CHAPTER XXVI.

SAINTE-CROIX DISCOVERS THE GREAT SECRET SOONER THAN HE EXPECTED

A few weeks passed, and the terrible events of the last chapter were almost forgotten by the volatile people of Paris, and even by the provincials who had been present at the double tragedy--for Henri d’Aubray had followed his brother, although, from his robust health and strong constitution, he had battled more vigorously against the effects of the poison, his sufferings being prolonged in consequence. It is unnecessary to follow the horrid details of the effect of the Aqua Tofana, or to describe the last agonies, when ‘il se plaignait d’avoir un foyer brûlant dans la poitrine, et la flamme intérieure qui le devorait semblait sortir par les yeux, seule partie de son corps qui demeurât vivante encore, quand le reste n’était déjà plus qu’un cadavre.’ It will suffice to say that no suspicion, as yet, rested upon the murderers. The bodies were examined, in the presence of the first surgeons of Paris, as well as the usual medical attendants of the D’Aubray family; and although everywhere in the system traces of violent organic lesion were apparent, yet none could say whether these things had been produced by other than mere accidental morbid causes. Tests would, as in the present day, have soon detected the presence of the poisons--the more readily as they were mostly mineral that were used--but the secret of these reagents remained almost in the sole possession of those who made them; and the subtlety of some of their toxicological preparations proves that the disciples of Spara were chemists of no mean order.[18] People wondered for a little while at the coincidence of the several deaths occurring in one family, and in a manner so similar, and then thought no more of the matter. The cemetery received the bodies of the victims; and the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, now her own mistress, and the sole possessor of a magnificent income, shared it openly with Sainte-Croix; and the _hôtel_ in the Rue St. Paul vied with the most celebrated of Paris in the gorgeous luxury of its festivities. But the day of reckoning and heavy retribution was fast approaching.

We have before alluded to the Palais des Thermes--the remains of which ancient edifice may still be seen from the footway of the Rue de la Harpe, between the Rue du Foin and the Rue des Mathurins--as being the most important ruins marking the occupation of Paris by the Romans. The researches of various individuals from time to time have shown that this palace was once of enormous size, extending as far as the small stream of the Seine which flows beneath the Hôtel Dieu; and, indeed, in the cellars of many of the houses, between the present site of the large _salle_ and the river, pillars and vaulted ways, precisely similar to those in the Rue de la Harpe, have been frequently discovered; added to which, before the demolition of the Petit-Châtelet, a small fortress at the bottom of the Rue St. Jacques, the remains of some ancient walls were visible running towards the Palais from the banks of the Seine.

There were _souterrains_ stretching out in many other directions; the whole of the buildings adjoining were undermined by them, the entrance to the largest having been discovered, by accident, in the court-yard of the Convent des Mathurins, within a few months of the date of our romance. And these must not be confounded with the rough catacombs to which we have been already introduced, hewn in the gypsum as chance directed, but were regularly arched ways from ten to sixteen feet below the surface of the ground, communicating with one another by doors and supported by walls four feet thick.

The ruins of the Palais des Thermes and the adjoining vaults, although not open to the street as they are at present, had long been the resort of that class of wanderers about Paris now classified as _Bohemiens_, until an edict drove them to the catacombs of the Biévre and the Cours des Miracles to establish their colonies. The shelter of the Palais, ‘favorisent les fréquentes défaites d’une pudeur chancelante,’ was ordered to be abolished, and the entire place was, in a measure, enclosed and let, at some humble rate, as a storehouse or cellar for the tradesmen in the Rue de la Harpe.

The winter’s evening was closing in, cold and dismal, as Gaudin de Sainte-Croix was traversing the streets between the Place Maubert and the Rue de la Harpe, a short time after the events we have described. The front of the Palais des Thermes was at this period concealed from the street by an old dwelling-house, but the _porte-cochére_ was always open, and he passed across the court, unchallenged, to the entrance of the large hall that still exists. Here he rang a rusty bell, which had the effect of bringing a man to the wicket, who wore the dress of a mechanic. He appeared to know Sainte-Croix, as he admitted him directly, without anything more than a humble recognition; and then giving him a small end of lighted candle in a split lath, similar to those used in cellars, he left him to go on at his own will.

Gaudin crossed the large _salle_, the sides of which were covered by wine-casks piled one on the other, and entered a small archway at the extremity, which was at the top of a dozen steps. Descending, he went along a vaulted passage, and at last reached a species of cellar, which was fitted up as a laboratory. By the light of the fire alone, which was burning in the furnace, he discovered Exili.

‘You have brought my money,’ said the physician, half interrogatively, as he turned his ghastly features towards Sainte-Croix. ‘Five thousand crowns is light payment for the services I have rendered you. It should have been here before.’

‘I regret that I have not yet got it,’ answered Gaudin. ‘The greater part of the possessions which have fallen to Madame de Brinvilliers cannot yet be made available. I went this morning to the Jew who before aided me, on the Quai des Orfèvres, to get some money, but he was from home.’

It is true that Sainte-Croix had been in that direction during the day, but it was with a far different object. To elude the payment of Exili’s bond he had determined upon destroying him, running the risk of whatever might happen subsequently through the physician’s knowledge of the murders. And he had therefore ordered a body of the Garde Royal to attend at the Palais des Thermes that evening, when they would receive sufficient proof of the trade Exili was driving in his capacity of alchemist.

‘It must be paid, however,’ said Exili, ‘and by daybreak to-morrow morning. Look you, Monsieur de Sainte-Croix, I am not to be put off like your grovelling creditors have been, with your dull, ordinary debts. To-morrow I start for England, and I will have the money with me.’

‘I tell you I cannot procure it by that time,’ said Gaudin. ‘A day can be of no consequence to you.’

‘No more than it may be a matter of life or death--a simple affair, I grant you, with either of us, but still worth caring for. Ha! what is this?’

He had purposely brushed his hand against Sainte-Croix’s cloak, and in the pocket of it he felt some weighty substance. The chink assured him it was gold.

‘You cannot have that,’ said Gaudin confusedly; ‘it is going with me to the gaming-table this evening. Chavagnac has promised me my revenge at De Lauzun’s.’

‘You have rich jewels, too, about you,’ continued Exili, peering at him with a fearful expression. ‘The carcanet, I see, has been redeemed, and becomes you well. That diamond clasp is a fortune in itself.’

The gaze of the physician grew every moment more peculiar, as he gazed at Gaudin’s rich attire.

‘Beware!’ cried Sainte-Croix; ‘if you touch one, I will hew you down as I would a dog. Not one of them is mine. They belong to the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.’

‘Nay,’ replied Exili, changing his tone, ‘I did but admire them. Come, then, a truce to this. Will you promise me the sum named in the bond to-morrow?’

‘To-morrow you shall have it,’ said Sainte-Croix.

‘I am satisfied,’ said the physician. ‘I was annoyed at the moment, but it has passed.’

And he turned round to the furnace to superintend the progress of some preparation that was evaporating over the fire.

‘What have you there?’ asked Gaudin, who appeared anxious to prolong the interview, and carry on the time as he best might.

‘A venom more deadly than any we have yet known--that will kill like lightning and leave no trace of its presence to the most subtle tests. I have been weeks preparing it, and it approaches perfection.’

‘You will give me the secret?’ asked Gaudin.

‘As soon as it is finished, and the time is coming on apace. You have arrived opportunely to assist me.’

He took a mask with glass eyes from a shelf, and tied it round his face.

‘Its very sublimation, now commencing, is deadly,’ continued Exili; ‘but there is a medicated veil in the nostrils of this mask to decompose its particles. If you would see the preparation completed you must wear one as well.’

Another visor was at his side. Under pretence of rearranging the string he broke it from the mask, and then fixed it back with some resinous compound that he used to cover the stoppers of his bottles, and render them air-tight. All this was so rapidly done that Sainte-Croix took no notice of it.

‘Now, let me fix this on,’ said Exili, ‘and you need not dread the vapour. Besides, you can assist me. I have left some drugs with the porter which I must fetch,’ he continued, as he cautiously fixed the visor to Sainte-Croix’s face.

‘I will mind the furnace whilst you go,’ said Gaudin, as he heard an adjacent bell sound the hour at which he had appointed the guard to arrive. ‘There is no danger in this mask, you say?’

‘None,’ said Exili. ‘You must watch the compound narrowly as soon as you see particles of its sublimation deposited in that glass bell which overhangs it. Then, when it turns colour, remove it from the furnace.’

Anxious to become acquainted with the new poison, and in the hope that, as soon as he acquired the secret of its manufacture, the guard would arrive, Gaudin promised compliance gladly. Exili, on some trifling excuse, left the apartment; but, as soon as his footfall was beyond Sainte-Croix’s hearing, he returned, treading as stealthily as a tiger, and took up his place at the door to watch his prey. Gaudin was still at the furnace, fanning the embers with the cover of a book, as he watched the deadly compound in the evaporating dish. At last, the small particles began to deposit themselves on the bell glass above, as Exili had foretold, and Gaudin bent his head close to the preparation to watch for the change of colour. But in so doing, the heat of the furnace melted the resin with which the string had been fastened. It gave way, and the mask fell on the floor, whilst the vapour of the poison rose full in his face, almost before, in his eager attention, he was aware of the accident.

One terrible scream--a cry which once heard could never be forgotten--not that of agony, or terror, or surprise, but a shrill and violent indrawing of the breath, resembling rather the screech of some huge, hoarse bird of prey, irritated to madness, than the sound of a human voice, was all that broke from Gaudin’s lips. Every muscle of his face was at the instant contorted into the most frightful form; he remained for a second, and no more, wavering at the side of the furnace, and then fell heavily on the floor. He was dead!

Exili had expected this. His eagerness would hardly restrain him from rushing upon Sainte-Croix as he fell; and scarcely was

[image: img_12.jpg caption: The Death of Sainte-Croix]

he on the ground when the physician, dashing the rest of the poison from the furnace, darted on him like a beast of prey, and immediately drew forth the bag of money from his cloak and transferred it to his own pouch. He next tore away every ornament of any value that adorned Gaudin’s costly dress; finally taking the small gold heart which hung round his neck, enclosing the morsel of pink crystal which had attracted Exili’s attention the first night of his sojourn in the Bastille. As he opened it to look at the beryl, he observed a thin slip of vellum folded under it within the case, on which were traced some faint characters. By the light which Sainte-Croix had brought with him, and which was burning faintly in the subterraneous atmosphere, he read the following words with difficulty:--

‘Beatrice Spara to her child, on the eve of her execution. Rome, A.D. 1642. An amulet against an evil eye and poisons.’

A stifled exclamation of horror, yet intense to the most painful degree of mental anguish, escaped him as the meaning came upon him. For a few seconds his eyes were riveted on the crystal, as if they would start from his head; his lips were parted, and his breath suspended. Then another and another gasping cry followed; again he read the lines, as though he would have altered their import; but the simple words remained the same, and fearful was their revelation--until, covering his face with his hands, he fell on his knees beside the body. Gaudin de Sainte-Croix--the unknown adventurer--the soldier of fortune, whom nobody had ever dared to question respecting his parentage, was his own son!--the fruit of his intimacy with the Sicilian woman, from whom at Palermo he had learned the secrets of his hellish trade, in the first instance to remove those who were inimical to the liaison. The child was not above two years old when he himself had been compelled to fly from Italy, and he had imagined that, after the execution of Beatrice, the infant had perished unknown and uncared for in the streets of Rome.

For some minutes he remained completely stupefied, but was aroused at last by a violent knocking at the door of the vault; and immediately afterwards the man who owned the house in the Rue de la Harpe rushed in, and announced the presence of the guard, who, not finding Sainte-Croix to meet them as they expected, had made the cooper conduct them to Exili’s laboratory. He had scarcely uttered the words when their bristling halberds, mingling with torches, appeared behind him.

‘Back!’ screamed Exili as he saw the guard, ‘keep off! or I can slay you with myself, so that not one shall live to tell the tale.’

The officer in command told the men to enter; but one or two remembered the fate of those in the boat-mill whom the vapour had killed, and they hung back.

‘Your lives are in my hands,’ continued the physician, ‘and if you move one step they are forfeited. I am not yet captured.’

He darted through a doorway at the end of the room as he spoke, and disappeared. The guard directly pressed onward; but as Exili passed out at the arch, a mass of timber descended like a portcullis and opposed their further progress. A loud and fiendish laugh sounded in the _souterrain_, which grew fainter and fainter until they heard it no more.