"Very good," said the Jew.
Stopping in the midst of a corridor, he pointed with the hand in which he held the lamp to a large door from which streamed a faint light. In spite of his growing surprise. Rodin entered resolutely, followed by Father Caboccini and Samuel. The apartment in which these three personage, now found themselves was very large. The daylight only entered from a belvedere in the roof, the four sides of which had been covered with leaden plates, each of which was pierced with seven holes, forming a cross, thus:
Now, the light being only admitted through these holes, the obscurity would have been complete, had it not been for a lamp, which burned on a large ma.s.sive slab of black marble, fixed against one of the walls.
One would have taken it for a funeral chamber, for it was all hung with black curtains, fringed with white. There was no furniture, save the slab of black marble we have already mentioned. On this slab was an iron casket, of the manufacture of the seventeenth century, admirably adorned with open work, like lace made of metal.
Addressing Rodin, who was wiping his forehead with his dirty handkerchief, and looking round him with surprise, but not fear, Samuel said to him: "The will of the testator, however strange it may appear, is sacred with me, and must be accomplished in all things."
"Certainly," said Rodin; "but what are we to do here?"
"You will know presently, sir. You are the representative of the only remaining heir of the Rennepont family, the Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont?"
"Yes, sir, and here are my papers," replied Rodin.
"To save time," resumed Samuel, "I will, previous to the arrival of the magistrate, go through the inventory of the securities contained in this casket, which I withdrew yesterday from the custody of the Bank of France."
"The securities are there?" cried Rodin, advancing eagerly towards the casket.
"Yes, sir," replied Samuel, "as by the list. Your secretary will call them over, and I will produce each in turn. They can then be replaced in the casket, which I will deliver up to you in presence of the magistrate."
"All this seems perfectly correct," said Rodin.
Samuel delivered the list to Father Caboccini, and approaching the casket, touched a spring, which was not seen by Rodin. The heavy lid flew open, and, while Father Caboccini read the names of the different securities, Samuel showed them to Rodin, who returned them to the old Jew, after a careful examination. This verification did not last long, for this immense fortune was all comprised, as we already know, in eight government securities, five hundred thousand francs in bank-note, thirty five thousand francs in gold, and two hundred and fifty francs in silver--making in all an amount of two hundred and twelve millions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs. When Rodin had counted the last of the five hundred bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, he said, as he returned them to Samuel: "It is quite right. Two hundred and twelve millions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs!"
He was no doubt almost choked with joy, for he breathed with difficulty, his eyes closed, and he was obliged to lean upon Father Caboccini"s arm, as he said to him in an altered voice: "It is singular. I thought myself proof against all such emotions; but what I feel is extraordinary."
The natural paleness of the Jesuit increased so much, and he seemed so much agitated with convulsive movements, that Father Caboccini exclaimed: "My dear father, collect yourself; do not let success overcome you thus."
Whilst the little one-eyed man was, attending to Rodin, Samuel carefully replaced the securities in the iron casket. Thanks to his unconquerable energy, and to the joy he felt at seeing himself so near the term of his labors, Rodin mastered this attack of weakness, and drawing himself up, calm and proud, he said to Caboccini: "It is nothing. I did not survive the cholera to die of joy on the first of June."
And, though still frightfully pale, the countenance of the Jesuit shone with audacious confidence. But now, when Rodin appeared to be quite recovered, Father Caboccini seemed suddenly transformed. Though short, fat, and one-eyed, his features a.s.sumed on the instant so firm, harsh, and commanding an expression, that Rodin recoiled a step as he looked at him. Then Father Caboccini, drawing a paper from his pocket, kissed it respectfully, glanced sternly at Rodin, and read as follows, in a severe and menacing tone:
""On receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin will deliver up all his powers to the Reverend Father Caboccini, who is alone commissioned, with the Reverend Father d"Aigrigny, to receive the inheritance of the Rennepont family, if, in His eternal justice, the Lord should restore this property, of which our Company has been wronged.
""Moreover, on receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin, in charge of a person to be named by the Reverend Father Caboccini, shall be conveyed to our house in the Town of Laval, to be kept in strict seclusion in his cell until further orders.""
Then Father Caboccini handed the rescript to Rodin, that the latter might read the signature of the General of the Company. Samuel, greatly interested by this scene, drew a few steps nearer, leaving the casket half-open. Suddenly, Rodin burst into a loud laugh--a laugh of joy, contempt and triumph, impossible to describe. Father Caboccini looked at him with angry astonishment; when Rodin, growing still more imperious and haughty, and with an air of more sovereign disdain than ever, pushed aside the paper with the back of his dirty hand and said: "What is the date of that scribble?"
"The eleventh of May," answered Father Caboccini in amazement.
"Here is a brief, that I received last night from Rome, under date of the eighteenth. It informs me that I am appointed GENERAL OF THE ORDER.
Read!"
Father Caboccini took the paper, read it, and remained thunderstruck.
Then, returning it humbly to Rodin, he respectfully bent his knee before him. Thus seemed the ambitious views of Rodin accomplished. In spite of the hatred and suspicion of that party, of which Cardinal Malipieri was the representative and the chief, Rodin, by address and craft, audacity and persuasion, and in consequence of the high esteem in which his partisans at Rome held his rare capacity, had succeeded in deposing his General, and in procuring his own elevation to that eminent post. Now, according to his calculation, aided by the millions he was about to possess, it would be but one step from that post to the pontifical throne. A mute witness of this scene, Samuel smiled also with an air of triumph, as he closed the casket by means of the spring known only to himself. That metallic sound recalled Rodin from the heights of his mad ambition to the realities of life, and he said to Samuel in a sharp voice: "You have heard? These millions must be delivered to me alone."
He extended his hands eagerly and impatiently towards the casket, as if he would have taken possession of it, before the arrival of the magistrate. Then Samuel in his turn seemed transfigured, and, folding his arms upon his breast, and drawing up his aged form to its full height, he a.s.sumed a threatening and imposing air. His eyes flashed with indignation, and he said in a solemn tone: "This fortune--at first the humble remains of the inheritance of the most n.o.ble of men, whom the plots of the sons of Loyola drove to suicide--this fortune, which has since become royal in amount, thanks to the sacred probity of three generations of faithful servants--this fortune shall never be the reward of falsehood, hypocrisy and murder. No! the eternal justice of heaven will not allow it."
"On murder? what do you mean, sir?" asked Rodin, boldly.
Samuel made no answer. He stamped his foot, and extended his arm slowly towards the extremity of the apartment. Then Rodin and Father Caboccini beheld an awful spectacle. The draperies on the wall were drawn aside, as if by an invisible hand. Round a funeral vault, faintly illumined-by the bluish light of a silver lamp, six dead bodies were ranged upon black biers, dressed in long black robes. They were: Jacques Rennepont--Francois Hardy--Rose and Blanche Simon--Adrienne and Djalma.
They appeared to be asleep. Their eyelids were closed, their hands crossed over their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Father Caboccini, trembling in every limb, made the sign of the cross, and retreating to the opposite wall, buried his face in his hands. Rodin on the contrary, with agitated countenance, staring eyes, and hair standing on end, yielding to an invincible attraction, advanced towards those inanimate forms. One would have said that these last of the Renneponts had only just expired. They seemed to be in the first hour of the eternal sleep.(44)
"Behold those whom thou host slain!" cried Samuel, in a voice broken with sobs. "Yea! your detestable plots caused their death--and, as they fell one by one, it was my pious care to obtain possession of their poor remains, that they may all repose in the same sepulchre.
Oh!--cursed--cursed--cursed--be thou who has killed them! But their spoils shall escape thy murderous hands."
Rodin, still drawn forward in spite of himself, had approached the funeral couch of Djalma. Surmounting his first alarm, the Jesuit, to a.s.sure himself that he was not the sport of frightful dream, ventured to touch the hands of the Asiatic--and found that they were damp and pliant, though cold as ice.
The Jesuit drew back in horror. For some seconds, he trembled convulsively. But, his first amazement over, reflection returned, and, with reflection came that invincible energy, that infernal obstinacy of character, that gave him so much power. Steadying himself on his legs, drawing his hand across his brow, raising his head, moistening his lips two or three times before he spoke--for his throat and mouth grew ever drier and hotter, without his being able to explain the cause--he succeeded in giving to his features an imperious and ironical expression, and, turning towards Samuel, who wept in silence, he said to him, in a hoa.r.s.e, guttural voice: "I need not show you the certificates of their death. There they are in person." And he pointed with his bony hand to the six dead bodies.
At these words of his General, Father Caboccini again made the sign of the cross, as if he had seen a fiend.
"Oh, my G.o.d!" cried Samuel; "Thou hast quite abandoned this man. With what a calm look he contemplates his victims!"
"Come, sir!" said Rodin, with a horrid smile; "this is a natural waxwork exhibition, that is all. My calmness proves my innocence--and we had best come at once to business. I have an appointment at two o"clock. So let us carry down this casket."
He advanced towards the marble slab. Seized with indignation and horror, Samuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on a k.n.o.b in the lid of the casket--a k.n.o.b which yielded to the pressure--he exclaimed: "Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it may perhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice."
"What does he say?" cried Rodin. "What is he doing?"
"Look!" said Samuel, in his turn a.s.suming an air of savage triumph. "I told you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderous hands."
Hardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of the iron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paper spread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. "Fire!"
he exclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been made fast to the heavy marble slab.
"Yes, fire," said Samuel. "In a few minutes, of that immense treasure there will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it should belong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remains for me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to the oath he has taken."
"Help! water! water!" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with his body, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by the current of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; but soon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smoke alone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.
The work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marble slab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of rage rolled down his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, at first dull, but gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with so much fury, though he employed all his energy to struggle against them, that he fell on his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest, murmured with an attempt to smile: "It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. A few spasms--that is all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain General of the Order. Oh! I suffer. What a furnace!" he added, writhing in agony. "Since I entered this cursed house, I know not what ails me.
If--I had not lived on roots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--I should think--I was poisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri has long arms. Yes--I still triumph--for I will not die--this time no more than the other--I will not die!"
Then, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: "It is fire that devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.
But when? but how?"
After another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: "Help!
help me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!"
Horror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini were unable to stir.
"Help!" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, "This poison is horrible.--But how--" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a sudden idea had struck him, he exclaimed: "Ha! Faringhea--this morning--the holy water--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had an interview with Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. The Borgias are still the same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regret me, the fools!--Oh! h.e.l.l! h.e.l.l! The Church knows not its loss--but I burn--help!"