The Prisoner in the Mask Page 9

  Madeleine’s brown eyes grew round. ‘Not the Count de Quesnoy?’

  ‘Yes. You do know him then?’

  ‘No, but I saw him one Sunday just before I left for Algeria. It was at the christening of Sophie de Lazun’s new baby. I was so intrigued by his face that I asked who he was.’

  Angela nodded. ‘He is certainly very striking looking; and he was there. That was the Sunday in September that he lunched here. I remember his telling us that he had just come on from the Lazun christening.’

  Suddenly Madeleine took Angela’s hand, and said to her earnestly: ‘Listen, little one. If this man wishes to become your lover you are crazy to reject him. He is young, handsome, wealthy, debonair, and as the future Duke de Richleau one of the greatest nobles in all France. What more could any woman wish for?’

  ‘For a kind heart and generous understanding.’

  ‘Oh, be sensible, I beg!’ Madeleine protested. ‘In this stupid business about dolls’ houses you have imagined an insult where none was intended. At worst it was an ill-timed jest. Forget it, my pet. Most women would give their eyes to have a rendezvous with such a Prince Charming. Keep it yourself. Have no fears about letting him make love to you. Give yourself to him willingly and whole-heartedly. You are so lovely that if you do that he will want you again and again and become your faithful slave. Do as I advise, chérie, and I swear to you that you will never regret it.’

  ‘I once thought him a Prince Charming, but I was wrong,’ Angela said with a shake of her head. ‘He is a conceited, cynical young rake, and he badly needs a lesson.’

  ‘Very well, then.’ Madeleine shrugged. ‘Since you are determined upon it I will call for your furs and the box tomorrow evening; then later I’ll return and let you know how he receives your present.’

  The rendez-vous was for eight o’clock. At seven-thirty Madeleine arrived at the Rue de Lisbonne in a plain carriage. She was already heavily veiled, and having collected Angela’s sables she set off again with the doll’s bedroom under her arm. Angela expected her back about eight-thirty, or soon afterwards, and had ordered a light meal for them both at nine. The hour came but Madeleine had not yet returned. After waiting another half-hour Angela had her dinner. She was now becoming seriously perturbed. It seemed hardly likely that de Quesnoy would have used violence against her supposed maid, but it was possible that his anger had led him forcibly to detain her as a means of getting his own back, knowing that by doing so he would cause her mistress to worry about her. But soon after ten Angela’s fears were allayed. A footman brought her a note that had just arrived by hand. On opening it she saw scrawled in Madeleine’s hand on a single sheet of flimsy:

  I do hope that you have not been too anxious about me darling. I am quite all right but could not get away at once. As it is getting late now I won’t come round to you tonight; but I’ll call after Church tomorrow and tell you everything.

  Much relieved, Angela went to bed. Next morning she could hardly contain her impatience to hear if de Quesnoy had really forced her friend to stay with him for a couple of hours, or if there was some other explanation. As soon as Madeleine was closeted with her in her boudoir, she exclaimed:

  ‘I can’t wait another moment to hear what happened. Was he terribly angry?’

  ‘No; more surprised than angry, I think,’ Madeleine replied slowly. ‘Anyhow, things did not go at all as I expected.’

  ‘Go on! Tell me, do,’ Angela urged.

  ‘Well, he took me for you to start with. Immediately I was shown into the room he gave an exclamation of delight and came forward to kiss my hand. I held out the box to him and said in a low voice, imitating your English accent as well as I could: “I have brought you a present. Please open it while I warm my hands at the fire.”

  ‘He looked a little taken aback, but took the box and began to tear off its wrappings. As I expected, the room was a very pleasant one, and over the marble mantelpiece there was a big gilt-framed mirror. As I held my hands to the fire I had my back turned to him but was able to watch his face in the glass.

  ‘When he opened the box he said: “What a charming thought. But why this strange message when you have brought me your sweet self?”

  ‘I threw the bomb then by saying: “Monsieur, I am Madame Syveton’s maid Lucille. My mistress ordered me to bring you that box as a reminder of something you said to her when she was staying in your father’s house.”

  ‘At that moment there was a knock on the door. He called “Entrez” and the waiter came in to ask how soon we wished to begin dinner. To the man he said: “Jules, have you any young children?”

  ‘ “No, Monsieur le Comte,” replied the waiter. “But I have two little granddaughters aged seven and nine.”

  ‘At that de Quesnoy gave rather a bitter laugh and exclaimed: “The very thing. Here; catch!” Then he threw the box at him and added: “There are some toys that may amuse them. Go now, I will ring for you about dinner later.”

  ‘When the waiter had backed out, stammering his thanks, the Count turned back to me and said in a hard voice: “And now, Mademoiselle, I hope you appreciate that by having undertaken to play this shabby trick for your mistress you have placed yourself in a very unenviable position?”

  ‘Those upslanting eyebrows of his make him look quite terrifying when he frowns, and before I could pluck up the courage to reply he went on: “You have come here under false pretences. Why should I not take advantage of that fact to teach you and your mistress that I am not the sort of man who can be made a fool of with impunity. I have a mind to call in the police, say you are a girl that I picked up this afternoon and made an assignation with here this evening, and that I now identify those fine furs you are wearing as Madame Syveton’s. You would then spend the night in jail, and your perfidious mistress would find herself landed with a pretty scandal before she could get you out again”.’

  ‘Oh, the brute!’ Angela exclaimed. ‘How awful for you! It never entered my mind that I might place you in such a frightful situation.’

  Madeleine made a grimace. ‘I suppose if I had given the police my right name and sworn that I had borrowed the furs to play a joke upon him without your knowledge they might have believed me. But they wouldn’t have accepted that from Lucille; and I warned you that if he proved vindictive he might make things unpleasant for her. I never thought for a moment, though, that he would think up such a devilish scheme for being revenged upon you both.’

  ‘I must have been mad to ever have thought of sending Lucille. But you, my poor Madeleine! What … whatever did you do?’

  ‘I faltered out: “Oh please, please, Monsieur le Comte, don’t do that. I can understand how disappointed you must be, but surely a great gentleman like yourself will not make a servant pay for having obeyed her mistress’s orders?”

  ‘At that, to my immense relief, his whole face changed, and he burst out laughing: “Of course not,” he said, giving me a smack on the behind. “I would never dream of such a thing. By frightening you for a moment I have punished you enough. As for your mistress, tell her how by having you arrested I could easily have made her the laughing stock of Paris. It should prove a lesson to her. But I am not one to make war on women.”

  ‘While he had been threatening me those grey eyes of his had been hard as agates, and had it not been for my thick veil I really think I should have fainted; but as I stammered my thanks they became quite kind and for some reason he seemed rather amused. After a moment, he said to me:

  ‘ “And now Lucille, because your mistress has disappionted me, I have no intention of spending a miserable evening on my own. Since you deliberately impersonated her on your arrival here you cannot reasonably object to continuing to deputise for her”.’

  ‘He didn’t!’ Angela’s well-marked eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, the wretch! Fancy his making such a suggestion to a girl he thought to be my maid. Did I not tell you that he was a heartless, cynical roué?’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘I jumped to the conclusion tha
t he meant that too; but I was wrong. As soon as I began to protest that I was a good girl and wished to go to my husband with a clear conscience when I married, he checked me with a gesture of his hand and cried:

  ‘ “Please! Please! I had no intention of making an assault on your virtue. My idea was only that over a meal we should entertain one another; you by telling me of your life as a lady’s-maid, and I by telling you about mine as soldier”.’

  ‘What an extraordinary suggestion.’

  ‘Perhaps; although, after all, there is no reason why two people of different stations in life should not find interest in exchanging ideas. But, of course, having thanked him, I refused. I said that I must get back to you, and begged his leave to set off there and then. He wouldn’t let me though. He said very firmly:

  ‘ “No, Lucille, Madame Syveton can look after herself tonight for once. You are going to spend the evening with me. But since you are a respectable girl this is no place in which to give you dinner. We will go out and dine in public. And I would like this to be a treat for you that you will remember. I will take you to one of the best restaurants. Come now, make your choice. Which shall it be? Lapérouse, Maxims, the Café de Paris?”’

  ‘He said that! He wanted to take a lady’s-maid to one of those places. He must be crazy.’

  ‘A little eccentric, perhaps, and very self-willed; no more. But you see how embarrassing I found his invitation.’

  ‘Of course. You could not have eaten without removing your veil. It is certain someone would have recognised you; and it would have been all over Paris by this morning.’

  ‘Exactly. So I did my best to appear grateful, then tried to put him off by saying: “Alas, I am much too plain to do Monsieur le Comte any credit; and even if I were better looking I would not like to take advantage of his kindness. Some friends of Madame’s might recognise me and for a gentleman to be seen dining with a servant would do him great discredit.”

  ‘At that he looked down his beak of a nose at me and said sharply: “A man in my position does not have to pay regard to the opinion of others upon whom he chooses to take out to dinner. As for your looks I do not care a button, as I wish only to talk to you”.’

  Madeleine spread out her hands in a little helpless gesture. ‘What was I to do? To dine with a man in a private room is one thing. All of us, except you my pet, do so now and then, and our husbands know it. But to dine alone with a man in a public restaurant is a very different matter. Socially it would have been the end of me. The only thing I could do was to say: “Since you insist on giving me dinner and your intentions are honourable, let us stay here. It is warm and comfortable, and I would prefer it to going out”.’

  ‘And then?’ asked Angela a little breathlessly.

  ‘Why then, of course, he helped me out of your furs and I had to take off my veil.’ Madeleine laughed suddenly. ‘When I turned round and faced him he got quite a surprise.’

  ‘So I imagine.’

  ‘After one look at me, he cried: “But you are enchanting! What in the world led you to tell me that your looks would do me no credit? Any man would be proud to be seen with you anywhere.” Then as his glance ran over me again he went on: “Wait though, there is another mystery here! No lady’s-maid has her hair tended with the care that has been given to yours; and your hands are not those of a servant. Damn it, I have seen you somewhere before too! Where can it have been? Ah yes! I have it. I saw you in September, at the christening of Madame de Lazun’s infant”.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! So he found you out after all.’

  ‘Yes.’ Madeleine nodded. ‘After that there would have been no sense in my trying to pretend any longer. I told him my name and the whole story; then begged him to forgive me for the part I had played, and that he would not put either of us to shame by telling his friends about it. He gave me his solemn promise and rang for the waiter. By then he was in marvellous spirits. When the man came he slapped him on the back and cried: “Get the hot spoons for the pâté, Jules! Open the champagne! This is Mademoiselle Lucille, the loveliest lady’s-maid in Paris, and we are going to have a jolly evening”.’

  Just a shade sourly, Angela said: ‘I see; so that is why you couldn’t get back right away. Still, ten o’clock is not very late, so you might have come round to see me then before going home.’

  ‘My pet, I do not want to lose your friendship;’ Madeleine said with sudden seriousness, ‘and I can only hope to keep it by telling you the truth now; for you would find out later if I didn’t. Knowing you would be worried about me I wrote that note after dinner and sent it to you from the Ambassadeurs.’

  Angela’s mouth fell slightly open. ‘You … you don’t mean that you stayed on there with him?’

  Madeleine nodded and her eyes were shining. ‘You made it clear that you didn’t want him; so you can’t blame me. Oh, chérie, what you have missed I cannot tell you! He is so strong and yet so gentle. So bright, so passionate, so tender. A man that any woman could die for. I did not get home till five o’clock this morning. And he is mine now. Mine! Mine! Mine! ’

  8

  THE SPY?

  Five weeks before the Marquise de Frontignac became de Quesnoy’s mistress he first heard the name of Alfred Dreyfus—a name that was to ring round the world, provoke for over ten years the most bitter controversy in every strata of French society and, in the not very distant future, have a most unexpected effect on the young Count’s own career.

  On November 1st, 1894, the Libre Parole had carried a headline: ‘High Treason, Arrest of Jewish Officer’, and it was from this that the officer cadets—and all but four members of Premier Dupuy’s Cabinet—heard that War Office secrets had been betrayed, although Captain Dreyfus had been under arrest in the Cherche-Midi prison for a fortnight.

  From the welter of lies, contradictions and honest misunderstandings which for years befuddled the minds of all but the very few who knew the inside story, there at last emerged the following facts about the origins of the case.

  After 1870 the War Office had been reorganised into four Bureaux. First, Administration; Second, Intelligence; Third, Operations and Training; Fourth, Movements and Railways; and before qualifying for the General Staff candidates had to do six months as a learner with each branch.

  Dreyfus was an Artillery officer. He had passed well out of the Ecole Supérieur de Guerre and in January ’93 been seconded as a staff learner to the War Office. He had already done his six months with the First, Fourth and Second Bureaux, and was attached to the Third when fate overtook him.

  At this period new weapons and methods of waging war were being developed far more rapidly than had ever before been the case; so in ’76 it was decided to establish a special department to deal with espionage and counter-espionage. This department was given the cover name of the Statistical Section. It was not affiliated to any of the Bureaux, its officers were unidentifiable on the War Office list and communicated only with the Chief of Staff or Assistant Chief. These, at the time of Dreyfus’s arrest, were General de Boisdeffre and General Gonse.

  The Statistical Section consisted of five officers and a filing clerk. Colonel Sandherr was its chief, and the only one of his assistants who played a leading part in the affair was a Major Henry. The latter had been promoted from the ranks for having shown great bravery and resource in the North African and Tonkinese wars. As he came from a peasant family his education was limited, but he had the cunning of his caste coupled with a fanatical devotion to the Army, which had been the means of raising him above it.

  Both the German Military attaché, Colonel von Schwartzkoppen, and the Italian, Colonel Panizzardi, were believed to be operating spy rings under the diplomatic immunity of their Embassies. To keep a check on their activities, Sandherr was paying certain of their servants, among them a charwoman who worked in the Germany Embassy, and her contribution was to empty the contents of Colonel Schwartzkoppen’s waste-paper basket into a sack which she periodically passed on to Major Henry.


  By piecing these torn papers together Henry had, as far back as December ’92, established the fact that someone was selling Schwartzkoppen plans of France’s fortifications on both her Eastern and Alpine frontiers. The later were being passed on by him to his Italian colleague, and one intercepted letter contained the phrase ‘Here are twelve large-scale plans of Nice, which that scum D. has handed to me for you.’

  A little over a year later another torn paper revealed that Schwartzkoppen had got into touch with someone more important than ‘ce canialle de D.’ and an attaché at the Spanish Embassy dropped a hint that an officer actually in the War Office was selling information to a foreign power. But it was not until September ’94 that the Statistical Section succeeded in getting hold of anything which might lead to the identification of the traitor.

  When it did turn up this further torn document—always afterwards referred to as the ‘bordereau’—consisted of a list of five documents which the writer said he was leaving at the German Embassy for Colonel Schwartzkoppen’s perusal. The morning after Henry had pasted the bits together he showed it to his colleagues, and to his chief, who took it to General Gonse, via whom it was taken to the Minister for War, General Mercier. All who saw it were definitely of the opinion that it must have emanated from an officer employed in the War Office ‘because it used the language of the house’.

  The documents listed in the bordereau implied that it had been compiled by a gunner; so after it had been circulated to all chiefs of the Bureaux, and all of them had failed to recognise the writing, the artillery officers attached to the War Office came under special scrutiny. On October 6th Lt. Colonel d’Aboville of the Fourth Bureau helped his chief, Colonel Fabre, to reexamine the writing of five Gunner Captains and they decided that Dreyfus might have written it. On this being suggested to Sandherr, he slapped his forehead and exclaimed: ‘I ought to have thought of that.’