Is it a Plot?

Ah! How cruel is the interval between the conception of a greatproject and its execution! What vain terrors! What irresolutions!

Life is at stake. Far more than life-honour!

SCHILLER'This is becoming serious,' thought Julien ... 'and a little too obvious,'

he added, after a moment's reflection. 'Why! This pretty young beautycan speak to me in the library with a freedom which, thank heaven, isunrestricted; the Marquis, for fear of my bothering him with accounts,never comes there. Why! M. de La Mole and Comte Norbert, the onlypeople who ever show their faces here, are absent almost all day; it iseasy to watch for the moment of their return to the house, and the sublime Mathilde, for whose hand a Sovereign Prince would not be toonoble, wishes me to commit an act of abominable imprudence!

'It is clear, they wish to ruin me, or to make a fool of me, at least. Firstof all, they sought to ruin me by my letters; these proved cautious; verywell, now they require an action that shall be as clear as daylight. Thesepretty little gentlemen think me too simple or too conceited. The devil!

With the brightest moon you ever saw, to climb up by a ladder to a firstfloor, five and twenty feet from the ground! They will have plenty oftime to see me, even from the neighbouring houses. I shall be a fine sighton my ladder!' Julien went up to his room and began to pack his trunk,whistling as he did so. He had made up his mind to go, and not even toanswer the letter.

But this sage resolution gave him no peace of heart. 'If, by any chance,'

he said to himself, suddenly, his trunk packed and shut, 'Mathilde weresincere! Then I shall be cutting in her eyes the most perfect figure of acoward. I have no birth, so I require great qualities, ready on demand,with no flattering suppositions, qualities proved by eloquent deeds ... '

He spent a quarter of an hour pacing the floor of his room. 'What usein denying it?' he asked himself, at length; 'I shall be a coward in hereyes. I lose not only the most brilliant young person in high society, aseveryone was saying at M. le Duc de Retz's ball, but, furthermore, theheavenly pleasure of seeing her throw over for me the Marquis de Croisenois, the son of a Duke, and a future Duke himself. A charming youngman who has all the qualities that I lack: a ready wit, birth, fortune ...'This remorse will pursue me all my life, not for her, there are heaps ofmistresses, "but only one honour", as old Don Diego says, and here I amclearly and plainly recoiling from the first peril that comes my way; forthat duel with M. de Beauvoisis was a mere joke. This is quite different. Imay be shot point-blank by a servant, but that is the least danger; I mayforfeit my honour.

'This is becoming serious, my boy,' he went on, with a Gascon gaietyand accent. 'Honur is at stake. A poor devil kept down by fate in mylowly station will never find such an opportunity again; I shall have adventures, but tawdry ones ... '

He reflected at length, he paced the room with a hurried step, stoppingshort now and again. There stood in his room a magnificent bust inmarble of Cardinal Richelieu, which persistently caught his eye. Thisbust appeared to be gazing at him sternly, as though reproaching him forthe want of that audacity which ought to be so natural to the Frenchcharacter. 'In thy time, great man, should I have hesitated?

'At the worst,' Julien told himself finally, 'let us suppose that all this isa plot, it is a very dark one, and highly compromising for a young girl.

They know that I am not the man to keep silent. They will therefore haveto kill me. That was all very well in 1574, in the days of Boniface de LaMole, but the La Mole of today would never dare. These people are notthe same now. Mademoiselle de La Mole is so envied! Four hundreddrawing-rooms would echo with her disgrace next day, and with whatrejoicing!

'The servants chatter among themselves of the marked preference thatis shown me; I know it, I have heard them ...'On the other hand, her letters! ... They may suppose that I have themon me. They surprise me in her room, and take them from me. I shallhave two, three, four, any number of men to deal with. But these men,where will they collect them? Where is one to find discreet agents in Paris? They are afraid of the law ... Gad! It will be the Caylus and Croisenois and de Luz themselves. The thought of that moment, and the foolish figure I shall cut there among them will be what has temptedthem. Beware the fate of Abelard, Master Secretary!

'Begad, then, gentlemen, you shall bear the mark of my fists, I shallstrike at your faces, like Caesar's soldiers at Pharsalia ... As for the letters, I can put them in a safe place.'

Julien made copies of the two last, concealed them in a volume of thefine Voltaire from the library, and went himself with the originals to thepost.

When he returned: 'Into what madness am I rushing!' he said to himself with surprise and terror. He had been a quarter of an hour withoutconsidering his action of the coming night in all its aspects.

'But, if I refuse, I must despise myself ever afterwards. All my lifelong, that action will be a matter for doubt to me, and such a doubt is themost bitter agony. Have I not felt it over Amanda's lover? I believe that Ishould find it easier to forgive myself what was clearly a crime; once Ihad confessed it, I should cease to think about it.

'What! I shall have been the rival of a man bearing one of the bestnames in France, and I myself, with a light heart, am to declare myselfhis inferior! Indeed, there is a strain of cowardice in not going. Thatword settles everything,' cried Julien, springing to his feet... 'besides, sheis a real beauty!

'If this is not treachery, how foolishly she is behaving for me! ... If it isa mystification, begad, gentlemen, it rests with me to turn the jest toearnest, and so I shall.

'But if they pinion my arms, the moment I enter the room; they mayhave set some diabolical machine there ready for me!

'It is like a duel,' he told himself with a laugh, 'there is a parry forevery thrust, my fencing master says, but the Almighty, who likes thingsto end, makes one of the fighters forget to parry. Anyhow, here is whatwill answer them'; he drew his pocket pistols; and, albeit they were fullycharged, renewed the primings.

There were still many hours to wait; in order to have something to do,Julien wrote to Fouque: 'My friend, open the enclosed letter only in caseof accident, if you hear it said that something strange has befallen me.

Then, erase the proper names from the manuscript that I am sendingyou, and make eight copies of it which you will send to the newspapersof Marseilles, Bordeaux, Lyons, Brussels, etc.; ten days later, have themanuscript printed, send the first copy to M. le Marquis de La Mole, and a fortnight after that, scatter the other copies by night about the streets ofVerrieres.'

This brief exonerating memoir, arranged in the form of a tale, whichFouque was to open only in case of accident, Julien made as little compromising as possible to Mademoiselle de La Mole, but, nevertheless, itdescribed his position very accurately.

He had just sealed his packet when the dinner-bell rang; it made hisheart beat violently. His imagination, preoccupied with the narrativewhich he had just composed, was a prey to all sorts of tragic presentiment. He had seen himself seized by servants, garrotted, carried down toa cellar with a gag in his mouth. There, one of them kept a close watchover him, and if the honour of the noble family required that the adventure should have a tragic ending, it was easy to end everything with oneof those poisons which leave no trace; then, they would say that he haddied a natural death, and would take his dead body back to his room.

Carried away by his own story like a dramatic author, Julien wasreally afraid when he entered the dining-room. He looked at all the servants in full livery. He studied their expressions. 'Which of them havebeen chosen for tonight's expedition?' he asked himself. 'In this family,the memories of the Court of Henri in are so present, so often recalled,that, when they think themselves outraged, they will show more decision than other people of their rank.' He looked at Mademoiselle de LaMole in order to read in her eyes what were the plans of her family; shewas pale, and had quite a mediaeval appearance. Never had he foundsuch an air of grandeur in her, she was truly beautiful and imposing. Healmost fell in love with her. 'Pallida morte futura,' he told himself, 'her pallor betokens that something serious is afoot.'

In vain, after dinner, did he prolong his stroll in the garden, Mademoiselle de La Mole did not come out. Conversation with her would,at that moment, have relieved his heart of a great burden.

Why not confess it? He was afraid. As he was determined to act, heabandoned himself to this sentiment without shame. 'Provided that atthe moment of action, I find the courage that I require,' he said to himself, 'what does it matter how I may be feeling now?' He went to reconnoitre the position and to try the weight of the ladder.

'It is an instrument,' he said to himself, with a laugh, 'which it is written in my destiny that I am to use! Here as at Verrieres. What a difference! Then,' he continued with a sigh, 'I was not obliged to be suspicious of the person for whose sake I was exposing myself. What a difference,too, in the danger!

'I might have been killed in M. de Renal's gardens without any harmto my reputation. It would have been easy to make my death unaccountable. Here, what abominable tales will they not bandy about in thedrawing-rooms of the Hotel de Chaulnes, the Hotel de Caylus, the Hotelde Retz, and in short everywhere? I shall be handed down to posterity asa monster.

'For two or three years,' he added, laughing at himself. But the thoughtof this overwhelmed him. 'And I, who is going to justify me? Supposingthat Fouque prints my posthumous pamphlet, it will be only an infamythe more. What! I am received in a house, and in payment for the hospitality I receive there, the kindness that is showered upon me, I print apamphlet reporting all that goes on in the house! I attack the honour ofits women! Ah, a thousand times rather, let us be trapped!'

It was a terrible evening.