40. Uncle and Nephew.
The horse and servant belonging to De Winter were waiting for him at thedoor; he proceeded toward his abode very thoughtfully, looking behindhim from time to him to contemplate the dark and silent frontage of theLouvre. It was then that he saw a horseman, as it were, detach himselffrom the wall and follow him at a little distance. In leaving the PalaisRoyal he remembered to have observed a similar shadow.
"Tony," he said, motioning to his groom to approach.
"Here I am, my lord."
"Did you remark that man who is following us?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Who is he?"
"I do not know, only he has followed your grace from the Palais Royal,stopped at the Louvre to wait for you, and now leaves the Louvre withyou."
"Some spy of the cardinal," said De Winter to him, aside. "Let uspretend not to notice that he is watching us."
And spurring on he plunged into the labyrinth of streets which led tohis hotel, situated near the Marais, for having for so long a time livednear the Place Royale, Lord de Winter naturally returned to lodge nearhis ancient dwelling.
The unknown spurred his horse to a gallop.
De Winter dismounted at his hotel and went up into his apartment,intending to watch the spy; but as he was about to place his gloves andhat on a table, he saw reflected in a glass opposite to him a figurewhich stood on the threshold of the room. He turned around and Mordauntstood before him.
There was a moment of frozen silence between these two.
"Sir," said De Winter, "I thought I had already made you aware that I amweary of this persecution; withdraw, then, or I shall call and have youturned out as you were in London. I am not your uncle, I know you not."
"My uncle," replied Mordaunt, with his harsh and bantering tone, "youare mistaken; you will not have me turned out this time as you did inLondon--you dare not. As for denying that I am your nephew, you willthink twice about it, now that I have learned some things of which I wasignorant a year ago."
"And how does it concern me what you have learned?" said De Winter.
"Oh, it concerns you very closely, my uncle, I am sure, and you willsoon be of my opinion," added he, with a smile which sent a shudderthrough the veins of him he thus addressed. "When I presented myselfbefore you for the first time in London, it was to ask you what hadbecome of my fortune; the second time it was to demand who had sulliedmy name; and this time I come before you to ask a question far moreterrible than any other, to say to you as God said to the firstmurderer: 'Cain, what hast thou done to thy brother Abel?' My lord, whathave you done with your sister--your sister, who was my mother?"
De Winter shrank back from the fire of those scorching eyes.
"Your mother?" he said.
"Yes, my lord, my mother," replied the young man, advancing into theroom until he was face to face with Lord de Winter, and crossing hisarms. "I have asked the headsman of Bethune," he said, his voice hoarseand his face livid with passion and grief. "And the headsman of Bethunegave me a reply."
De Winter fell back in a chair as though struck by a thunderbolt and invain attempted a reply.
"Yes," continued the young man; "all is now explained; with this key Iopen the abyss. My mother inherited an estate from her husband, you haveassassinated her; my name would have secured me the paternal estate, youhave deprived me of it; you have despoiled me of my fortune. I am nolonger astonished that you knew me not. I am not surprised that yourefused to recognize me. When a man is a robber it is hard to call himnephew whom he has impoverished; when one is a murderer, to recognizethe man whom one has made an orphan."
These words produced a contrary effect to that which Mordaunt hadanticipated. De Winter remembered the monster that Milady had been; herose, dignified and calm, restraining by the severity of his look thewild glance of the young man.
"You desire to fathom this horrible secret?" said De Winter; "well,then, so be it. Know, then, what manner of woman it was for whom to-dayyou call me to account. That woman had, in all probability, poisoned mybrother, and in order to inherit from me she was about to assassinate mein my turn. I have proof of it. What say you to that?"
"I say that she was my mother."
"She caused the unfortunate Duke of Buckingham to be stabbed by a manwho was, ere that, honest, good and pure. What say you to that crime, ofwhich I have the proof?"
"She was my mother."
"On our return to France she had a young woman who was attached to oneof her opponents poisoned in the convent of the Augustines at Bethune.Will this crime persuade you of the justice of her punishment--for ofall this I have the proofs?"
"She was my mother!" cried the young man, who uttered these threesuccessive exclamations with constantly increasing force.
"At last, charged with murders, with debauchery, hated by every one andyet threatening still, like a panther thirsting for blood, she fellunder the blows of men whom she had rendered desperate, though they hadnever done her the least injury; she met with judges whom her hideouscrimes had evoked; and that executioner you saw--that executioner whoyou say told you everything--that executioner, if he told youeverything, told you that he leaped with joy in avenging on her hisbrother's shame and suicide. Depraved as a girl, adulterous as a wife,an unnatural sister, homicide, poisoner, execrated by all who knew her,by every nation that had been visited by her, she died accursed byHeaven and earth."
A sob which Mordaunt could not repress burst from his throat and hislivid face became suffused with blood; he clenched his fists, sweatcovered his face, his hair, like Hamlet's, stood on end, and racked withfury he cried out:
"Silence, sir! she was my mother! Her crimes, I know them not; herdisorders, I know them not; her vices, I know them not. But this I know,that I had a mother, that five men leagued against one woman, murderedher clandestinely by night--silently--like cowards. I know that you wereone of them, my uncle, and that you cried louder than the others: 'Shemust die.' Therefore I warn you, and listen well to my words, that theymay be engraved upon your memory, never to be forgotten: this murder,which has robbed me of everything--this murder, which has deprived me ofmy name--this murder, which has impoverished me--this murder, which hasmade me corrupt, wicked, implacable--I shall summon you to account forit first and then those who were your accomplices, when I discoverthem!"
With hatred in his eyes, foaming at his mouth, and his fist extended,Mordaunt had advanced one more step, a threatening, terrible step,toward De Winter. The latter put his hand to his sword, and said, withthe smile of a man who for thirty years has jested with death:
"Would you assassinate me, sir? Then I shall recognize you as my nephew,for you would be a worthy son of such a mother."
"No," replied Mordaunt, forcing his features and the muscles of his bodyto resume their usual places and be calm; "no, I shall not kill you; atleast not at this moment, for without you I could not discover theothers. But when I have found them, then tremble, sir. I stabbed to theheart the headsman of Bethune, without mercy or pity, and he was theleast guilty of you all."
With these words the young man went out and descended the stairs withsufficient calmness to pass unobserved; then upon the lowest landingplace he passed Tony, leaning over the balustrade, waiting only for acall from his master to mount to his room.
But De Winter did not call; crushed, enfeebled, he remained standing andwith listening ear; then only when he had heard the step of the horsegoing away he fell back on a chair, saying:
"My God, I thank Thee that he knows me only."