Maurice Leblanc - The Secret of Sarek

He was becoming more and more declamatory, more and more of the emphatic and pompous play-actor.

He bent towards Veronique:

"Will you be a queen, an empress, and soar above[Pg 210] other women even as Vorski will dominate other men? Queen by right of gold and power even as you are already queen by right of beauty? Will you?… Vorski's slave, but mistress of all those over whom Vorski holds sway? Will you?… Understand me clearly; it is not a question of your making a single decision; you have to choose between two. There is, mark you, the alternative to your refusal. Either the kingdom which I am offering, or else…"

He paused and then, in a grating tone, completed his sentence:

"Or else the cross!"

Veronique shuddered. The dreadful word, the dreadful thing appeared once more. And she now knew the name of the unknown executioner!

"The cross!" he repeated, with an atrocious smile of content. "It is for you to choose. On the one hand all the joys and honours of life. On the other hand, death by the most barbarous torture. Choose. There is nothing between the two alternatives. You must select one or the other. And observe that there is no unnecessary cruelty on my part, no vain ostentation of authority. I am only the instrument. The order comes from a higher power than mine, it comes from destiny. For the divine will to be accomplished, Veronique d'Hergemont must die and die on the cross. This is explicitly stated. There is no remedy against fate. There is no remedy unless one is Vorski and, like Vorski, is capable of every audacity, of every form of cunning. If Vorski was able, in the forest of Fontainebleau, to substitute a sham Vorski for the real one, if Vorski thus succeeded in escaping the[Pg 211] fate which condemned him, from his childhood, to die by the knife of a friend, he can certainly discover some stratagem by which the divine will is accomplished, while the woman he loves is left alive. But in that case she will have to submit. I offer safety to my bride or death to my foe. Which are you, my foe or my bride? Which do you choose? Life by my side, with all the joys and honours of life… or death?"

"Death," Veronique replied, simply.

He made a threatening gesture:

"It is more than death. It is torture. Which do you choose?"

"Torture."

He insisted, malevolently:

"But you are not alone! Pause to reflect! There is your son. When you are gone, he will remain. In dying, you leave an orphan behind you. Worse than that; in dying, you bequeath him to me. I am his father. I possess full rights. Which do you choose?"

"Death," she said, once more.

He became incensed:

"Death for you, very well. But suppose it means death for him? Suppose I bring him here, before you, your Francois, and put the knife to his throat and ask you for the last time, what will your answer be?"

Veronique closed her eyes. Never before had she suffered so intensely, and Vorski had certainly found the vulnerable spot. Nevertheless she murmured:

"I wish to die."

Vorski flew into a rage, and, resorting straight[Pg 212]way to insults, throwing politeness and courtesy to the winds, he shouted:

"Oh, the hussy, how she must hate me! Anything, anything, she accepts anything, even the death of her beloved son, rather than yield to me! A mother killing her son! For that's what it is; you're killing your son, so as not to belong to me. You are depriving him of his life, so as not to sacrifice yours to me. Oh, what hatred! No, no, it is impossible. I don't believe in such hatred. Hatred has its limits. A mother like you! No, no, there's something else… some love-affair, perhaps? No, no, Veronique's not in love… What then? My pity, a weakness on my part? Oh, how little you know me! Vorski show pity! Vorski show weakness! Why, you've seen me at work! Did I flinch in the performance of my terrible mission? Was Sarek not devastated as it was written? Were the boats not sunk and the people not drowned? Were the sisters Archignat not nailed to the ancient oak-trees? I, I flinch! Listen, when I was a child, with these two hands of mine I wrung the necks of dogs and birds, with these two hands I flayed goats alive and plucked the live chickens in the poultry-yard. Pity indeed! Do you know what my mother called me? Attila! And, when she was mystically inspired and read the future in these hands of mine or on the tarot-cards, 'Attila Vorski,' that great seer would say, 'you shall be the instrument of Providence. You shall be the sharp edge of the blade, the point of the dagger, the bullet in the rifle, the noose in the rope. Scourge of God! Scourge of God, your name is written at full length in the books of time! It blazes among the stars[Pg 213] that shone at your birth. Scourge of God! Scourge of God!' And you, you hope that my eyes will be wet with tears? Nonsense! Does the hangman weep? It is the weak who weep, those who fear lest they be punished, lest their crimes be turned against themselves. But I, I! Our ancestors feared but one thing, that the sky should fall upon their heads. What have I to fear? I am God's accomplice! He has chosen me among all men. It is God that has inspired me, the God of the fatherland, the old German God, for whom good and evil do not count where the greatness of his sons is at stake. The spirit of evil is within me. I love evil, I thirst after evil. So you shall die, Veronique, and I shall laugh when I see you suffering on the cross!"

He was already laughing. He walked with great strides, stamping noisily on the floor. He lifted his arms to the ceiling; and Veronique, quivering with anguish, saw the red frenzy in his bloodshot eyes.

He took a few more steps and then came up to her and, in a restrained voice, snarling with menace:

"On your knees, Veronique, and beseech my love! It alone can save you. Vorski knows neither pity nor fear. But he loves you; and his love will stop at nothing. Take advantage of it, Veronique. Appeal to the past. Become the child that you once were; and perhaps one day I shall drag myself at your feet. Veronique, do not repel me; a man like me is not to be repelled. One who loves as I love you, Veronique, as I love you, is not to be defied."

She suppressed a cry. She felt his hated hands on her bare arms. She tried to release herself; but[Pg 214] he, much stronger than she, did not let go and continued, in a panting voice:

"Do not repel me… it is absurd… it is madness… You must know that I am capable of anything… Well?… The cross is horrible… To see your son dying before your eyes; is that what you want?… Accept the inevitable. Vorski will save you. Vorski will give you the most beautiful life… Oh, how you hate me! But no matter: I accept your hatred, I love your hatred, I love your disdainful mouth… I love it more than if it offered itself of its own accord…"

He ceased speaking. An implacable struggle took place between them. Veronique's arms vainly resisted his closer and closer grip. Her strength was failing her; she felt helpless, doomed to defeat. Her knees gave way beneath her. Opposite her and quite close, Vorski's eyes seemed filled with blood; and she was breathing the monster's breath.

Then, in her terror, she bit him with all her might; and, profiting by a second of discomfiture, she released herself with one great effort, leapt back, drew her revolver, and fired once and again.

The two bullets whistled past Vorski's ears and sent fragments flying from the wall behind him. She had fired too quickly, at random.

"Oh, the jade!" he roared. "She nearly did for me."

In a second he had his arms round her body and, with an irresistible effort, bent her backwards, turned her round and laid her on a sofa. Then he took a cord from his pocket and bound her firmly and brutally.

There was a moment's respite and silence.[Pg 215] Vorski wiped the perspiration from his forehead, filled himself a tumbler of wine and drank it down at a gulp.