The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas père (book series for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

shook his head.

"100,000, or even 150,000," continued Beausire, willing to offer anything rather than lose the booty.

The jewelers looked dazzled for a moment, consulted together, and then said, "No, monsieur, it is useless to tempt us. A will more powerful than our own compels us to decline. You understand, no doubt, that it is not we who refuse. We only obey the orders of one greater than any of us."

Beausire and Manoel saw that it was useless to say more, and tried to look and speak indifferently on the matter.

Meanwhile the valet had been listening attentively, and just then making an unlucky movement, stumbled against the door. Beausire ran to the ante-chamber. "What on earth are you about?" cried he.

"Monsieur, I bring the morning despatches."

"Good," said Beausire, taking them from him, "now go."

They were letters from Portugal, generally very insignificant, but which, passing through their hands before going to Ducorneau, often gave them useful information about the affairs of the embassy.

The jewelers, hearing the word despatches, rose to leave like men who had received their conge.

"Well," said Manoel, when they were gone, "we are completely beaten. Only 100,000 francs, a poor spoil; we shall have but 8,000 each."

"It is not worth the trouble. But it might be 50,000 each."

"Good," replied Manoel, "but the valet will never leave us now he knows the affair has failed."

"Oh, I know how we will manage him. He will return immediately, and claim his share and that of his comrades, and we shall have the whole house on our hands. Well, I will call him first to a secret conference; then leave me to act."

"I think I understand," said Manoel.

Neither, however, would leave his friend alone with the chest while he went to call him.

Manoel said "that his dignity as ambassador prevented him from taking such a step."

"You are not ambassador to him," said Beausire; "however, I will call through the window."

The valet, who was just beginning a conversation with the porter, hearing himself called, came up.

Beausire said to him, with a smiling air, "I suppose you were telling this business to the porter?"

"Oh, no."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear!"

"For if you were, you were committing a great folly, and have lost a great deal of money."

"How so?"

"Why, at present only we three know the secret, and could divide the 100,000 francs between us, as they all now think we have given it to M. Boehmer."

"Morbleu!" cried the valet, "it is true: 33,300 francs each."

"Then you accept?"

"I should think so."

"I said you were a rogue," said Beausire, in a thundering voice; "come, Don Manoel, help me to seize this man, and give him up to our associates."

"Pardon! pardon!" cried the unfortunate, "I did but jest."

"Shut him up until we can devise his punishment."

The man began to cry out.

"Take care," said Beausire, "that Ducorneau does not hear us."

"If you do not leave me alone," said the valet, "I will denounce you all."

"And I will strangle you," said Don Manoel, trying to push him into a neighboring closet.

"Send away Ducorneau somewhere, Beausire, while I finish this fellow."

When he had locked him up, he returned to the room. Beausire was not there; Don Manoel felt tempted. He was alone, and Beausire might be some little time; he could open the chest, take out all the bank-notes, and be off in two minutes. He ran to the room where it was: the door was locked. "Ah," thought he, "Beausire distrusted me, and locked the door before he went." He forced back the lock with his sword, and then uttered a terrible cry. The chest was opened and empty. Beausire had got, as we know, a second key; he had forestalled Manoel.

Manoel ran down like a madman; the porter was singing at the door--he asked if Beausire had passed.

"Yes, some ten minutes ago."

Manoel became furious, summoned them all, and ran to release the unfortunate valet. But when he told his story, Manoel was accused of being an accomplice of Beausire, and they all turned against him.

M. Ducorneau felt ready to faint, when he entered and saw the men preparing to hang M. de Souza. "Hang M. de Souza!" cried he. "It is high treason."

At last they threw him into a cellar, fearing his cries would arouse the neighborhood.

At that moment loud knocks at the door disturbed them,--they looked at each other in dismay. The knocks were repeated, and some one cried, "Open in the name of the Portuguese ambassador."

On hearing this, each made his escape in terror, as he best could, scrambling over walls and roofs. The true ambassador could only enter by the help of the police.

They found and arrested M. Ducorneau, who slept that night in the Chatelet.

Thus ended the adventure of the sham embassy from the Portugal.


CHAPTER XLIII.

ILLUSIONS AND REALITIES.

Beausire, on leaving the house, ran as fast as possible down the Rue Coquilliere, then into the Rue St. Honore, and took everywhere the most intricate and improbable turnings he could think of, and continued this until he became quite exhausted. Then, thinking himself tolerably safe, he sat down in the corn market, on a sack, to recover his breath. "Ah!" thought he, "now I have made my fortune; I will be an honest man for the future, and I will make Oliva an honest woman. She is beautiful, and she will not mind leading a retired life with me in some province, where we shall live like lords. She is very good; she has but two faults, idleness and pride, and as I shall satisfy her on both these points, she will be perfect." He then began to reflect on what he should do next. They would seek him, of course, and most likely divide into different parties, and some would probably go first to his own house. Here lay his great difficulty, for there they would find Oliva, and they might ill-treat her. They might even take her as a hostage, speculating on his love for her. What should he do? Love carried the day; he ran off again like lightning, took a coach, and drove to the Pont Neuf. He then looked cautiously down the Rue Dauphine to reconnoiter, and he saw two men, who seemed also looking anxiously down the street. He thought they were police spies, but that was nothing uncommon in that part of the town; so, bending his back, and walking lamely, for disguise, he went on till he nearly reached his house. Suddenly he thought he saw the coat of a gendarme in the courtyard; then he saw one at the window of Oliva's room. He felt ready to drop, but he thought his best plan was to walk quietly on; he had that courage, and passed the house. Heavens! what a sight! the yard was full of soldiers, and among them a police commissioner. Beausire's rapid glance showed him what he thought disappointed faces. He thought that M. de Crosne had somehow begun to suspect him, and, sending to take him, had found only Oliva.

"I cannot help her now," thought he; "I should only lose my money and destroy us both. No, let me place that in safety, and then I will see what can be done." He therefore ran off again, taking his way almost mechanically towards the Luxembourg; but as he turned the corner of the Rue St. Germain, he was almost knocked down by a handsome carriage which was driving towards the Rue Dauphine, and, raising his head to swear at the coachman, he thought he saw Oliva inside, talking with much animation to a handsome man who sat by her. He gave a cry of surprise, and would have run after it, but he could not again encounter the Rue Dauphine. He felt bewildered, for he had before settled that Oliva had been arrested in her own house, and he fancied his brain must be turning when he believed he saw her in the carriage. But he started off again and took refuge in a small cabaret at the Luxembourg, where the hostess was an old friend. There he gradually began to recover again his courage and hope. He thought the police would not find him, and that his money was safe. He remembered also that Oliva had committed no crime, and that the time was passed when people were kept prisoners for nothing. He also thought that his money would soon obtain her release, even if she were sent to prison, and he would then set off with her for Switzerland. Such were his dreams and projects as he sat sipping his wine.


CHAPTER XLIV.

OLIVA BEGINS TO ASK WHAT THEY WANT OF HER.

If M. Beausire had trusted to his eyesight, which was excellent, instead of trusting his imagination, he would have spared himself much regret and many mistakes. It was, in fact, Oliva who sat in the carriage by the side of a man, whom he would also have recognized if he had looked a little longer. She had gone that morning, as usual, to take a walk in the gardens of the Luxembourg, where she had met the strange friend whose acquaintance she had made the day of the ball at the Opera.

It was just as she was about to return that he appeared before her, and said, "Where are you going?"

"Home, monsieur."

"Just what the people want who are there waiting for you."

"Waiting for me? No one is there for me."

"Oh, yes, a dozen visitors at least."

"A whole regiment, perhaps?" said Oliva, laughing.

"Perhaps, had it been possible to send a whole regiment, they would have done so."

"You astonish me!"

"You would be far more astonished if I let you go."

"Why?"

"Because you would be arrested."

"I! arrested?"

"Assuredly. The twelve gentlemen who wait for you are sent by M. de Crosne."

Oliva trembled. Some people are always fearful on certain points. But she said:

"I have done nothing; why should they arrest me?"

"For some intrigue, perhaps."

"I have none."

"But you have had."

"Oh, perhaps."

"Well, perhaps they are wrong to wish to arrest you, but the fact is that they do desire to do so. Will you still go home?"

"You deceive me," said Oliva; "if you know anything, tell me at once. Is it not Beausire they want?"

"Perhaps; he may have a conscience less clear than yours."

"Poor fellow!"

"Pity him, if you like; but if he is taken, there is no need for you to be taken too."

"What interest have you in protecting me?" asked she. "It is not natural for a man like you."

"I would not lose time if I were you; they are very likely to seek you here, finding you do not return."

"How should they know I am here?"

"Are you not always here? My carriage is close by, if you will come with me. But I see you doubt still."

"Yes."

"Well, we will commit an imprudence to convince you. We will drive past your house, and when you have seen these gentlemen there, I think you will better appreciate my good offices."

He led her to the carriage, and drove to the Rue Dauphine, at the corner