"Who knows whether this shall ever be?" sighed Louis. "How shall I be able to establish my identity if I die and am buried twice? Who will be my pledge that I shall be able to convince men that I am not a deceiver, and that my whole existence is not an idle tale? There are only a few who know and believe that little Capet escaped from the Temple, and went to Egypt as Kleber's adjutant. If, now, these few learn that the adjutant fell in battle, if the paper that testifies to his death is laid before them, how shall I subsequently be believed if I announce that I am alive, and that I am the one for whom I give myself out? The seal of royalty is impressed on no man's brow, and we know from history that there have been false pretenders."
"You shall show with your papers that you are none such," said Fouche, eagerly, "and God will grant that I, too, shall be living when the time shall be in which you may come forward with raised voice and demand your inheritance and your throne. Hope for that time, and meanwhile preserve your papers well. Carry them always with you, part with them neither day nor night, for in these papers rest your future and your c rown. No other man besides yourself can take care of them These papers are worth more to you than a million of fras, although oven that should not be scorned. Here are the documents that give you possession of your wealth. I have deposited your funds in the Bank of France, and you can draw out money at any time by presenting these checks that I give you, simply writing your name upon them."
"By simply writing my name upon them!" cried Louis, bitterly. "But, sir, what is my name? How shall I be called? I was formerly designated as the nephew of Kleber, Colonel Louis, the adjutant of Desaix. But Colonel Louis can no longer acknowledge that he is alive, and you propose to convince the First Consul that the nephew of Kleber is dead. Who, then, am I? What name shall I subscribe to those papers? By what name shall the nameless, the dead and buried, the resurrected, the again dead and buried one--by what name shall he draw money from the bank?"
"Very true," said Fouche. "A name, or rather the mask of a citizen's or nobleman's name, must be your disguise, and it is imperatively necessary that we give you such, and provide you with papers that cannot be forged, which shall prove your existence, and secure you against every assault."
"Very good; then tell me how I shall be called," said Louis, sadly.
"Be the godfather of the solitary and nameless."
"Well, I will," cried Fouche. "In the glamour of political passions I have raised my voice against the life of your father; full of regret I will raise my voice for the life of the son, and assist him to enter afresh upon life and into the society of men. Young man, I will give you a name and rank, till the French nation restore to you your true name and rank. You shall henceforth be called the Baron de Richemont. Will you accept it?"
"Yes, I will accept it," said Louis, gently. "To be the Baron de Richemont is better than to be a dead and buried person without any name."
"Very good, my lord baron," cried Fouche, "I will have the necessary certificates and papers made out, and enter your property in the Bank of France under the name of the Baron de Richemont. If you please, come to-morrow to me, and I will deliver to you the papers of Monsieur de Richemont."
"I shall come, be sure of that," said Louis, giving him his hand;
"it seems to me my fate to go incognito through life, and God alone knows whether I shall ever abandon this incognito."
He saluted Fouche with a sad smile, and went out. The minister listened to the resounding footstep, and then broke out into loud, mocking laughter.
"Foolish boy!" he said, raising his hand threateningly, "foolish boy! You suppose that only God knows whether you will ever come out of your incognito. You mistake--besides God, Fouche knows it. Yes, Fouche knows that this incognito extends over you like a net, from which you never will escape. No, the Baron de Richemont shall never be transformed into King Louis XVII. But he shall be an instrument with which I will hold in check this ambitious Consul Bonaparte, who is striving; for the throne, and this grasping Count de Lille, who in his exile calls himself King Louis XVIII.--the instrument with which I threaten when I am threatened. Only, my little Baron de Richemont, I do not know what I can make out of you, but I know that you shall make out of me a rich, dangerous, and dreaded man. Poor, credulous fool! How easily you fall into the piti The Baron de Richemont shall never escape from it. I vouch for it--I, Fouche!"
