CHAPTER XXIII. THE SUPPER.

The young men examined the adventurer with a surprise that they tried in vain to conceal, and which, spite of themselves, was reflected on their faces.

Raimbaut, aided by Lanca Ibarru, brought in a ready-laid table, which he placed before don Adolfo.

"By Jove, gentlemen!" the adventurer said gaily, "Master Raimbaut has had the charming attention to lay covers for three, evidently foreseeing that you would not refuse to keep me company; forget your thoughts for a moment, then, I beg, and come to table."

"Most willingly," they replied, as they took the seat by his side.

The meal began; don Adolfo ate with good appetite while talking with a humour and quickness they had never noticed in him before. He was inexhaustible; it was a rolling fire of sallies, witticisms, and neatly told anecdotes that poured from his lips. The young men looked at each other, for they did not at all comprehend this singular temper; for, in spite of the gaiety of his remarks and his easiness of manner, the adventurer's brow remained thoughtful, and his face retained its habitual coldly sarcastic expression. Still, excited by this most communicative gaiety, they soon forgot all their anxieties, and allowed themselves to be won by this apparently so frank joy, ere a contest of laughter and merry remarks was mingled with the clink of glasses and the rattle of the knives and forks. The servants were dismissed, and the three friends left alone.

"Really, gentlemen," don Adolfo said as he uncorked a bottle of champagne, "of all meals, in my opinion, supper is the best; our fathers liked it, and were right; among other good customs that are departing, this one is going, and will soon be entirely forgotten. I, for one, shall regret it sincerely." He filled his companions' glasses. "Permit me," he continued, "to drink your health in this wine, one of the most delicious productions of your country." And after hobnobbing, he emptied the glass at one draught. The bottles rapidly succeeded each other, for the glasses were no sooner filled than emptied. They soon began to grow excited. Then they lit cigars, and attacked the liqueurs—Jamaica rum, Catalu?a refino, and French brandy. With their elbows on the table, and enveloped in a dense cloud of fragrant smoke, they went on talking with less reservation, and insensibly—they did not perceive it themselves—their conversation assumed a more earnest and confidential character.

"Bah!" Dominique suddenly said, throwing himself back comfortably in his chair, "Life is a good thing, and above all a beautiful one."

At this outburst, which fell into the centre of the conversation like an aerolite, the adventurer burst into a sharp, nervous laugh.

"Bravo!" he said, "That is first-class philosophy. This man, who was born, he does not know of whom or where, who has sprung up like a sturdy mushroom, never knowing any other friend save myself, who does not possess a shilling, considers life a beautiful thing and congratulates himself on enjoying it. By Jove! I should be curious to hear this fine theory developed a little."

"Nothing is easier," the young man replied, without any excitement. "I was born I know not where, that is true: but it is a blessing for me. The whole earth is my country. To whatever nation they may belong, men are my countrymen. I do not know my parents: but who knows whether this is not also a blessing for me? By their desertion they freed me from respect and gratitude for the cares they might have bestowed on me, and left me at liberty to act as I pleased, without having reason to fear their control. I never had but one friend: but how many men can flatter themselves with possessing even so much? Mine is kind, sincere, and devoted. I have always felt him near me, when I wanted him to share my joy or sorrow; to support me and attach me by his friendship to the great human family, from which I should be exiled without him. I do not possess a shilling: that is also true—but what do I care for wealth? I am strong, brave, and intelligent; ought not man to work? I accomplish my task like the rest, perhaps better, for I envy nobody and am happy with my lot. You see clearly, my dear Adolfo, that life is to me at least a good and beautiful thing, as I said just now. I defy you, the skeptic and disabused man, to prove to me the contrary."

"Perfectly answered, on my word," the adventurer said. "All these reasons, though specious and easy to refute, do not the less appear very logical, and I shall not take the trouble to discuss them. Still, I will remark, my friend, that when you treat me as a skeptic, you are mistaken; disabused, perhaps, I am, but a skeptic I shall never be."

"Oh, oh!" the two young men exclaimed simultaneously. "That demands an explanation, don Adolfo."

"And I will give it you, if you insist upon it: but what is the good? Stay, I have a proposal to make to you, which I think will please you."

"Go on; speak."

"It is now nearly morning, in a few hours it will be day, none of us are sleepy, so let us remain as we are and continue to talk."

"Certainly; I desire nothing better for my part," the count said.

"And I the same. But what shall we talk about?" Dominique observed.

"If you like, I will tell you an adventure or a story—give it which name you like—that I heard this very day, and whose correctness I can guarantee; for the person who told it me, I have known a long time, and he played an important part in it."

"Why not tell us your own story, don Adolfo? It must be filled with touching events and curious incidents," the count said meaningly.

"Well, you are mistaken, Count," Oliver answered, simply. "Nothing can be less touching than what you are pleased to call my story; it is much the same as that of all smugglers, for you know, I believe," he added, confidentially, "that I am nothing else. The existence of all of us is the same; we act cunningly to pass the goods intrusted to us, and the custom house officers do the same to prevent it and seize us. Hence arise combats, which sometimes, though rarely, thank Heaven, become blood-thirsty. Such is substantially the story you ask of me, my dear Count. You see that there is nothing essentially interesting in it."

"I do not press you, dear don Adolfo," the count answered with a smile. "Pass on to something else, if you please."

"In that case," Dominique said to the adventurer, "you are at liberty to begin your story whenever you please."

Oliver filled a champagne glass with Catalu?a refino, emptied it at a draught, and then struck the table with the handle of his knife.

"Attention, gentlemen," he said. "I am about to begin. I must before all claim your indulgence for certain gaps, and also for some obscure points which will be found in my narrative. I must again remark that I am merely repeating what was told to me, that consequently there are many things of which I am ignorant, and that I cannot be rendered responsible for reticences, probably made purposely by the first narrator, who no doubt had motives known to himself alone, for leaving in the dark some incidents of the day, which is, however, very curious, I assure you."

"Begin, begin," they said.

"There is another difficulty in the narrative," he continued imperturbably, "it is that I am utterly ignorant in what country it occurred: but that is only of relative importance, as men are nearly the same everywhere, that is to say, agitated and governed by identical vices and passions; all that I fancy I can be certain of is, that it took place in the Old World—but you shall judge for yourselves. Well, then, there was in Germany—let us suppose, if you please, that the scene of this truthful story is laid in Germany—there was, I was saying, a rich and powerful family, whose nobility went back to the most remote period. You know, of course, that the German nobility are the oldest in the world, and that the traditions of honour have been preserved among them almost intact to the present day. Now, the Prince of Oppenheim-Schlewig, we will call him, so as the head of the family is a prince—had two sons nearly of the same age, as there were only two or three years' difference between them; both were handsome and endowed with brilliant intellects, these two young gentlemen had been educated with the utmost care, under the eyes of their father, who attentively watched their education. It is not the same in Germany as in America, for there the power of the head of the family is very extensive and most respected. There is something truly patriarchal in the way in which the internal discipline of the household is maintained. The young men profited by the lessons they received, but as they grew older their characters became more marked, and it was soon easy to recognize a great difference between them, although both were perfect gentlemen in the common acceptation of the term. Their moral qualities, however, were completely different; the first was gentle, affable, obliging, earnest, attached to his duties, and extremely attached to the honour of his name. The second displayed very different tastes, although he was very proud and punctilious; still, he did not fear to compromise the respect he owed his name in the lowest resorts and amongst the worst company; in a word, he led a most dissipated and rackety life. The prince bewailed in secret the debauchery of his younger son; he several times summoned him to his presence, and addressed severe remonstrances to him. The young man listened to his father respectfully, promised amendment, and went on the same as before. France declared war against Germany. The Prince of Oppenheim was one of the first to obey the orders of the emperor, and place himself under his banner; his sons accompanied him as aides-de-camp, and went under fire for the first time by his side. A few days' after his arrival at the camp the prince was intrusted with a reconnaissance by the general in chief; there a sharp skirmish with the enemy's foragers, and, in the height of the action, the prince fell from his horse. His friends gathered around, him, he died: but it was a strange circumstance, and one never explained, that the bullet which caused his death had entered between his shoulders—he was shot from behind."

Don Adolfo stopped.

"Give me some drink," he said to Dominique.

The latter poured him out a glass of punch; he swallowed it almost burning, and after passing his hand over his pale, dark forehead, he resumed with pretended carelessness.

"The prince's two sons were some distance away when this catastrophe occurred, they galloped up at once, but only found their father's bleeding and disfigured corpse. The sorrow of the two young men was immense, that of the elder gloomy and restrained, as it were; that of the younger, on the contrary, noisy. In spite of the most minute research, it was impossible to discover how the prince, while at the head of his troops by whom he was adored, could have been struck from behind: this always remained a mystery. The young men left the army and returned home: the elder had assumed the title of prince and had become head of the family, as in Germany the law of entail exists in all its rigour, the younger was completely dependant on his brother, but the latter would not leave him in this inferior and humiliating condition. He gave up to him his mother's fortune, which was very considerable, left him perfectly his own master, and authorized him to take the title of marquis."

"Of duke, you mean," the count interrupted.

"That is true," don Adolfo continued, biting his lips. "Since he was a prince—but you know that we republicans," he added, "are but little used to these pompous titles, for which we profess the most profound contempt."

"Go on," Dominique said carelessly.

Don Adolfo continued: "The duke realized his fortune, bade farewell to his brother, and started for Vienna. The prince, who remained on his estate among his vassals, did not hear from his brother for long intervals; but the news he received about him was not of a pleasing nature. The duke now set no bounds to his licentiousness, and matters attained such a point that the prince was at length compelled to interfere seriously, and give his brother an order to leave the kingdom—I mean the empire—immediately, and the latter obeyed without a murmur. Several years elapsed, during which the duke travelled over the whole of Europe. Writing but rarely to his elder brother, he, however, on each occasion, spoke of the change that had taken place in him, and the radical reformation of his conduct. Whether he believed in these protestations or not, the prince thought he could not refrain from announcing to his brother that he was on the point of marrying a noble, young, lovely, and rich heiress, that the marriage was about to take place immediately, and probably expecting that distance would prevent it, he invited his brother to be present at the nuptial ceremony. If such was his idea, he was mistaken—the duke arrived on the very eve of the marriage. His brother received him very well, and gave him apartments in his palace. On the morrow the projected union was accomplished."

"The duke's conduct was irreproachable: remaining with his brother, he seemed anxious to please him in everything, and prove to him on every possible occasion that his conversion was sincere. In short, he played his part so well, that everybody was deceived, the prince first of all, who not only restored him his friendship, but soon granted him his entire confidence. The duke had returned from his travels for some months; he seemed to regard life earnestly, and to have but one desire, that of repairing the faults of his youth. Welcomed in all families, at first with a slight coldness, but ere long with distinction, he had almost succeeded in causing the errors of his past life to be forgotten, when extraordinary rejoicings took place in the county on the occasion of some fête or anniversary. The prince naturally assumed the initiative, as was his duty; and by his brother's instigation he even resolved to take a part in them himself, in order to give them greater lustre."

"It was intended to represent a species of tournament: the first nobles of the surrounding country eagerly offered their assistance to the prince, and at length the jousting day arrived. The prince's young wife, who was in an advanced state of pregnancy, impelled by one of those presentiments which come from the heart, and never deceive, tried in vain to prevent her husband from entering the lists, confessing to himself through her tears that she apprehended a misfortune. The duke joined his sister-in-law in urging his brother to abstain from appearing at the tournament otherwise than as a spectator; but the prince, who considered his honour involved, was immoveable in his resolution, jested, treated their fears as chimerical, and mounted his horse to proceed to the scene of the tournament. An hour later he was brought back dying. By an extraordinary accident, an unheard-of fatality, the unfortunate prince had met with death at the spot where he should only have found pleasure. The duke displayed extreme sorrow at the frightful death of his brother. The prince's will was immediately opened; he appointed his brother sole heir to all his property, unless the princess, who, as I said, was in an advanced state of pregnancy, gave birth to a son, in which case this son would inherit his father's fortune and titles, and would remain till his majority under the guardianship of his uncle."

"On learning her husband's death, the princess was suddenly seized with the pangs of labour, and was delivered of a daughter. The second clause of the will being thus annulled, the duke assumed the title of prince, and took possession of his brother's fortune. The princess, in spite of the most enticing offers her brother-in-law made her, refused to continue to reside as a stranger in a palace where she had been mistress, and returned to her family."

The adventurer made a pause.

"How do you like this story?" he asked his hearers, with an ironical smile.

"I am waiting till you give us the counterpart," the count replied, "before I offer my opinion about it."

The adventurer gave him a clear and piercing glance.

"Then," he said, "you fancy this is not all?"

"Every story," the count retorted, "is composed of two distinct parts."

"That is to say?"

"The true part, and the false."

"Will you explain yourself?"

"Willingly: the false part is that which is public, which everybody knows, and can comment on and repeat as he likes."

"Good," he said, with a slight inclination of the head; "and the true part?"

"That is the secret, the mysterious part, only known to two or three persons at the most—the sheepskin removed from the wolfs shoulders."

"Or the mask of virtue torn from the face of the villain!" he exclaimed, with a terrible outburst: "Is it not that?"

"Yes, indeed, it is."

"And you wait for this second part of the story?"

"I do," the count answered, sternly.

The adventurer sat for two or three minutes with his face buried in his hands, then raised his head haughtily, emptied the glass before him, and then said, in a loud, metallic voice—

"Well, listen, then, for by heaven! I swear to you that what you are going to hear is worth the trouble, this time."