CHAPTER XVIII
THE GOD-STONE
The _Crystal Stopper_ was running on the surface of the water. Don Luissat talking, with Stephane, Patrice and All's Well, who were gatheredround him:
"What a swine that Vorski is!" he said. "I've seen that breed of monsterbefore, but never one of his calibre."
"Then, in that case . . ." Patrice Belval objected.
"In that case?" echoed Don Luis.
"I repeat what I've said already. You hold a monster in your hands andyou let him go free! To say nothing of its being highly immoral, thinkof all the harm that he can do, that he inevitably will do! It's a heavyresponsibility to take upon yourself, that of the crimes which he willstill commit."
"Do you think so too, Stephane?" asked Don Luis.
"I'm not quite sure what I think," replied Stephane, "because, to saveFrancois, I was prepared to make any concession. But, all the same. . ."
"All the same, you would rather have had another solution?"
"Frankly, yes. So long as that man is alive and free, Madame d'Hergemontand her son will have everything to fear from him."
"But what other solution was there? I promised him his liberty in returnfor Francois' immediate safety. Ought I to have promised him only hislife and handed him over to the police?"
"Perhaps," said Captain Belval.
"Very well. But, in that case, the police would institute enquiries, andby discovering the fellow's real identity bring back to life the husbandof Veronique d'Hergemont and the father of Francois. Is that what youwant?"
"No, no!" cried Stephane, eagerly.
"No, indeed," confessed Patrice Belval, a little uneasily. "No, thatsolution is no better; but what astonishes me is that you, Don Luis, didnot hit upon the right one, the one which would have satisfied us all."
"There was only one solution," Don Luis Perenna said, plainly. "Therewas only one."
"Which was that?"
"Death."
There was a pause. Then Don Luis resumed:
"My friends, I did not form you into a court simply as a joke; and youmust not think that your parts as judges are played because the trialseems to you to be over. It is still going on; and the court has notrisen. That is why I want you to answer me honestly: do you considerthat Vorski deserves to die?"
"Yes," declared Patrice.
And Stephane approved:
"Yes, beyond a doubt."
"My friends," Don Luis continued, "your verdict is not sufficientlysolemn. I beseech you to utter it formally and conscientiously, asthough you were in the presence of the culprit. I ask you once more:what penalty did Vorski deserve?"
They raised their hands and, one after the other, answered:
"Death."
Don Luis whistled. One of the Moors ran up.
"Two pairs of binoculars, Hadji."
The man brought the glasses and Don Luis handed them to Stephane andPatrice:
"We are only a mile from Sarek," he said. "Look towards the point: theboat should have started."
"Yes," said Patrice, presently.
"Do you see her, Stephane?"
"Yes, only . . ."
"Only what?"
"There's only one passenger."
"Yes," said Patrice, "only one passenger."
They put down their binoculars and one of them said:
"Only one has got away: Vorski evidently. He must have killed Otto, hisaccomplice."
"Unless Otto, his accomplice, has killed him," chuckled Don Luis.
"What makes you say that?"
"Why, remember the prophecy made to Vorski in his youth: 'Your wife willdie on the cross and you will be killed by a friend.'"
"I doubt if a prediction is enough."
"I have other proofs, though."
"What proofs?"
"They, my friends, form part of the last problem we shall have toelucidate together. For instance, what is your idea of the manner inwhich I substituted Elfride Vorski for Madame d'Hergemont?"
Stephane shook his head:
"I confess that I never understood."
"And yet it's so simple! When a gentleman in a drawing-room, in a whitetie and a tail-coat, performs conjuring-tricks or guesses your thoughts,you say to yourself, don't you, that there must be some artifice beneathit all, the assistance of a confederate? Well, you need seek no fartherwhere I'm concerned."
"What, you had a confederate?"
"Yes, certainly."
"But who was he?"
"Otto."
"Otto? But you never left us! You never spoke to him, surely?"
"How could I have succeeded without his help? In reality, I had twoconfederates in this business, Elfride and Otto, both of whom betrayedVorski, either out of revenge or out of greed. While you, Stephane, wereluring Vorski past the Fairies' Dolmen, I accosted Otto. We soon strucka bargain, at the cost of a few bank-notes and in return for a promisethat he would come out of the adventure safe and sound. Moreover Iinformed him that Vorski had pouched the sisters Archignat's fiftythousand francs."
"How did you know that?" asked Stephane.
"Through my confederate number one, through Elfride, whom I continued toquestion in a whisper while you were looking out for Vorski's coming andwho also, in a few brief words, told me what she knew of Vorski'spast."
"When all is said, you only saw Otto that once."
"Two hours later, after Elfride's death and after the fireworks in thehollow oak, we had a second interview, under the Fairies' Dolmen. Vorskiwas asleep, stupefied with drink, and Otto was mounting guard. You canimagine that I seized the opportunity to obtain particulars of thebusiness and to complete my information about Vorski with the detailswhich Otto for two years had been secretly collecting about a chief whomhe detested. Then he unloaded Vorski's and Conrad's revolvers, or ratherhe removed the bullets, while leaving the cartridges. Then he handed meVorski's watch and note-book, as well as an empty locket and aphotograph of Vorski's mother which Otto had stolen from him some monthsbefore, things which helped me next day to play the wizard with theaforesaid Vorski in the crypt where he found me. That is how Otto and Icollaborated."
"Very well," said Patrice, "but still you didn't ask him to killVorski?"
"Certainly not."
"In that case, how are we to know that . . ."
"Do you think that Vorski did not end by discovering our collaboration,which is one of the obvious causes of his defeat? And do you imaginethat Master Otto did not foresee this contingency? You may be sure thatthere was no doubt of this: Vorski, once unfastened from his tree, wouldhave made away with his accomplice, both from motives of revenge and inorder to recover the sisters Archignat's fifty thousand francs. Otto gotthe start of him. Vorski was there, helpless, lifeless, an easy prey. Hestruck him a blow. I will go farther and say that Otto, who is acoward, did not even strike him a blow. He will simply have left Vorskion his tree. And so the punishment is complete. Are you appeased now, myfriends? Is your craving for justice satisfied?"
Patrice and Stephane were silent, impressed by the terrible vision whichDon Luis was conjuring up before their eyes.
"There," he said, laughing, "I was right not to make you pronouncesentence over there, when we were standing at the foot of the oak, withthe live man in front of us! I can see that my two judges might haveflinched a little at that moment. And so would my third judge, eh, All'sWell, you sensitive, tearful fellow? And I am like you, my friends. Weare not people who condemn and execute. But, all the same, think of whatVorski was, think of his thirty murders and his refinements of crueltyand congratulate me on having, in the last resort, chosen blind destinyas his judge and the loathsome Otto as his responsible executioner. Thewill of the gods be done!"
The Sarek coast was making a thinner line on the horizon. It disappearedin the mist in which sea and sky were merged.
The three men were silent. All three were thinking of the isle of thedead, laid waste by one man's madness, the isle of the dead where soonsome visitor would find the ine
xplicable traces of the tragedy, theentrances to the tunnels, the cells with their "death-chambers," thehall of the God-Stone, the mortuary crypts, Elfride's body, Conrad'sbody, the skeletons of the sisters Archignat and, right at the end ofthe island, near the Fairies' Dolmen, where the prophecy of the thirtycoffins and the four crosses was written for all to read, Vorski's greatbody, lonely and pitiable, mangled by the ravens and owls.
* * * * *
A villa near Arcachon, in the pretty village of Les Moulleaux, whosepine-trees run down to the shores of the gulf.
Veronique is sitting in the garden. A week's rest and happiness haverestored the colour to her comely face and assuaged all evil memories.She is looking with a smile at her son, who, standing a little way off,is listening to and questioning Don Luis Perenna. She also looks atStephane; and their eyes meet gently.
It is easy to see that the affection in which they both hold the boy isa link which unites them closely and which is strengthened by theirsecret thoughts and their unuttered feelings. Not once has Stephanerecalled the avowals which he made in the cell, under the Black Heath;but Veronique has not forgotten them; and the profound gratitude whichshe feels for the man who brought up her son is mingled with a specialemotion and an agitation of which she unconsciously savours the charm.
That day, Don Luis, who, on the evening when the _Crystal Stopper_brought them all to the Villa des Moulleaux, had taken the train forParis, arrived unexpectedly at lunch-time, accompanied by PatriceBelval; and during the hour that they have been sitting in theirrocking-chairs in the garden, the boy, his face all pink withexcitement, has never ceased to question his rescuer:
"And what did you do next? . . . But how did you know? . . . And whatput you on the track of that?"
"My darling," says Veronique, "aren't you afraid of boring Don Luis?"
"No, madame," replies Don Luis, rising, going up to Veronique andspeaking in such a way that the boy cannot hear, "no, Francois is notboring me; and in fact I like answering his questions. But I confessthat he perplexes me a little and that I am afraid of saying somethingawkward. Tell me, how much exactly does he know of the whole story?"
"As much as I know myself, except Vorski's name, of course."
"But does he know the part which Vorski played?"
"Yes, but with certain differences. He thinks that Vorski is an escapedprisoner who picked up the legend of Sarek and, in order to get hold ofthe God-Stone, proceeded to carry out the prophecy touching it. I havekept some of the lines of the prophecy from Francois."
"And the part played by Elfride? Her hatred for you? The threats shemade you?"
"Madwoman's talk, I told Francois, of which I myself did not understandthe meaning."
Don Luis smiled:
"The explanation is a little arbitrary; and I have a notion thatFrancois quite well understands that certain parts of the tragedy remainand must remain obscure to him. The great thing, don't you think, isthat he should not know that Vorski was his father?"
"He does not know and he never will."
"And then--and this is what I was coming to--what name will he bearhimself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Whose son will he believe himself to be? For you know as well as I dothat the legal reality is this, that Francois Vorski died fifteen yearsago, drowned in a shipwreck, and his grandfather with him. And Vorskidied last year, stabbed by a fellow-prisoner. Neither of them is alivein the eyes of the law. So . . ."
Veronique nodded her head and smiled:
"So I don't know. The position seems to me, as you say, incapable ofexplanation. But everything will come out all right."
"Why?"
"Because you're here to do it."
It was his turn to smile:
"I can no longer take credit for the actions which I perform or thesteps which I take. Everything is arranging itself _a priori_. Then whyworry?"
"Am I not right to?"
"Yes," he said, gravely. "The woman who has suffered all that you havemust not be subjected to the least additional annoyance. And nothingshall happen to her after this, I swear. So what I suggest to you isthis: long ago, you married against your father's wish a very distantcousin, who died after leaving you a son, Francois. This son yourfather, to be revenged upon you, kidnapped and brought to Sarek. At yourfather's death, the name of d'Hergemont became extinct and there isnothing to recall the events of your marriage."
"But my name remains. Legally, in the official records, I am Veroniqued'Hergemont."
"Your maiden name disappears under your married name."
"You mean under that of Vorski."
"No, because you did not marry that fellow Vorski, but one of yourcousins called . . ."
"Called what?"
"Jean Maroux. Here is a stamped certificate of your marriage to JeanMaroux, a marriage mentioned in your official records, as this otherdocument shows."
Veronique looked at Don Luis in amazement:
"But why? Why that name?"
"Why? So that your son may be neither d'Hergemont, which would haverecalled past events, nor Vorski, which would have recalled the name ofa traitor. Here is his birth-certificate, as Francois Maroux."
She repeated, all blushing and confused:
"But why did you choose just that name?"
"It seemed easy for Francois. It's the name of Stephane, with whomFrancois will go on living for some time. We can say that Stephane was arelation of your husband's; and this will explain the intimacygenerally. That is my plan. It presents, believe me, no possible danger.When one is confronted by an inexplicable and painful position likeyours, one must needs employ special means and resort to drastic and, Iadmit, very illegal measures. I did so without scruple, because I havethe good fortune to dispose of resources which are not withineverybody's reach. Do you approve of what I have done?"
Veronique bent her head:
"Yes," she said, "yes."
He half-rose from his seat:
"Besides," he added, "if there should be any drawbacks, the future willno doubt take upon itself the burden of removing them. It would beenough, for instance--there is no indiscretion, is there, in alluding tothe feelings which Stephane entertains for Francois' mother?--it wouldbe enough if, one day or another, for reasons of common-sense, orreasons of gratitude, Francois' mother were moved to accept the homageof those feelings. How much simpler everything will be if Francoisalready bears the name of Maroux! How much more easily the past will beabolished, both for the outside world and for Francois, who will nolonger be able to pry into the secret of bygone events which there willbe nothing to recall to memory. It seemed to me that these were ratherweighty arguments. I am glad to see that you share my opinion."
Don Luis bowed to Veronique and, without insisting any further, withoutappearing to notice her confusion, turned to Francois and explained:
"I'm at your orders now, young man. And, since you don't want to leaveanything unexplained, let's go back to the God-Stone and the scoundrelwho coveted its possession. Yes, the scoundrel," repeated Don Luis,seeing no reason not to speak of Vorski with absolute frankness, "andthe most terrible scoundrel that I have ever met with, because hebelieved in his mission; in short, a sick-brained man, a lunatic . . ."
"Well, first of all," Francois observed, "what I don't understand isthat you waited all night to capture him, when he and his accompliceswere sleeping under the Fairies' Dolmen."
"Well done, youngster," said Don Luis, laughing, "you have put yourfinger on a weak point! If I had acted as you suggest, the tragedy wouldhave been finished twelve or fifteen hours earlier. But think, would youhave been released? Would the scoundrel have spoken and revealed yourhiding-place? I don't think so. To loosen his tongue I had to keep himsimmering. I had to make him dizzy, to drive him mad with apprehensionand anguish and to convince him by means of a mass of proofs, that hewas irretrievably defeated. Otherwise he would have held his tongue andwe might perhaps not have found you. . . . . Besides, at that time,
myplan was not very clear, I did not quite know how to wind up; and it wasnot until much later that I thought not of submitting him to violenttorture--I am incapable of that--but of tying him to that tree on whichhe wanted to let your mother die. So that, in my perplexity andhesitation, I simply yielded, in the end, to the wish--the ratherpuerile wish, I blush to confess--to carry out the prophecy to the end,to see how the missionary would behave in the presence of the ancientDruid, in short to amuse myself. After all, the adventure was so darkand gloomy that a little fun seemed to me essential. And I laughed likeblazes. That was wrong. I admit it and I apologize."
The boy was laughing too. Don Luis, who was holding him between hisknees, kissed him and asked:
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes, on condition that you answer two more questions. The first is notimportant."
"Ask away."
"It's about the ring. Where did you get that ring which you put first onmother's finger and afterwards on Elfride's?"
"I made it that same night, in a few minutes, out of an old wedding-ringand some coloured stones."
"But the scoundrel recognized it as having belonged to his mother."
"He thought he recognized it; and he thought it because the ring waslike the other."
"But how did you know that? And how did you learn the story?"
"From himself."
"You don't mean that?"
"Certainly I do! From words that escaped him while he was sleeping underthe Fairies' Dolmen. A drunkard's nightmare. Bit by bit he told thewhole story of his mother. Elfride knew a good part of it besides. Yousee how simple it is and how my luck stood by me!"
"But the riddle of the God-Stone is not simple," Francois cried, "andyou deciphered it! People have been trying for centuries and you took afew hours!"
"No, a few minutes, Francois. It was enough for me to read the letterwhich your grandfather wrote about it to Captain Belval. I sent yourgrandfather by post all the explanations as to the position and themarvellous nature of the God-Stone."
"Well," cried the boy, "it's those explanations that I'm asking of you,Don Luis. This is my last question, I promise you. What made peoplebelieve in the power of the God-Stone? And what did that so-called powerconsist of exactly?"
Stephane and Patrice drew up their chairs. Veronique sat up andlistened. They all understood that Don Luis had waited until they weretogether before rending the veil of the mystery before their eyes.
He began to laugh:
"You mustn't hope for anything sensational," he said. "A mystery isworth just as much as the darkness in which it is shrouded; and, as wehave begun by dispelling the darkness, nothing remains but the factitself in its naked reality. Nevertheless the facts in this case arestrange and the reality is not denuded of a certain grandeur."
"It must needs be so," said Patrice Belval, "seeing that the realityleft so miraculous a legend in the isle of Sarek and even all overBrittany."
"Yes," said Don Luis, "and a legend so persistent that it influences usto this day and that not one of you has escaped the obsession of themiraculous."
"What do you mean?" protested Patrice. "I don't believe in miracles."
"No more do I," said the boy.
"Yes, you do, you believe in them, you accept miracles as possible. Ifnot, you would long ago have seen the whole truth."
"Why?"
Don Luis picked a magnificent rose from a tree by his side and askedFrancois:
"Is it possible for me to transform this rose, whose proportions, as itis, are larger than those a rose often attains, into a flower doublethe size and this rose-tree into a shrub twice as tall?"
"Certainly not," said Francois.
"Then why did you admit, why did you all admit that Maguennoc couldachieve that result, merely by digging up earth in certain parts of theisland, at certain fixed hours? That was a miracle; and you accepted itwithout hesitation, unconsciously."
Stephane objected:
"We accept what we saw with our eyes."
"But you accepted it as a miracle, that is to say, as a phenomenon whichMaguennoc produced by special and, truth to tell, by supernatural means.Whereas I, when I read this detail in M. d'Hergemont's letter, atonce--what shall I say?--caught on. I at once established the connectionbetween those monstrous blossoms and the name borne by the Calvary ofthe flowers. And my conviction was immediate: 'No, Maguennoc is not awizard. He simply cleared a piece of uncultivated land around theCalvary; and all he had to do, to produce abnormal flowers, was to bringalong a layer of mould. So the God-Stone is underneath; the God-Stonewhich, in the middle-ages, produced the same abnormal flowers; theGod-Stone, which, in the days of the Druids, healed the sick andstrengthened children.'"
"Therefore," said Patrice, "there is a miracle."
"There is a miracle if we accept the supernatural explanation. There isa natural phenomenon if we look for it and if we find the physical causecapable of giving rise to the apparent miracle."
"But those physical causes don't exist! They are not present."
"They exist, because you have seen monstrous flowers."
"Then there is a stone," asked Patrice, almost chaffingly, "which cannaturally give health and strength? And that stone is the God-Stone?"
"There is not a particular, individual stone. But there are stones,blocks of stone, rocks, hills and mountains of rock, which containmineral veins formed of various metals, oxides of uranium, silver, lead,copper, nickel, cobalt and so on. And among these metals are some whichemit a special radiation, endowed with peculiar properties known asradioactivity. These veins are veins of pitchblende which are foundhardly anywhere in Europe except in the north of Bohemia and which areworked near the little town of Joachimsthal. And those radioactivebodies are uranium, thorium, helium and chiefly, in the case which weare considering . . ."
"Radium," Francois interrupted.
"You've said it, my boy: radium. Phenomena of radioactivity occur moreor less everywhere; and we may say that they are manifested throughoutnature, as in the healing action of thermal springs. But plainlyradioactive bodies like radium possess more definite properties. Forinstance, there is no doubt that the rays and the emanation of radiumexercise a power over the life of plants, a power similar to that causedby the passage of an electric current. In both cases, the stimulation ofthe nutritive centres makes the elements required by the plant more easyto assimilate and promotes its growth. In the same way, there is nodoubt that the radium rays are capable of exercising a physiologicalaction on living tissues, by producing more or less profoundmodifications, destroying certain cells and contributing to developother cells and even to control their evolution. Radiotherapy claims tohave healed or improved numerous cases of rheumatism of the joints,nervous troubles, ulceration, eczema, tumours and adhesive cicatrices.In short radium is a really effective therapeutic agent."
"So," said Stephane, "you regard the God-Stone . . ."
"I regard the God-Stone as a block of radiferous pitchblende originatingfrom the Joachimsthal lodes. I have long known the Bohemian legend whichspeaks of a miraculous stone that was once removed from the side of ahill; and, when I was travelling in Bohemia, I saw the hole left by thestone. It corresponds pretty accurately with the dimensions of theGod-Stone."
"But," Stephane objected, "radium is contained in rocks only in the formof infinitesimal particles. Remember that, after a mass of fourteenhundred tons of rock have been duly mined and washed and treated, thereremains at the end of it all only a filtrate of some fifteen grains ofradium. And you attribute a miraculous power to the God-Stone, whichweighs two tons at most!"
"But it evidently contains radium in appreciable quantities. Nature hasnot pledged herself to be always niggardly and invariably to dilute theradium. She was pleased to accumulate in the God-Stone a generous supplywhich enabled it to produce the apparently extraordinary phenomena whichwe know of . . . not forgetting that we have to allow for popularexaggeration."
Stephane seemed to be yielding to conviction.
Nevertheless he said:
"One last point. Apart from the God-Stone, there was the little chip ofstone which Maguennoc found in the leaden sceptre, the prolonged touchof which burnt his hand. According to you, this was a particle ofradium?"
"Undoubtedly. And it is this perhaps that most clearly reveals thepresence and the power of radium in all this adventure. When HenriBecquerel, the great physicist, kept a tube containing a salt of radiumin his waistcoat-pocket, his skin became covered in a few days withsuppurating ulcers. Curie repeated the experiment, with the same result.Maguennoc's case was more serious, because he held the particle ofradium in his hand. A wound formed which had a cancerous appearance.Scared by all that he knew and all that he himself had said about themiraculous stone which burns like hell-fire and 'gives life or death,'he chopped off his hand."
"Very well," said Stephane, "but where did that particle of pure radiumcome from? It can't have been a chip of the God-Stone, because, onceagain, however rich a mineral may be, radium is incorporated in it, notin isolated grains, but in a soluble form, which has to be dissolved andafterwards collected, by a series of mechanical operations, into asolution rich enough to enable successive crystallizations andconcentrations to isolate the active product which the solutioncontains. All this and a number of other later operations demand anenormous plant, with workshops, laboratories, expert chemists, in short,a very different state of civilization, you must admit, from the stateof barbarism in which our ancestors the Celts were immersed."
Don Luis smiled and tapped the young man on the shoulder:
"Hear, hear, Stephane! I am glad to see that Francois' friend and tutorhas a far-seeing and logical mind. The objection is perfectly valid andsuggested itself to me at once. I might reply by putting forward somequite legitimate theory, I might presume a natural means of isolatingradium and imagine that, in a geological fault occurring in the granite,at the bottom of a big pocket containing radiferous ore, a fissure hasopened through which the waters of the river slowly trickle, carryingwith them infinitesimal quantities of radium; that the waters so chargedflow for a long time in a narrow channel, combine again, becomeconcentrated and, after centuries upon centuries, filter through inlittle drops, which evaporate at once, and form at the point ofemergence a tiny stalactite, exceedingly rich in radium, the tip ofwhich is broken off one day by some Gallic warrior. But is there anyneed to seek so far and to have recourse to hypotheses? Cannot we relyon the unaided genius and the inexhaustible resources of nature? Does itcall for a more wonderful effort on her part to evolve by her ownmethods a particle of pure radium than to make a cherry ripen or to makethis rose bloom . . . or to give life to our delightful All's Well? Whatdo you say, young Francois? Do we agree?"
"We always agree," replied the boy.
"So you don't unduly regret the miracle of the God-Stone?"
"Why, the miracle still exists!"
"You're right, Francois, it still exists and a hundred times morebeautiful and dazzling than before. Science does not kill miracles: itpurifies them and ennobles them. What was that crafty, capricious,wicked, incomprehensible little power attached to the tip of a magicwand and acting at random, according to the ignorant fancy of abarbarian chief or Druid, what was it, I ask you, beside the beneficent,logical, reliable and quite as miraculous power which we behold to-dayin a pinch of radium?"
Don Luis suddenly interrupted himself and began to laugh:
"Come, come, I'm allowing myself to be carried away and singing an odeto science! Forgive me, madame," he added, rising and going up toVeronique, "and tell me that I have not bored you too much with myexplanations. I haven't, have I? Not too much? Besides, it's finished. . . or nearly finished. There is only one more point to make clear,one decision to take."
He sat down beside her:
"It's this. Now that we have won the God-Stone, in other words, anactual treasure, what are we going to do with it?"
Veronique spoke with a heartfelt impulse:
"Oh, as to that, don't let us speak of it! I don't want anything thatmay come from Sarek, or anything that's found in the Priory. We willwork."
"Still, the Priory belongs to you."
"No, no, Veronique d'Hergemont no longer exists and the Priory no longerbelongs to any one. Let it all be put up to auction. I don't wantanything of that accursed past."
"And how will you live?"
"As I used to by my work. I am sure that Francois approves, don't you,darling?"
And, with an instinctive movement, turning to Stephane, as though he hada certain right to give his opinion, she added:
"You too approve, don't you, dear Stephane?"
"Entirely," he said.
She at once went on:
"Besides, though I don't doubt my father's feelings of affection, I haveno proof of his wishes towards me."
"I have the proofs," said Don Luis.
"How?"
"Patrice and I went back to Sarek. In a writing-desk in Maguennoc'sroom, in a secret drawer, we found a sealed, but unaddressed envelope,and opened it. It contained a bond worth ten thousand francs a year anda sheet of paper which read as follows:
"'After my death, Maguennoc will hand this bond to Stephane Maroux, towhom I confide the charge of my grandson, Francois. When Francois iseighteen years of age, the bond will be his to do what he likes with. Ihope and trust, however, that he will seek his mother and find her andthat she will pray for my soul. I bless them both.'
"Here is the bond," said Don Luis, "and here is the letter. It is datedApril of this year."
Veronique was astounded. She looked at Don Luis and the thought occurredto her that all this was perhaps merely a story invented by that strangeman to place her and her son beyond the reach of want. It was a passingthought. When all was considered, it was a natural consequence.Everything said, M. d'Hergemont's action was very reasonable; and,foreseeing the difficulties that would crop up after his death, it wasonly right that he should think of his grandson. She murmured:
"I have not the right to refuse."
"You have so much the less right," said Don Luis, "in that thetransaction excludes you altogether. Your father's wishes affectFrancois and Stephane directly. So we are agreed. There remains theGod-Stone; and I repeat my question. What are we to do with it? To whomdoes it belong?"
"To you," said Veronique, definitely.
"To me?"
"Yes, to you. You discovered it and you have given it a realsignification."
"I must remind you," said Don Luis, "that this block of stone possesses,beyond a doubt, an incalculable value. However great the miracleswrought by nature may be, it is only through a wonderful concourse ofcircumstances that she was able to perform the miracle of collecting somuch precious matter in so small a volume. There are treasures andtreasures there."
"So much the better," said Veronique, "you will be able to make a betteruse of them than any one else."
Don Luis thought for a moment and added:
"You are quite right; and I confess that I prepared for this climax.First, because my right to the God-Stone seemed to me to be proved byadequate titles of ownership; and, next, because I have need of thatblock of stone. Yes, upon my word, the tombstone of the Kings of Bohemiahas not exhausted its magic power; there are plenty of nations left onwhom that power might produce as great an effect as on our ancestors theGauls; and, as it happens, I am tackling a formidable undertaking inwhich an assistance of this kind will be invaluable to me. In a fewyears, when my task is completed, I will bring the God-Stone back toFrance and present it to a national laboratory which I intend to found.In this way science will purge any evil that the God-Stone may have doneand the horrible adventure of Sarek will be atoned for. Do you approve,madame?"
She gave him her hand:
"With all my heart."
There was a fairly long pause. Then Don Luis said:
"Ah, yes, a horrible adventure, too terrible for words. I have had somegruesome adventures in my life which have left painful memories behindthem
. But this outdoes them all. It exceeds anything that is possible inreality or human in suffering. It was so excessively logical as tobecome illogical; and this because it was the act of a madman . . . andalso because it came to pass at a season of madness and bewilderment. Itwas the war which facilitated the safe silent committal of an obscurecrime prepared and executed by a monster. In times of peace, monstershave not the time to realize their stupid dreams. To-day, in thatsolitary island, this particular monster found special, abnormalconditions . . ."
"Please don't let us talk about all this," murmured Veronique, in atrembling voice.
Don Luis kissed her hand and then took All's Well and lifted him in hisarms:
"You're right. Don't let's talk about it, or else tears would come andAll's Well would be sad. Therefore, All's Well, my delightful All'sWell, let us talk no more of the dreadful adventure. But all the samelet us recall certain episodes which were beautiful and picturesque. Forinstance, Maguennoc's garden with the gigantic flowers; you willremember it as I shall, won't you, All's Well? And the legend of theGod-Stone, the idyll of the Celtic tribes wandering with the memorialstone of their kings, the stone all vibrant with radium, emitting anincessant bombardment of vivifying and miraculous atoms; all that, All'sWell, possesses a certain charm, doesn't it? Only, my most exquisiteAll's Well, if I were a novelist and if it were my duty to tell thestory of Coffin Island, I should not trouble too much about the horridtruth and I should give you a much more important part. I should do awaywith the intervention of that phrase-mongering humbug of a Don Luis andyou would be the fearless and silent rescuer. You would fight theabominable monster, you would thwart his machinations and, in the end,you, with your marvellous instinct, would punish vice and make virtuetriumph. And it would be much better so, because none would be morecapable than you, my delightful All's Well, of demonstrating by athousand proofs, each more convincing than the other, that in this lifeof ours all things come right and all's well."
THE END