“Is there any indiscretion in asking?”

  “His name?”

  Beausire nodded that was what he wished.

  “Do you know the play of OEdipus?”

  “Not well; I have seen the play at the Comedie Francaise, but towards the end of the fourth act I sank to sleep.”

  “I will, then, briefly tell you the story:

  “I knew OEdipus; it was foretold that he would be the murderer of his father and the husband of his mother. Now, believing Polybius his father, he left him and set out, without assigning any reason, for Phocis. As he set out, I advised him, instead of taking the high road from Dantes to Delphi, to take a mountain path I was acquainted with. He, however, was obstinate, and as I could not tell him why I gave him this advice, all exhortation was vain. From this obstinacy resulted exactly what I expected. At the forks of the road, from Delphi to Thebes, he met a man followed by five slaves. The man was in a chariot, which crowded the whole road; all difficulty would have been obviated had the man in the car consented to have turned a little to the right, and OEdipus to the left; each, however, insisted on the centre of the road. The man in the chariot was choleric, and OEdipus not very patient. The five slaves rushed, one after the other, before their master, and one after the other was slain. OEdipus passed over six dead bodies, one of which was his father.”

  “The devil!” said M. de Beausire.

  “He then went to Thebes; now, on the road to Thebes was Mount Pincior, and in a yet more narrow road than that in which he had slain his father, a strange animal had a cavern. This animal had the wings of an eagle, the head and heart of a woman, the body and claws of a lion.”

  “Oh, oh!” said Beausire, “are there any such monsters, in your opinion?”

  “I cannot possibly affirm their existence, since, when I went to Thebes, a thousand years afterwards, and travelled the same road, during the time of Epaminondas, the Sphinx, at the time of OEdipus the Sphinx was alive; one of its passions was to place itself by the roadside, proposing enigmas to the passing travellers, and devouring all who could not answer them. Now, as this lasted for more than three centuries, travellers became more and more rare, and the Sphinx’s teeth rather long. When it saw OEdipus, it placed itself in the centre of the road, and lifted up its paw, to bid the young man stop. ‘Traveller,’ it said, ‘I am the Sphinx.’ ‘Well, what then?’ asked OEdipus. ‘Well, destiny has sent me to earth, to propose an enigma to men — if they do not guess it, they are mine; if they do, I am Death’s, and I must throw myself into the abyss where I have thrown the fragments of the bodies of those I have devoured.’ OEdipus looked over the precipice and saw the white bones. ‘Well,’ said the young man, ‘the enigma.’ ‘It is this: What animal walks on four legs in the morning, on two at noon, and on three at night?’ OEdipus thought for a moment with a smile of disdain, which could not but make the Sphinx uneasy. ‘If I guess it,’ said OEdipus, ‘will you precipitate yourself into the abyss?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well,’ said OEdipus, ‘that animal is man.’“

  “How so? man!” interrupted Beausire, who became interested in the conversation, as if it related to something contemporary.

  “Yes, man! who in his childhood, that is to say, in the morning of life, crawls on his feet and hands, who in his prime, that is to say, at the noon of life, walks erect, and in his old age, that is to say, in the evening of life, uses a staff.”

  “Ah!” said Beausire, “that is true. Fool that the Sphinx was!”

  “Yes, my dear M. de Beausire, so foolish, that it threw itself into the cavern, without using its wings, and broke its head on the rocks. As for OEdipus, he pursued his journey, came to Thebes, found Jocasta a widow, married her, and thus fulfilled the oracle, that he would kill one parent and marry the other.”

  “But, count,” said De Beausire, “where is the analogy between the story of OEdipus and the mask?”

  “Good! you desired to know his name just now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I told you that I was about to propose an enigma. True, I am of better material than the Sphinx, and will not devour you if you do not answer. Attention, I am about to lift up my hand: ‘What part of the court is the grandson of his father, the brother of his mother, and the uncle of his sisters?’“

  “Diable!” said Beausire, relapsing into a quandary, great as was that of OEdipus.

  “Think, sir: study it out,” said Cagliostro.

  “Assist me a little, count?”

  “Willingly; I asked you if you knew the story of OEdipus.”

  “You did me that honour.”

  “Now we will pass to sacred history. You know what is said of Lot — ”

  “And his daughters?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Parbleu, I know. Wait, though, do you know what was said of Louis XV. and his daughter, Madame Adelaide?”

  “You know, my dear sir.”

  “Then the masked man was Count Louis?”

  “Well.”

  “It is true,” murmured Beausire, “the grandson of his father, the brother of his mother, the uncle of his sisters, is Count Louis de Nar.”

  “Attention,” said Cagliostro.

  Beausire interrupted his monologue, and listened with all his ears.

  “Now we no longer doubt who the conspirators are, either masked or not. Let us proceed to the plot.”

  Beausire nodded, as if to say that he was ready.

  “The object is to convey the king away?”

  “That is it exactly.”

  “To take him to Peronne?”

  “To Peronne.”

  “What at present are the means?”

  “Pecuniary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two millions.”

  “Lent them by a Genoese banker. I know him. Have they none other?”

  “I do not know.”

  “They have money enough, but they need men.”

  “M. Lafayette has authorised the raising of a legion, to aid Brabant, which has revolted against the empire.”

  “Oh! kind Lafayette, I see your hand clearly there.” Then aloud, “So be it; but not a legion, but an army is needed for such an enterprise.”

  “There is an army.”

  “Let us see what!’“

  “Two hundred horse will be collected at Versailles, and on the appointed day will leave Versailles at eleven p.m. At two o’clock in the morning they will reach Paris in three columns.”

  “Good.”

  “The first will enter Paris at the gate of Chaillot, the second at the Barriere du Roule, the third at Grenelle. The latter will murder Lafayette; the first M. Necker, and the other Bailly, the Maire of Paris.”

  “Good,” said Cagliostro.

  “The blow being struck, the guns will be spiked. They will meet at the Champs Elysees, and a march will be made on the Tuileries, which are ours.”

  “What, yours! and the National Guard?”

  “There the Brabanconne column will act, joined to four hundred Swiss, and three hundred people from the outside of Paris. Thanks to confederates in the palace, they will hurry to the king, and say, ‘Sire, the Faubourg St. Antoine is in a state of insurrection. A carriage is ready harnessed. You must go.’ If the king consent, the thing will be right; if he do not, he will be forcibly seized and taken to St. Denis.”

  “Good!”

  “There are twenty thousand infantry. They will set out on the appointed day, at eleven at night, with twelve hundred cavalry; the Brabanconne legion, the Swiss, the people from out of Paris, and ten or twenty thousand royalists, will escort the king to Peronne.”

  “Better and better; and what will be done at Peronne?”

  “At Peronne are expected twenty thousand men from the Flemish border, Picardy, Artois, Champagne, Burgundy, Lorraine, Alsace and Cambresis. They are in treaty for twenty thousand Swiss, twelve thousand Germans, and twelve thousand Sardinians, who, joined to the royal escort, will form an effective force of one hundred and fifty thousand men.”

  “A nice army.”

  “With these one hundred and fifty thousand men, it is proposed to march on Paris, to intercept water communication above and below the city, and cut off all supplies. Paris will be starved out, and will capitulate. The National Assembly will be dissolved, and the king restored to the throne of his fathers.”

  “Amen,” said Cagliostro.

  Arising, he said: “My dear M. de Beausire, you have a most agreeable knack of conversation; the case with you is like that of all great orators: when you have said all, there is nothing more to be said.”

  “Yes, count, at the time.”

  “Then, my dear M. de Beausire, when you need ten other louis, always on this condition, be it understood, come to my house at Bellevue.”

  “At Bellevue! and shall I ask for Count Cagliostro?”

  “Cagliostro? No, they would not know whom you mean; ask for Baron Zanoni. And now,” said Cagliostro, “whither, M. de Beausire, do you go?”

  “Whither go you, count?”

  “In the direction you do not go.”

  “I go to the Palais Royal, count.”

  “And I go to the Bastille, M. de Beausire.”

  CHAPTER XV.

  In Which Gamain Shows That He Is Really Master of Masters, Master of All.

  THE WISH THE king had expressed to Lafayette in the presence of the Count de Bouille, to have his old master Gamain to assist him in an important piece of locksmithing, will be recollected. He had even added, and we think it not unimportant to give the detail, that an apprentice would not be without use in the work. The number three, in which the gods delight, was not displeasing to Lafayette, and he therefore gave orders to admit Master Gamain and his apprentice freely, and that whenever they came they should be taken to the king.

  It will not, therefore, surprise our readers to see M. Gamain, accompanied by an apprentice, in their working dress, present themselves at the gates of the Tuileries. After their admission, to which no objection was made, they went around the royal apartments by the common corridor, and up the stairway to the door of the forge, where they left their names with the valet de chambre.

  Their names were Nicholas Claude Gamain and Louis Lecomte.

  Though the names were not at all aristocratic, as soon as he heard them Louis XVI. himself went to the door and said: “Come in!”

  “Here! here! here!” said Gamain, appearing, not only with the familiarity of a fellow workman, but of a fellow apprentice.

  “Ah! Gamain, is it you? I am glad to see you, for I thought that you had forgotten me.”

  “And that is the reason why you took an apprentice? You did well; you were right, for I was not here. Unfortunately,” said he, with a wiry expression, “the apprentice is not a master.”

  “What else could I do, poor Gamain?” said Louis XVI.; “they told me you wished to have nothing to do with me under any circumstances, for fear of compromising yourself.”

  “Ma foi, sir, you might have learned at Versailles that it is not a safe thing to be one of your friends, for I saw, in the little inn of the Pont de Sevres, the heads of two guardsmen, who grinned horribly, dressed by M. Leonard. They were killed because they chanced to be in your antechamber when you received the visits of your Parisian friends.”

  A cloud passed over the king’s face, and the apprentice bowed his head.

  “They say, though, that since your return to Paris things are much better, and that you now make the Parisians do all you wish. That is not wonderful, for the Parisians are such fools, and you and the queen have such winning ways about you.”

  Louis XVI. said nothing, but a faint flush passed over his cheeks.

  “Now,” said Gamain, “let us look at this famous lock, for I promised my wife to return to-night.”

  The king gave Gamain a lock three-quarters done.

  Gamain pointed out a great many alterations, and the king said:

  “But it will take a day’s hard work to effect all this, Gamain?”

  “Ah, yes, to another, but two hours will be enough for me; only you must not annoy me with questions, and say ‘Gamain this, and Gamain that;’ leave me alone. The shop seems to have tools enough, and in two hours, yes, two hours, come back, and all will be complete,’’ said Gamain, with a smile.

  Tins was exactly what the king wished. The solitude of Gamain would enable him to talk alone with Louis.

  “If you want anything, Gamain?”

  “If I do, I will call the valet de chambre, provided he be ordered to bring me what I wish.”

  “Volnay,” said the king, after examining the alterations Gamain had suggested, “remain here, I pray you; Gamain, my old master, has come to correct a mistake in a lock I began. Give him all he wants, especially two or three bottles of excellent Bordeaux.”

  “Will your majesty please to remember that I like Burgundy best, sire. Damn Bordeaux, it is like drinking warm water.”

  “Ah, yes; true. I forgot, we have often trinquered together, my poor Gamain. Burgundy, you understand, Volnay.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Gamain, wetting his lips, “I remember.”

  “And did it make the water come to your lips?”

  “Do not talk to me about water; I do not know of what earthly use it is, except to temper metal with; all who use it for any other purpose divert it from its true destination.”

  “Be easy; as long as you are here you will not hear water mentioned, and lest by accident the word escape from our lips, we will leave you; when you have done, send for us. The drawer for which this look is intended — ”

  “Ah, that is the kind of work which suits you. Wish you joy.”

  “So be it,” said the king.

  Bowing familiarly to Gamain, the king left with the apprentice, Louis Lecomte, or Le Comte Louis, whom the reader has had sufficient perspicacity to have recognised as the son of the Marquis de Bouille.

  Louis XVI. did not go from the shop by the outer stairway, but by the private one, intended for him alone. This led to his study. The table was covered by a vast map of France, which proved that the king had already studied the shortest and most feasible way to leave his kingdom.

  Not until at the foot of the staircase did Louis XVI. appear to recognise the young apprentice, who, with his hat in his hand and his jacket over his arm, followed him. He then looked carefully around the room, and said: “Now, my dear count, that we are alone, let me compliment you on your address, and thank you for your devotion. But we have no time to lose; even the queen is ignorant of your business here; no one has heard us, so tell me quickly what brings you.”

  “Did not your majesty do my father the honour to send an officer to his garrison?”

  “Yes, the Count de Charny.”

  “Yes, sire, that is the name; he had a letter.”

  “Which meant nothing in words, and which was but an introduction to a verbal message.”

  “This verbal message, sire, he delivered, and that its execution might be certain, at my father’s order, and with the hope of seeing your majesty, I set out for Paris.”

  “Then you know all?”

  “I know that the king wishes, at a certain given moment, to be able to quit France.”

  “And thinks the Marquis de Bouille able to second him in his plan.”

  “My father is proud and grateful for the honour you have done him.”

  “But to the point, what says he of the plan?”

  “That it is hazardous, demands great precaution, but is not impossible.”

  “In the first place,” said the king, “that the co-operation of M. Bouille may have such full effect as his loyalty and devotion promise, would it not be better that the governments of several provinces were united to his command at Metz, especially the government of Tranche Comte?”

  “So my father thinks, sire, and I am happy that your majesty has yourself first expressed the idea. The marquis feared your majesty would attribute it to personal ambition.”

  “Go, go! do I not know your father’s personal abnegation? Come, tell me, did he explain himself to you as to the course to be adopted?”

  “This is what my father proposes to your majesty.”

  “Speak,” said the king, looking over the map of France, to follow the different routes the young count was about to propose.

  “Sire, there are many points to which the king can retire.”

  “Certainly, but I prefer Montmedy, which is in the centre of your father’s command. Tell the marquis that my choice is made, and that I prefer Montmedy.”

  “Has the king resolved on the attempt, or is it but a project?” the young count dared to ask.

  “My dear Louis,” replied Louis XVI., “nothing is as yet determined on. If I see the queen and my children exposed to new dangers, like those of the night of the 5th and 6th of October, I will decide; tell your father, my dear count, when I shall once have made up my mind, it will be irrevocable.”

  “Now, sire,” said the young count, “if it were permitted to me to express an opinion in relation to the manner of the voyage, may I mention to your majesty my father’s advice?”

  “Go on, go on.”

  “He thinks that the dangers would be diminished by dividing them.”

  “Explain.”

  “Sire, your majesty should start with Madame Elizabeth and Madame Royale, while the queen, with the dauphin — so that — ”

  “It is useless, my dear Louis, to discuss this point. In a solemn moment we decided, the queen and I, not to separate. If your father wishes to save us, he must save us all together, or not at all.”

  The count bowed.

  “Another thing, sire; there are two roads to Montmedy. I must ask your majesty which you will take, in order that it may be examined by a competent engineer.”

  “We have a competent engineer — M. de Charny, who is devoted to us. The fewer persons we put in the secret, the better. In the count we have a servant intelligent and tried, and will make use of him. As I chose Montmedy, the two roads are marked out on this map.”

  “There are three, sire,” said De Bouille, respectfully.

  “I know, that from Paris to Metz, which I left beyond Verdun, to take the Stenop road along the Meuse, from which Montmedy is but three leagues distant.”