The Queen's Necklace, Alexandre Dumas père [best love story novels in english TXT] 📗

he might help them. He therefore accepted the offer of the police-agents, gave them the hundred louis, and made his escape, in spite of the tears shed by Oliva; saying, "I go to try and save you." He ran after M. de Cagliostro's carriage, which he soon overtook, as the count had stopped, it being useless to proceed. Beausire soon told his story; Cagliostro listened in silence, then said, "She is lost."

"Why so?" Then Cagliostro told him all he did not already know--all the intrigues in the park.

"Oh! save her," cried Beausire; "and I will give her to you, if you love her still."

"My friend," replied Cagliostro, "you deceive yourself; I never loved Mademoiselle Oliva; I had but one aim--that of weaning her from the life of debauchery she was leading with you."

"But----" said Beausire.

"That astonishes you--know that I belong to a society whose object is moral reform. Ask her if ever she heard from my mouth one word of gallantry, or if my services were not disinterested."

"Oh, monsieur! but will you save her?"

"I will try, but it will depend on yourself."

"I will do anything."

"Then return with me to Paris, and if you follow my instructions implicitly, we may succeed in saving her. I only impose one condition, which I will tell you when I reach home."

"I promise beforehand. But can I see her again?"

"I think so, and you can tell her what I say to you." In two hours they overtook the carriage containing Oliva, and Beausire bought for fifty louis permission to embrace her, and tell her all the count had said. The agents admired this violent love, and hoped for more louis, but Beausire was gone. Cagliostro drove him to Paris.

We will now return to M. de Crosne.

This gentleman knew a good deal about Cagliostro, his former names, his pretensions to ubiquity and perpetual regeneration, his secrets in alchemy and magnetism, and looked upon him as a great charlatan.

"Monsieur," said he to Cagliostro, "you asked me for an audience; I have returned from Versailles to meet you."

"Sir, I thought you would wish to question me about what is passing, so I came to you."

"Question you?" said the magistrate, affecting surprise. "On what?"

"Monsieur," replied Cagliostro, "you are much occupied about Madame de la Motte, and the missing necklace."

"Have you found it?" asked M. de Crosne, laughing.

"No, sir, but Madame de la Motte lived in the Rue St. Claude----"

"I know, opposite you."

"Oh, if you know all about Oliva, I have nothing more to tell you."

"Who is Oliva?"

"You do not know? Then, sir, imagine a young girl very pretty, with blue eyes, and an oval face, a style of beauty something like her majesty, for instance."

"Well, sir?"

"This young girl led a bad life; it gave me pain to see it; for she was once in the service of an old friend of mine, M. de Taverney--but I weary you."

"Oh no, pray go on."

"Well, Oliva led not only a bad life, but an unhappy one, with a fellow she called her lover, who beat and robbed her."

"Beausire," said the magistrate.

"Ah! you know him. You are still more a magician than I am. Well, one day when Beausire had beaten the poor girl more than usual, she fled to me for refuge; I pitied her, and gave her shelter in one of my houses."

"In your house!" cried M. de Crosne in surprise.

"Oh! why not? I am a bachelor," said Cagliostro, with an air which quite deceived M. de Crosne.

"That is then the reason why my agents could not find her."

"What! you were seeking this little girl? Had she then been guilty of any crime?"

"No, sir, no; pray go on."

"Oh! I have done. I lodged her at my house, and that is all."

"No, sir, for you just now associated her name with that of Madame de la Motte."

"Only as neighbors."

"But, sir, this Oliva, whom you say you had in your house, I found in the country with Beausire."

"With Beausire? Ah! then I have wronged Madame de la Motte."

"How so, sir?"

"Why just as I thought I had hopes of reforming Oliva, and bringing her back to an honest life, some one carried her away from me."

"That is strange."

"Is it not? And I firmly believed it to be Madame de la Motte. But as you found her with Beausire, it was not she, and all her signals and correspondence with Oliva meant nothing."

"With Oliva?"

"Yes."

"They met?"

"Yes, Madame de la Motte found a way to take Oliva out every night."

"Are you sure of this?"

"I saw and heard her."

"Oh, sir, you tell me what I would have paid for with one thousand francs a word. But you are a friend of M. de Rohan?"

"Yes."

"You ought to know how far he was connected with this affair."

"I do not wish to know."

"But you know the object of these nightly excursions of Madame de la Motte and Oliva?"

"Of that also I wish to be ignorant."

"Sir, I only wish to ask you one more question. Have you proofs of the correspondence of Madame de la Motte and Oliva?"

"Plenty."

"What are they?"

"Notes which Madame de la Motte used to throw over to Oliva with a cross-bow. Several of them did not reach their destination, and were picked up either by myself, or my servants, in the street."

"Sir, you will be ready to produce them, if called upon?"

"Certainly; they are perfectly innocent, and cannot injure any one."

"And have you any other proofs of intimacy?"

"I know that she had a method of entering my house to see Oliva. I saw her myself, just after Oliva had disappeared, and my servants saw her also."

"But what did she come for, if Oliva was gone?"

"I did not know. I saw her come out of a carriage at the corner of the street. My idea was that she wished to attach Oliva to her, and keep her near her."

"And you let her do it?"

"Why not? She is a great lady, and received at court. Why should I have prevented her taking charge of Oliva, and taking her off my hands?"

"What did she say when she found that Oliva was gone?"

"She appeared distressed."

"You suppose that Beausire carried her off?"

"I suppose so, for you tell me you found them together. I did not suspect him before, for he did not know where she was."

"She must have let him know herself."

"I think not, as she had fled from him. I think Madame de la Motte must have sent him a key."

"Ah! what day was it?"

"The evening of St. Louis."

"Monsieur, you have rendered a great service to me and to the state."

"I am happy to hear it."

"You shall be thanked as you deserve. I may count on the production of the proofs you mention?"

"I am ready, sir, to assist justice at all times."

As Cagliostro left, he muttered, "Ah, countess! you tried to accuse me--take care of yourself."

Meanwhile, M. de Breteuil was sent by the king to examine Madame de la Motte. She declared that she had proofs of her innocence, which she would produce at the proper time; she also declared, that she would only speak the truth in the presence of the cardinal. She was told that the cardinal laid all the blame upon her. "Tell him then," she said, "that I advise him not to persist in such a foolish system of defense."

"Whom then do you accuse?" asked M. Breteuil.

"I accuse no one," was her reply.

A report was spread at last that the diamonds were being sold in England by M. Reteau de Villette. This man was soon found and arrested, and brought over and confronted with Jeanne. To her utter confusion, he acknowledged that he had forged a receipt from the jewelers, and a letter from the queen at the request of Madame de la Motte. She denied furiously, and declared that she had never seen M. Reteau. M. de Crosne produced as witness a coachman, who swore to having driven her, on the day named, to the house of M. Reteau. Also, one of the servants of M. de Cagliostro deposed to having seen this man on the box of Jeanne's carriage on the night that she came to his master's house. Now, Jeanne began to abuse the count, and accused him of having inspired M. de Rohan with the ideas inimical to the royal dignity. M. de Rohan defended him, and Jeanne at once plainly accused the cardinal of a violent love for the queen. M. de Cagliostro requested to be incarcerated, and allowed to prove his innocence publicly. Then the queen caused to be published all the reports made to the king about the nocturnal promenades, and requested M. de Crosne to state all that he knew about it. This public avowal overturned all Jeanne's plans, and she denied having assisted at any meetings between the queen and the cardinal. This declaration would have cleared the queen, had it been possible to attach any credence to what this woman said. While Jeanne continued to deny that she had ever been in the park, they brought forward Oliva at last, a living witness of all the falsehoods of the countess. When Oliva was shown to the cardinal the blow was dreadful. He saw at last how infamously he had been played upon. This man, so full of delicacy and noble passions, discovered that an adventuress had led him to insult and despise the Queen of France; a woman whom he loved, and who was innocent. He would have shed all his blood at the feet of Marie Antoinette to make atonement. But he could not even acknowledge his mistake without owning that he loved her--even his excuse would involve an offense; so he was obliged to keep silent, and allow Jeanne to deny everything. Oliva confessed all without reserve. At last Jeanne, driven from every hold, confessed that she had deceived the cardinal, but declared that it was done with the consent of the queen, who watched and enjoyed the scene, hidden behind the trees. To this story she kept; the queen could never disprove it, and there were plenty of people willing to believe it true.


CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

THE LAST HOPE LOST.

Here the affair therefore rested, for Jeanne was determined to share the blame with some one, as she could not turn it from herself. All her calculations had been defeated by the frankness with which the queen had met, and made public, every accusation against her.

At last Jeanne wrote the following letter to the queen:


"MADAME,

"In spite of my painful position and rigorous treatment, I have not
uttered a complaint; all that has been tried to extort avowals from
me has failed to make me compromise my sovereign. However, although
persuaded that my constancy and discretion will facilitate my
release from my present position, the friends of the cardinal make
me fear I shall become his victim. A long imprisonment, endless
questions, and the