But it is a lie!" Raoul burst forth, violently. "Not I–but Henri Clermont–"

"I have no doubt that Clermont was the instigator. I myself saw him lurking in the garden at midnight. But another must have lent his hand to the shameful work. A stranger, a Frenchman, could hardly have gained access to the general's rooms."

"But he could to mine. He had the key of the garden gate and of my bedroom. My grandfather always disliked him, as did my mother also of late: we chose to escape the perpetual reproach that was sure to follow Henri's visits. I did not dream of his vile purpose in asking me to give him the keys."

Michael leaned against the table with folded arms, gazing steadily at the speaker; it was plain that he did not believe him.

"The son of the house then opened its doors to the spy? And how did he find the secret drawer, so well concealed in the desk? How did he find the spring that alone could open it?"

"My own desk, which he knew well, is similarly arranged. It was given me by my grandfather, who had it made for me after the model of his."

"Ah, indeed! Go on."

Raoul clinched his hands convulsively. "Rodenberg, do not goad me too far. You see in me a desperate man. You must believe me, you must disabuse my grandfather of his terrible suspicion, or I never would answer questions put in such a tone and with such an air. I came home last night late and found the doors, which are always locked between my rooms and the general's, open. Since we alone have the keys opening them, my suspicions were awakened. I went to the study, and found the man whom I had called my friend–"

"At his work," Michael concluded the sentence. "Apparently you did not interrupt it, since he found time to complete the robbery."

"He had already completed it. As I stood in utter dismay, crushed by the frightful discovery, we heard the door of the antechamber open, and approaching footsteps. In mortal terror Henri clasped my arm and conjured me to save him. Discovery would be his ruin, as I knew, and I hurried to the door and prevented the servant's entrance by telling him of my presence. When the man had gone and I turned round, Clermont had escaped."

"And you did not pursue him and wrest his booty from him? You did not tell the general what had happened?"

Raoul's eyes were downcast, and he replied, scarcely audibly, "He was my nearest friend, the brother of the woman whom I loved to madness, and whom I then believed guiltless. The next morning I hurried to them; they were gone, and an hour afterwards I made a terrible discovery; then, reckless of all other considerations, I set out to pursue them."

He paused as if exhausted. Michael had listened with apparent composure, except for a slight contemptuous quiver of the lip. Now he stood erect. "Have you finished? My patience is at an end; I did not come here to listen to fanciful tales. Give me the papers, or I shall be forced to resort to violence."

"You do not believe me?" exclaimed Raoul. "You still do not believe me?"

"No, I do not believe one word of this tissue of falsehood. For the last time, then, give me the papers, or by the eternal God I will obey the order which my grandfather gave me when I left him,–'Wrest the papers from him, living or–dead!'"