"It is, then, a good appointment," said Gerald, taking the pen. "But what is this? The Cardinal York has already signed this."
In Caraffa"s eagerness to play out his game he had forgotten this fact, and that the Irish bishops had always been submitted to the approval of his Royal Highness.
"I say, sir," reiterated Gerald, "here is the signature of my uncle.
What means this, or who really is it that makes these appointments?"
The Cardinal began with a sort of mumbled apology about a divided authority and an ecclesiastical function; but Gerald stopped him abruptly--
"If we are to play this farce out, let our parts be a.s.signed us; and let none a.s.sume that which is not his own. Take my word for it, Cardinal, that if the day comes when the English will carry me to the scaffold, at Smithfield or Tyburn, or wherever it be, you will not find any one so ready to be my subst.i.tute. There, sir, take your papers, and henceforth let there be no more mockeries of office. I will myself speak of this to my uncle."
The Cardinal bowed submissively and moved toward the door.
"You will receive these gentlemen to-morrow?" said he interrogatively.
"To-morrow," said Gerald, as he turned away.
The Cardinal bowed deeply, and retired. Scarcely, however, had his footsteps died out of hearing, when Gerald rang for his valet, and said--
"When these visitors retire for the night, follow the Signor Purcell to his room, and desire him to come here to me; do it secretly, and so that none may remark you."
The valet bowed, and Gerald was once more alone.
It was near midnight when the door again opened, and Mr. Purcell was introduced. Making a low and deep obeisance, but without any other demonstration of deference for Gerald"s rank, he stood patiently awaiting to be addressed.
"We have met before, sir," said Gerald, flushing deeply.
"So I perceive, sir," was the quiet reply given with all the ease of one not easily abashed, "and the last time was at a pleasant supper-table, of which we are the only survivors."
"Indeed!" sighed Gerald sadly, and with some astonishment.
"Yes, sir; the "Mountain" devoured the Girondists, and the reaction devoured the "Mountain." If the present people have not sent the _reactionnaires_ to the guillotine, it is because they prefer to make soldiers of them."
"And how did you escape the perils of the time?" asked Gerald eagerly.
"Like Monsieur de Talleyrand sir, I always treated the party in disgrace as if their misfortune were but a pa.s.sing shadow, and that the day of their triumph was a.s.sured. For even this much of consideration men in adversity are grateful."
"How heartily you must despise humanity!" burst out Gerald, more struck by the cold cynicism of the other"s look than even by his words.
"Not so," replied he, in a half careless tone; "Jean Jacques expected too much; Diderot thought too little of men. The truth lies midway, and they are neither as good nor as bad as we deem them."
"And now, what is your pursuit? what career do you follow?" asked Gerald abruptly.
"I have none, sir; the attraction that binds the ruined gambler to sit at the table and watch the game at which others are staking heavily, ties me to any enterprise wherein men are willing to risk much. I have seen so much high play in life, I cannot stand by petty ventures. They told me at Venice of the plot that was maturing here, and I agreed with old Sir Capel Crosbie to come over and hear about it."
"You little suspected, perhaps, who was the hero of the adventure?" said Gerald half doubtingly.
"Nay, sir, I saw your picture, and recognised you at once.
"I never knew there had been a portrait of me!" cried Gerald, in astonishment.
"It was taken, I fancy, during your illness; but the resemblance is still complete, and recalls to those who knew the Prince, your father, every trait and lineament of his face."
"You yourself knew him?" said Gerald feelingly.
A deep, cold bow was the only acknowledgment of this question.
"They told me you were one of his trusted and truest friends?"
"We wore each other"s miniature for many a year; our happiness was to talk of what might have chanced to be our destiny had he won back the throne that was his right, and I succeeded to what my father"s gold should have purchased. I see I am alluding to what you never heard of.
You see before you one who might have been a King of Poland."
Gerald stared in half-credulous astonishment, and the other went on--
"You have heard of the Mississippi scheme, and of Law, its founder?"
"Yes."
"My grandfather was Law"s friend and confidant. By their united talents and zeal the great plot was first conceived and matured. Law was at first but an indifferent French scholar, and even a worse courtier. My grandfather was an adept in both, and knew, besides, the Duke of Orleans well. They were as much companions as the distance of their stations could make them; and by my grandfather"s influence the Duke was induced to listen to the scheme. On what mere accident the great events of life depend! It was a party of quinze decided the fate of Europe. The Duke lost a hundred and seventy thousand livres to my grandfather, and could not pay him. While he was making excuses for the delay, my grandfather thought of Law, and said--"Let me present to your Royal Highness to-morrow morning a clever friend of mine, and it will never be your fortune again to own that you have not money to any extent at your disposal." Law appeared at the Duke"s levee the next morning. It is not necessary to tell the rest, only that among the deepest gamblers in that memorable scheme, and the largest winners, my grandfather held the first place. Such was the splendour of his retinue one day at Versailles that the rumour ran it was some sovereign of Southern Europe had suddenly arrived at Paris, and the troops turned out to render royal honours to him. When the Duke heard the story he laughed heartily, and said, "Eh bien, c"est un Gage du succes "--a _mot_ upon our family name, which was Gage, my uncle being afterward a viscount by that t.i.tle.
"Within a very short time after that incident--which, some say, had so captivated my grandfather"s ambition that he became feverish and restless for greatness--he offered three millions sterling for the crown of Poland. You may remember Pope"s allusion to it:
"The Crown of Poland, venal twice an age, To just three millions stinted modest Gage."
"The contract was broken off by my grandfather"s refusal to marry a certain Countess Boratynski, a natural daughter of the king. He then made a bidding for the throne of Sardinia; but, while the negotiation was yet pending, the great edifice of Law began to tremble; and within three short weeks my grandfather, from the owner of six millions sterling, was reduced to actual beggary.
"He attained a more lasting prosperity later on, and died a grandee of Spain of the first cla.s.s, having highly distinguished himself in council and the field.
"It is not in any vaingloriousness, sir, I have related this story. Of all the greatness that once adorned my house, these threadbare clothes are sorry relics. We were talking of life"s reverses, however, and probably my case is not without its moral."
Gerald sat silently gazing with a sort of admiration at one who could with such seeming calm discuss the most calamitous accident of fortune.
"How thoroughly you must know the world!" exclaimed he at last.
"Ay, sir; in the popular acceptation of the phrase I _do_ know it.
Plenty of good and plenty of bad is there in it, and so mingled and blended that there is nothing rarer in life than to find any nature either all lovable or all detestable. There are dark stains in the fairest marble, so are there in natures the world deems utterly depraved touches of human sentiment whose tenderness no poet ever dreamed of. And if I were to give you a lesson, it would be--never be over-sanguine, but never despair of humanity!"
"As you drew nigh the villa this evening," said Gerald slowly, and with all the deliberation of one approaching a theme of interest, "I chanced to be in the orangery beneath the terrace. You were speaking to your companion in confidence, and I heard you say what augured but badly for the success of my cause. Your words made so deep an impression on me that I have asked to see and speak with you. Tell me, therefore, in all frankness, what you know, and in equal candour what you think about this enterprise."
"What claim have I upon your forbearance if I say what may be ungracious? How shall I hope to be forgiven if I tell you what is not pleasant to hear?"
"The word of one who is well weary of delusions shall be your guarantee."
"I accept the pledge."
He walked three or four times up and down the room, to all seeming in deep deliberation with himself, and then facing full round in front of Gerald, said--
"You were educated at the convent of the Jesuits--are you a member of the order?"