Read Online The Orphan's Tale by Anne Shaughnessy - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Shaughnessy
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M. l'Inspecteur!" The man answered, and Larouche whistled soundlessly. An Inspector, eh? he thought. Well, well, well!
He followed at a distance, watching the way the man walked, noticing where he turned his gaze. A very proud man, he was convinced of it. It showed in the way he moved, in the way he held himself. Like most tall, strong men, he probably had an acute dislike of appearing ridiculous.
Well, he'd see about that! There were ways to even a score, and this was one that certainly needed to be evened. He had an idea...
The man had stopped walking now. He was quite alone, away from the other strollers, standing under a beech tree and looking toward the eastern horizon. The lights of Paris lay below them like a galaxy. The night sky glittered above them, and the two seemed to merge, until Larouche felt for one dizzy moment as though he had stepped off the earth and was gazing out into an infinity of stars. It was a magnificent view, and the man was leaning back against the tree and surveying the city as though he owned it.
Larouche smiled to himself. Well, well, well, he thought again. We'll see about that!
The man removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and then shook his head in the evening wind. Larouche caught the sense of a burden being set aside for the moment.
Larouche could see that he was tired; as he watched, the man drew a deep breath, held it a moment, and then released it. He relaxed against the tree and looked down at Paris again with a smile. He did not put his hat back on.
Larouche eyed the hat and grinned to himself.
He jammed his cold hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the evening's chill, and descended the heights. He found a cab just departing, swung onto the back, and waved jauntily to a couple of strollers who had seen him and were pointing.
VIII
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
" Well, and if it isn't the Dauphin himself!" said Henri Lanusse with a gap-toothed grin the next morning. "Come on in!"
Malet smiled grimly and closed the door behind him. He was in the Conciergerie once more, in one of its miserably small cells, gazing upon the prisoner who stood before him with eyes that tallied the years' changes.
Lanusse looked him over with almost proprietary pride. "And how long has it been since anyone called you that?" he asked.
Malet's eyes flickered but he answered evenly as he turned Lanusse and untied the ropes about his wrists. "Since the month of January in the year 1803. Just before I left that accursed prison. There, you're free. Sit down."
" Thirty years, then," said Lanusse, rubbing his wrists. "Almost thirty-one. I remember how stunned we all were when Cheat-Death's hand-picked successor marched out of the prison gates and straight to the Prefect of Police for the Bouches-du-Rhone Departement and enrolled as a Constable."
" You were a pack of fools, then, if you were that astonished," said Malet. "I gave all of you plenty of warning over the years you knew me, and if Cheat-Death thought I was in the least grateful to him for his teaching, then he was a gull as well as a filthy murderer. I told him to his face that I'd turn on him when I got free, just before I left."
Lanusse shook his head. "The shock killed him untimely-"
Malet snorted. "The man was in his eighties," he said. "He had a full life of crime behind him."
" Untimely," said Lanusse. "He never recovered from it. I can remember him peering ahead of him like he was staring at a ghost and saying over and over again, 'Betrayed! Betrayed!' In that grating old croak of his."
Malet was unmoved. "He led a long, fruitful life of betrayal and murder," he said. "How many times did he tell me never to take anyone for granted? And yet he never thought to look askance at me."
" Maybe he loved you," said Lanusse.
Malet cocked a scornful eye at him. "He loved no one but himself, and nothing but power, and he hated everything else." he said. "He was smart enough to realize that he wouldn't live
He followed at a distance, watching the way the man walked, noticing where he turned his gaze. A very proud man, he was convinced of it. It showed in the way he moved, in the way he held himself. Like most tall, strong men, he probably had an acute dislike of appearing ridiculous.
Well, he'd see about that! There were ways to even a score, and this was one that certainly needed to be evened. He had an idea...
The man had stopped walking now. He was quite alone, away from the other strollers, standing under a beech tree and looking toward the eastern horizon. The lights of Paris lay below them like a galaxy. The night sky glittered above them, and the two seemed to merge, until Larouche felt for one dizzy moment as though he had stepped off the earth and was gazing out into an infinity of stars. It was a magnificent view, and the man was leaning back against the tree and surveying the city as though he owned it.
Larouche smiled to himself. Well, well, well, he thought again. We'll see about that!
The man removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and then shook his head in the evening wind. Larouche caught the sense of a burden being set aside for the moment.
Larouche could see that he was tired; as he watched, the man drew a deep breath, held it a moment, and then released it. He relaxed against the tree and looked down at Paris again with a smile. He did not put his hat back on.
Larouche eyed the hat and grinned to himself.
He jammed his cold hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the evening's chill, and descended the heights. He found a cab just departing, swung onto the back, and waved jauntily to a couple of strollers who had seen him and were pointing.
VIII
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
" Well, and if it isn't the Dauphin himself!" said Henri Lanusse with a gap-toothed grin the next morning. "Come on in!"
Malet smiled grimly and closed the door behind him. He was in the Conciergerie once more, in one of its miserably small cells, gazing upon the prisoner who stood before him with eyes that tallied the years' changes.
Lanusse looked him over with almost proprietary pride. "And how long has it been since anyone called you that?" he asked.
Malet's eyes flickered but he answered evenly as he turned Lanusse and untied the ropes about his wrists. "Since the month of January in the year 1803. Just before I left that accursed prison. There, you're free. Sit down."
" Thirty years, then," said Lanusse, rubbing his wrists. "Almost thirty-one. I remember how stunned we all were when Cheat-Death's hand-picked successor marched out of the prison gates and straight to the Prefect of Police for the Bouches-du-Rhone Departement and enrolled as a Constable."
" You were a pack of fools, then, if you were that astonished," said Malet. "I gave all of you plenty of warning over the years you knew me, and if Cheat-Death thought I was in the least grateful to him for his teaching, then he was a gull as well as a filthy murderer. I told him to his face that I'd turn on him when I got free, just before I left."
Lanusse shook his head. "The shock killed him untimely-"
Malet snorted. "The man was in his eighties," he said. "He had a full life of crime behind him."
" Untimely," said Lanusse. "He never recovered from it. I can remember him peering ahead of him like he was staring at a ghost and saying over and over again, 'Betrayed! Betrayed!' In that grating old croak of his."
Malet was unmoved. "He led a long, fruitful life of betrayal and murder," he said. "How many times did he tell me never to take anyone for granted? And yet he never thought to look askance at me."
" Maybe he loved you," said Lanusse.
Malet cocked a scornful eye at him. "He loved no one but himself, and nothing but power, and he hated everything else." he said. "He was smart enough to realize that he wouldn't live
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