Chapter XIX · (continued 2)

"Wait a moment," said Nauteuil, hastily: "the adjutant, Weber, has taken it into his head to sup with our old fool of a lieutenant. They are in the room you will have to cross. We must contrive to get rid of them. Karl, go back to your post, for your absence may be perceived. I will come for you when it is time. Madame will go to my quarters and Gottlieb will accompany me. I will say he is a somnambulist, and my two scamps will follow him. When the room is empty, I will lock the door, and take care they do not come back again."

Gottlieb, who was not aware that he was a somnambulist, stared wildly. Karl, however, bade him obey, and he submitted blindly. Consuelo had an insurmountable objection to entering Mayer's room. But Karl said, in a low tone—"Why fear that man? He has too large a bribe to betray you. His advice is good. I will return to the bastion. Too much haste would destroy us!"

"Too much sang-froid and coolness might also do so," thought Consuelo. But she yielded to Karl's advice. She carried a weapon about her. As she crossed the kitchen of the Swartzes she had taken possession of a carving-knife, the hilt of which gave her not a little confidence. She had given Karl her money and papers, keeping on her person nothing but her crucifix, which she looked on almost as an amulet.

For greater security, Mayer shut her up in his room and left with Gottlieb. After ten minutes, which to Consuelo appeared an age, Nauteuil came for her, and she observed with terror, that he closed the door and put the key in his pocket.

"Signora," said he, in Italian, "you have yet a half hour to wait. The jackanapes are drunk, and will not quit the table until the clock strikes one. Then the keeper, who has charge of the room, will put them out of doors."

"What have you done with Gottlieb, sir?"

"Your friend, Gottlieb, is in safety behind a bundle of fagots, where he can sleep soundly. He will not leave it until he is able to follow you."

"Karl will be informed of all?"

"Unless I wish to have him hung," said the adjutant, with a diabolical expression, as Consuelo thought. "I do not wish to leave him behind us. Are you satisfied, signora?"

"I cannot prove my gratitude now, sir," said Consuelo, with a coldness, in which he sought in vain to conceal disdain; "but I hope ere long to discharge all my obligations to you honorably."

"Pardieu! you can discharge them at once," (Consuelo shrunk back with horror.) "By exhibiting something of friendship to me," added Mayer, with a tone of brutal and coarse cajolery. "You see, were I not passionately fond of music, and were you not a pretty woman, I would not violate my duty by thus enabling you to escape. Do you think I have been led to this by avarice?—Bah! I am rich enough to do without all this, and Prince Henry is not powerful enough to save me from the rope or solitary confinement, if I should be discovered. All this requires some consolation. Well, do not be proud; you know I love you; my heart is susceptible, but you need not on that account abuse my tenderness. You are not bigoted or religious; not you. You are an actress, and I venture to say, you have succeeded by having granted your favors to the managers. Pardieu! if, as they say, you sang before Marie Theresa, you know Prince Kaunitz and his boudoir. Now you have a less splendid room, but your liberty is in my hands, and that is a more precious boon than an empress's favor."

"Is this a threat, sir?" said Consuelo, pale with indignation and disgust.

"No; but it is a prayer, signora."

"I hope you don't make it a condition?"

"Not so. No, no! by no means," said Mayer with impudent irony, approaching Consuelo with open arms as he spoke.

Consuelo was terrified, and fled to the extremity of the room. Mayer followed her. She saw that if she sacrificed honor to humanity she was lost; and suddenly, inspired by the wild ferocity of Spanish women, as Mayer embraced her, she gave him about three inches of the knife she had concealed. Mayer was rather fat and the wound was not dangerous; but when he saw the blood, for he was as cowardly as he was sensual, he thought he was dead, and came near fainting, falling on his face on the bed. He cried out, "I am murdered! I am dead!" Consuelo thought she had killed him, and was also near fainting. After a few moments of silent terror, she ventured to approach him and took the key of the room, which he had let fall. No sooner had she possession of it than she felt her courage revive. She went into the galleries and found all the doors open before her. She went down a staircase, which led she knew not whither. She could scarcely support herself, as she heard the alarm clock, and not long after the roll of the drums. She also heard the gun which had echoed through the night when Gottlieb's somnambulism had caused an alarm. She sank on her knees at the last steps, and clasping her hands, invoked God to aid Gottlieb and the generous Karl. Separated from them, after having permitted them to expose their lives for her, she felt herself powerless and hopeless. Heavy and hasty steps sounded on her ears, the light of torches dazzled her eyes, and she could not say whether this was reality or the effect of delirium. She hid herself in a corner and lost all consciousness.