CHAPTER XXV. THE AVENGER.

"Immediately he reached home, the count gave orders for his departure. He had completely forgotten the business for which he came to Bruneck: besides, had the business been even more important than it really was, it could not have retained him, so great was his anxiety to get away. Still, he was obliged to remain ten hours longer in the town. It was impossible to procure horses before three o'clock in the afternoon."

"He profited by this hindrance to take a little rest; in truth, he was utterly worn out with fatigue. He soon fell into so deep a sleep that he did not even hear the furious cries and vociferations of the crowd assembled in the square, on seeing that, instead of three criminals, whom they had so long awaited in order to enjoy their punishment, and satiate a vengeance so long desired, only three corpses were offered them. At the moment when the gaoler and officials entered the dungeon to lead the condemned men to the gallows, they only found their corpses; the men were quite dead. When the count woke, all was over, the shops were opened again, and the town had reassumed its accustomed appearance. The count enquired after his carriage, the horses had been put in and it was waiting at the door. The final preparations were soon made; the count went down."

"'Where are we going, Excellency?' the postillion asked, hat in hand."

"'The Vienna road,' the count replied, making himself as comfortable as he could in the corner of the carriage."

"The postillion cracked his whip, and they set off at full speed. The count had reflected, and the following was the result of his reflections:—only one person was powerful enough to render him thorough and prompt justice, that person was the Emperor. He must, consequently, apply to the Emperor, and that was the reason why he was going to Vienna. It is a long distance from Bruneck to Vienna; at that period, more especially when railways were only just beginning, and only existed in few places, journeys were long, fatiguing and expensive. This lasted twenty-seven days. The count's first business on arriving, was to enquire after his Imperial Majesty; the court was at Sch?nbrunn. Now Sch?nbrunn, the Saint Cloud of the Austrian Emperors, is only a league and a half from Vienna. Still, not to lose precious time in false steps, he must obtain an audience with the Emperor as speedily as possible. Count Oclau was of too great a family to be kept waiting long; two days after his arrival in Vienna an audience was granted him. The palace of Sch?nbrunn stands, as we said, about a league and a half from Vienna, beyond the suburb of Mariahilf and a little to the left. This imperial palace, commenced by Joseph I., and finished By María-Theresa, is a simple, elegant, and graceful building, though not without a certain majesty. It is composed of a large main building with two wings, with a double flight of steps leading to the first floor; low buildings running parallel to the main edifice, serve as offices and stables, and are attached to the end of the east of the wings, leaving merely an aperture of about thirty feet, on either side of which stands an obelisk, which thus completes the courtyard. A bridge thrown across the Vienne, a thin stream of water which falls into the Danube, gives access to the palace, behind which extends in an amphitheatrical form, an immense garden, surmounted by a belvedere, placed on the top of a large grass plot, which is flanked on the right and left by magnificent coppices full of shadow, freshness, and twittering birds. Sch?nbrunn, rendered celebrated by Napoleon I. residing there twice, and by the painful death of his son, bears a stamp of indescribable sadness and languor, everything is gloomy, dull, and desolate; the court with its formal etiquette and brilliant parades only imperfectly succeeds at lengthened intervals, in galvanizing this corpse. Sch?nbrunn, like the palace of Versailles, is only a body without a soul, and nothing could restore it to life."

"The count arrived at Sch?nbrunn ten minutes before his audience, which was fixed at noon. A chamberlain on duty awaited him, and at once introduced him to his majesty. The Emperor was in a private room, leaning upon a mantelpiece. The reception granted the count was most affable. The audience was a long one, it lasted nearly four hours, no one ever learned what passed between the sovereign and the subject. The last sentence of this confidential interview was alone heard. At the moment when the count took leave of the Emperor, his majesty said, while giving him his hand to kiss—"

"'I believe it will be better to act thus on behalf of the whole of the nobility, every effort must be made at any cost, to avoid the frightful scandal which the publicity of so horrible an affair would arouse; my support will never fail you. Go, my lord, and Heaven grant that you may succeed with the means I place at your service.'"

"The count bowed respectfully, and retired. The same evening he left Vienna, and took the road which would lead him home. At the same time with him, a cabinet courier sent by the Emperor, started on the same road."

On reaching this point in his narrative, the adventurer paused, and addressing Count de la Saulay, asked him:—"Do you suspect what passed between the Emperor and the count?"

"Nearly," the latter answered.

"Oh!" he said, in amazement; "I should be curious to know the result of your observations."

"You authorize me then to tell you?"

"Certainly."

"My dear don Adolfo," the count continued, "as you are aware, I am a nobleman; in France the king is only the first gentleman of his kingdom, the primus inter pares, and I suppose that it is much the same everywhere now; any attack upon one of the members of the nobility affects the sovereign as seriously as all the other nobles of the empire. When the Regent of France condemned Count de Horn to be broken alive on the wheel upon the Place de Grève, for robbing and murdering a Jew in the Rue Quincampoix, he replied to a nobleman of the court, who interceded with him on behalf of the culprit, and represented to him that the Count de Horn, allied to reigning families, was his relative: 'When I have any bad blood, I have it taken from me;' and turned his back on the petitioner. But this did not prevent the nobility from sending their carriages to the execution of Count de Horn. Now, the fact you are talking about is nearly similar, with this exception, that the Emperor of Austria, less brave than the Regent of France, while allowing that justice ought to be dealt upon the culprit, recoiled from a publicity, which, according to his views, would brand a stigma of infamy upon the entire nobility of his country; hence, like all weak men, he satisfied himself with half measures, that is to say, he probably gave the count a blank signature, by means of which the latter, on the first plausible pretext, might put down his noble relative, kill him, or even have him assassinated, without other form of trial, and in this way, obtain by the destruction of his enemy the justice he claimed; since, the Prince once dead, it would be easy to restore to his sister-in-law or her son, in the event of his being recovered, the titles and fortune which his uncle had so criminally appropriated. This, in my opinion, is what was arranged between the Emperor and the count at the long audience granted at Sch?nbrunn."

"Matters turned out so in reality, Count, with the exception that the Emperor insisted that hostilities should not commence between the count and the Prince until the latter was beyond the frontiers of the empire, and the count requested the Emperor to place at his disposal all the means of action he possessed, in order to try and find his nephew again, if he still lived, and to this the Emperor consented."

"The count returned then to his castle, provided with a blank signature of his Majesty, which gave him the most extensive powers to carry out his vengeance, and in addition, with an order entirely in his Majesty's handwriting, empowering him to obtain the aid of all the imperial agents, both at home and abroad, at the first requisition. The count, as you of course understand, was but moderately satisfied with the conditions which the Emperor had imposed on him; but recognizing the impossibility of obtaining more, he was obliged to give way. For himself, he would have certainly preferred, whatever might have been the consequence, a public trial, to the paltry and disgraceful vengeance that was permitted him; but it was better, in the interests of his sister and nephew, to have obtained these semi-concessions, than to meet with a formal refusal. He immediately set to work in search of his nephew, for this search the papers which Red Arm had handed him, contained precious information. Without saying anything to his sister, through fear of giving her false hopes, he immediately went about his task. What more shall I tell you, my friends? His search was long, and is still going on; still the situation is beginning to grow clearer, and has been so fortunate as to find his nephew again: since this discovery, he has never let the young man out of sight, although the latter is ignorant to this day of the sacred bonds which attach him to the man who has brought him up, and whom he loves like a father, the count has kept this secret even from his sister, not wishing to reveal it to her till he can announce at the same time that justice has at length been done, and that the husband she has deplored for so many years is avenged. Very frequently, since that period, the two enemies have met, many opportunities have been offered the count to kill his foe, but he has never let himself be led astray by his hatred, or, to speak more truly, his hatred has given him the strength to wait; the count wishes to kill his enemy, but he desires first that the latter should dishonour himself and fall, not conquered in an honourable contest, but justly struck, like a criminal, who at last receives the chastisement of his misdeeds."

After uttering the last words the adventurer stopped. There was a lengthened silence; night was coming to an end, white gleams were beginning to filter through the half-open window; the light of the candles was growing pale; indistinct noises announced that the city was awaking, and the distant bells of monasteries and churches were summoning the faithful to early mass. The adventurer left his chair and began walking up and down the room, every now and then casting searching glances at his two companions. Dominique, thrown back in his butaca, with his eyes half closed, was mechanically smoking his Indian pipe. Count de la Saulay was playing the devil's tattoo on the table, while watching the adventurer's movements.

"Don Adolfo," he suddenly said to him, as he raised his head and looked him full in the face, "your story has ended then?"

"Yes," the adventurer answered, laconically.

"You have nothing more to add?"

"No."

"Well, excuse me, my friend, but I fancy you are mistaken."

"I do not understand you, my dear count."

"I will explain myself; but on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you will not interrupt me."

"Very good, if you insist. Now I will listen to you."

"My friend," the count said, "the first friendly face I met on landing in America was yours; though we were placed in very different situations, accident was pleased to bring us together with such persistency, that what was at first but a passing acquaintance has become, without either of us knowing how, a sincere and profound affection. It is not possible to become so connected with a man without studying his character a little, which I have done with you, and you doubtless have done with me. Now, I believe that I know you intimately enough, my friend, to feel convinced that you did not come suddenly to our house tonight with the mere object of supping, or, forgive the phrase, indulging in a débauche, which does not agree with your character or morals, as you are the most sincerely sober man I ever met. Moreover, I ask myself, why you, so chary of your words, and especially of your secrets, have told us this story, very interesting, I allow, but which, apparently, does not concern us in any way, and can have but a very secondary interest for us. To this I answer that if you thus came to ask of us a supper, which you could very well have done without, you came expressly to tell us this narrative: that it interests you more than us, and I conclude that you have still something to tell us, or, to speak more clearly, to ask of us."

"That is evident," said Dominique.

"Well yes: all you have supposed is true—the supper was only a pretext, and I really only came here tonight with the intention of telling you the story you have just heard."

"Very good," said Dominique, joyously, "that, at any rate, is being frank."

"Still I confess," the adventurer continued sadly, "that I now hesitate because I am afraid."

"You afraid? And of what?" the two young men exclaimed in surprise.

"I am afraid, because this long story must shortly have its conclusion; because this conclusion must be terrible and though when I came here I intended to ask your assistance, I have since reflected, and recoil from the idea of mixing you up, you who are so young, happy, and careless, even indirectly, in this horrible story to which you ought to remain strangers. Pray, my friends, forget all you have heard—it is only a story told after drinking."

"No, on my honour, don Adolfo," the count exclaimed, energetically, "it shall not be so, I swear, and I speak for myself and Dominique: you want us and here we are. I know not what mysterious interest you have in this affair. I do not even wish to discover the motives that lead you to act, but I repeat to you, if you were to send us away when you are going to incur a great danger, which we might, perhaps, protect you from by sharing it with you, it would be a proof to us that you entertain neither esteem nor friendship, and that you regard us rather as thoughtless young people than men of courage."

"You go too far, my dear count!" the adventurer warmly exclaimed. "I never had such ideas, far from it. Still, I repeat, I tremble at the thought of mixing you up in this affair, which does not concern you."

"Pardon me, my friend; from the moment it interests you, it concerns us, and we have the right to mix ourselves up in it."

The adventurer hung his head and began walking up and down the room again in great agitation.

"Well, be it so, my friends," he said at the end of a moment, "since you insist, we will act in concert. You will aid me in what I have undertaken, and I hope that we shall succeed."

"I feel convinced of it," said the count.

"Let us go then," Dominique said, rising from the table.

"Not yet: but the moment is at hand. I swear to you that you will not have long to wait. Now, one last toast, and good-bye. Ah! I forgot: in the event of my not being able to come to you myself, this is the signal—one and two make three. It is very simple and you will remember it, I think?"

"Perfectly."

"In that case, good-bye."

Five minutes later he had left the house.