The Confusion

Lothar had been born in 1630, the third son of that family. None of those boys had attended school. They had been raised within the household, and educated by tutors-some hired, others simply members of the family who possessed knowledge, and a willingness to impart it. Egon von Hacklheber, a man of exceptional erudition, who had traveled widely, had devoted an hour or two each day to educating the three von Hacklheber boys. Lothar had been his brightest pupil; for, being the youngest, he had to work hardest to keep up with his brothers.

If you have done the arithmetic, you’ll know that Lothar was in his early twenties when Egon departed on his fatal journey. By that time, dark days had fallen on that family, for smallpox had burned through Leipzig, taken the lives of the two older boys, and left Lothar-now the scion-mutilated as you have seen him. The death of his uncle Egon perfected Lothar’s misery.

Much later-rather recently, in fact-I became aware that Lothar maintains some peculiar notions as to what “really” happened. Lothar believes that Egon knew Alchemy-that he was, in fact, an adept of such power that he could heal the gravest illnesses, and even raise the dead. Yet he would not, or could not, save the lives of Lothar’s two brothers, whom he loved almost as if they were his own sons. Egon had departed from Leipzig with a broken heart, with no intention of ever coming back. His death in the Harz might have been suicide. Or-again this is all according to the eccentric notions of Lothar-it might have been faked, to hide his own unnatural longevity.

I believe that Lothar is simply out of his mind concerning this. The death of his brothers made him crazy in certain respects. Be that as it may, he believes in Alchemy, and phant’sies that if Egon had stayed in Leipzig a few years longer he might have imparted to Lothar the secrets of Creation. Lothar has not ceased to pursue those secrets himself, by his own methods, in the thirty-some years since.

Now, as to the infamous Duchess of Oyonnax-

“I LEFT INSTRUCTIONS NOT to be disturbed.”

“Please forgive me, mademoiselle,” said the big Dutchwoman, in passable French, “but it is Madame la duchesse d’Oyonnax, and she will not be put off.”

“Then I do forgive you, Brigitte, for she is a difficult case; I shall meet her presently and finish reading this letter later.”

“By your leave, you shall have to finish it tomorrow, mademoiselle; for the guests arrive in a few hours, and we have not even begun with your hair yet.”

“Very well-tomorrow then.”

“Where shall I invite Madame la duchesse to wait for you?”

“The Petit Salon. Unless-”

“Madame la duchesse d’Arcachon is entertaining her cousine, the big one, in there.”

“The library then.”

“Monsieur Rossignol is toiling over some eldritch Documents in the library, my lady.”

Eliza took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Tell me, then, Brigitte, where there might be a room in the Hotel Arcachon that is not crowded with early-arriving party-guests.”

“Could you meet her in…the chapel?”

“Done! Give me a minute. And, Brigitte?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Is there any word of Monsieur le duc yet?”

“Not since the last time you asked, mademoiselle.”

“THE JACHT OF THE DUC d’Arcachon was sighted approaching Marseille on the sixth of October. It was flying signal-flags ordering that fast horses and a coach must be made ready at dockside for immediate departure. That much we know from a messenger who was sent north immediately when everything I have just described to you was perceived, through a prospective-glass, from a steeple in Marseille,” Eliza said. “This news came to us early this morning. We can only assume that le duc himself is a few hours behind, and will show up at any moment; but it is not to be expected that anyone in this household could know any more than that.”

“Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain will be disappointed,” said the Duchess of Oyonnax in a bemused way. She nodded at a page, who bowed, backed out of the chapel, then pivoted on the ball of one foot and bolted. Eliza, comtesse de la Zeur, and Marie-Adelaide de Crepy, duchesse d’Oyonnax, were now alone in the private chapel of the de Lavardacs. Though Oyonnax, never one to leave anything to chance, took the precaution of opening the doors of the little confessional in the back, to verify that it was empty.