"But you haven't laid your money down."
"I've told you I've nothing but gold, I'll change it when I've lost some hundreds."
They commenced to play. Chaudoreille's face was animated, his eyes were shining, and seemed as if they would leave their orbits to look at his adversary's play.
"These cards are not new," said Marcel, "they are all stained or marked."
"That's because they've been so much used apparently. I leave it to you," said Chaudoreille, looking carefully at the backs of the cards which were at the bottom of the pack.
"Hang it! you've made me a pretty present; there, these are the seven and the eight."
Chaudoreille won the first game, then a second and a third, because, thanks to the marks he had made on the back of each card, he knew them as well by their backs as by their faces.
"It's singular," said Marcel, "that I never win anything; you always have the best cards."
"What would you have? It's chance, luck; but it will probably turn."
The luck did not turn and Marcel's crowns passed into Chaudoreille's pocket. The chevalier was scarlet, trembling, and the veins on his forehead were swollen by the ardor of his play, when the bell at the garden gate rang violently.
"Oh, the deuce! there's somebody," said Marcel.
"I am lost!" cried Chaudoreille jumping on his chair, "it is somebody come to arrest me."
He immediately rose and ran around the room, went through the first door he saw and disappeared, without listening to Marcel, who called to him,—
"It's monseigneur; it's M. de Villebelle; keep still and I'll let you out without his seeing you."
But Chaudoreille had disappeared and the bell continued to ring. Marcel was obliged to open the gate without knowing what had become of his guest.
"And pray why did you make us wait so long, clown?" said the marquis angrily to Marcel, as he entered the garden with three men, two of whom were enveloped in their cloaks, while the third had no hat and nothing to cover his velvet doublet, which was stained in many places with mud; this, however, did not prevent its owner from bursting into shouts of laughter as he looked at himself, as though he still enjoyed some frolic in which he had participated.
"Follow me, my friends," said the marquis.
"Oh, I know the way to your little nest of the Faubourg," said one, "it's not the first time I've come here."
"Nor me."
"That's all very well; as for me, messieurs, I make my first appearance here today and in a brilliant costume I hope. Ha! Ha! What the devil! if anybody should happen to divine that I ought to be present this evening at the petit coucher, 'twould be deuced awkward for me!"
"Come, Marcel, show us a light," said the marquis, pushing the valet before him, while the latter, anxious and uneasy, was constantly glancing around him.
"You've been sleeping already, rascal, for you look stupefied."
"Yes, monseigneur, that's true, I have been asleep."
"He lives the life of a canon here. He does nothing but eat and sleep."
While speaking they had reached the house. Happily for Marcel the marquis never went into the lower room, where the card table was still standing. They went up into the apartment on the first floor. Marcel lighted many candles, while the marquis' friends threw themselves into armchairs, and Villebelle took off his mantle, saying,—
"Come, hasten yourself, and serve us supper of all that you can get together; there are always provisions here. You have a poultry yard, a pigeon house; put some fowls quickly on the spit. We'll play while waiting for them to be served. Prepare the card table. Open that drawer, there are some cards and dice in it. Gentlemen, you will perhaps have meagre fare. I did not expect the pleasure of entertaining you this evening, but at least you shall have some good wine. The cellar is well furnished and we shall not lack champagne."
"Hang it! that's the principal thing," said a big, pale young man whose features were regular, but who was disfigured by the scar of a sword-cut across his left cheek.
"I, too, am of the vicomte's opinion," said his neighbor, who appeared to be some years older, and whose stoutness and high color contrasted with the physique of the first speaker.
"Champagne before everything."
"Oh, I recognize there that drunkard De Montgéran," said the young man with disordered costume. "As for me I am not displeased when the entertainment consists of wine. But let's play, gentlemen, let's play; it's necessary that I should recoup a hat and a cloak."
"You might even add a doublet; for I don't think that you can present yourself anywhere in that one."
"Those cursed shopkeepers, how they did resist this evening. That's all right, I had flogged three of them."
"Yes, but except for the marquis and I you would have been in a very bad position."
"Well! what the devil brought the quarrel about? for I don't know yet why I fought."
"A trifling thing, a mere bagatelle; because I was carrying off with me a little bookkeeper's wife, the impertinent husband permitted himself to shout! The idiot, I should have sent his wife back at the end of two days. Hang it! I'd no desire to keep her."
"Perhaps that's why he was angry."
"I said a couple of words for him to the superintendent; before long our clerk will be destitute."
"That's as it should be, it's necessary to teach these plebeians manners, who persuade themselves that they only take a wife for themselves."
"In your place I should have asked for a lettre-de-cachet."
"We shall see; that might still be done."
During this conversation Marcel had prepared everything; he went down to the groundfloor and, while making his preparations for supper, called his comrade in a low tone, and looked in every corner of the room, but he had disappeared.
"Where the devil has he hidden himself," said Marcel, who then looked in all the other rooms and went down to the cellar, where he called Chaudoreille again without receiving any answer. "He has apparently escaped into the garden and from there he will have jumped over the walls, as he said he would do. However, that astonishes me, for he would hardly care to leave the house."
The marquis and his companions sat down to play, and while waiting for the supper they cracked several bottles of champagne to put themselves in good spirits; that is to say, to arouse in them the desire to commit new follies. The most extravagant bets were proposed and accepted, and while playing, drinking, singing, each one related his good fortune, his gallant adventures, drew his mistress' portrait, and passed in review the women of fashion, sparing the honest women no more than the courtesans.
At last Marcel came to announce that supper was served in a neighboring room and the gentlemen left their play to go to the table. The room in which the supper was served equalled by its elegance the other rooms of this delightful retreat; while it served habitually for banquets, the beauty and the taste of its frescoes, the statues which decorated it, the sofas which furnished it, the lustres which lighted it, recalled the salons of ancient Rome where Horace, Propertius and Tibulus, surrounded by their friends and their competitors, sang of love and the charms of their mistresses while passing amphoræ filled with falernian, or carrying to their lips cups where sparkled cæcubum or massicum; and while crowned with myrtle and acanthus, in order to resemble their deities, proving only too well that they had all the weaknesses of mortals.
Sybarites of a later time, the young men assembled at Villebelle's drank deep draughts of the generous wine with which the table was so amply provided; the marquis furnishing them an example by his avidity in emptying the flasks. Decorum and etiquette were banished from the repast, where liberty often degenerated into license. The convives had drawn the sofas to the table, and each one, half lying down like a pasha, held a glass of champagne which he emptied, shouting with laughter at the follies of which he heard or at those which he had himself committed.
The young man who had come without a hat, and who was called the Chevalier de Chavagnac, was seated opposite a beautiful statue representing Psyche, to which he often raised his eyes. All of a sudden he interrupted the fat Montgéran, who was singing, by exclaiming,—
"May the thunder crush me, if this Psyche didn't move!"
"What the devil are you saying now?" asked the marquis.
"I'm saying, I'm saying your Psyche has come to life, or I must be blind."
"Oh, hang it, how delightful it would be if that pretty woman could come and take her place amongst us."
"Gentlemen, it was no doubt Montgéran's voice which worked this miracle. A new Pygmalion, he softens marble."
"You needn't make fun of my voice, gentlemen, it is held in no small estimation. It must rather have been your cynical conversation which made poor Psyche blush. But let me sing instead of listening to De Chavagnac's stupidity, who can't see clearly because he has drunk so much."
"Yes, assuredly, I have been drinking, but I can still see. I've been looking at that statue for a long while, and several times it appeared to me as if it moved."
"Marquis, are there any ghosts in your little house?"
"I have never seen any here, but it would be very amiable of them to come and pay us a visit while we are at table. We would make them hob-nob with us."
"Come sing, Montgéran, we will listen to you; but be a trifle less artificial. I prefer the natural method."
"Yes, gentlemen, I will then give you; 'The shepherd in order to admire the charms of his shepherdess took the first'—"
"Now, I shall know what it is," said De Chavagnac, rising precipitately and running towards the statue. As he neared it the Psyche made so lively a movement that she would have fallen from her pedestal on to the floor, if the young man had not received her in his arms, and placed her on the ground. All the convives had their eyes fixed on De Chavagnac, who, after placing the Psyche in safety, reapproached the pedestal, which was about three feet high and one and one half in circumference.
"There is something inside it," cried the young man, who perceived that the pedestal was hollow, and had an opening in the side which was turned towards the wall.
"Someone inside it?" repeated the others, half rising. At the same moment a thin, trembling voice, which seemed to come out of the earth, uttered these words,—
"No violence, gentlemen, I will yield without resistance," and, in a moment, Chaudoreille's little head peeped from behind the pedestal and showed itself to the gentlemen, who burst into a shout of laughter, exclaiming,—
"What a handsome face!"
However, De Chavagnac, who had remained near the niche of the statue, took Chaudoreille by the mustache and forced him to emerge from his hiding place. Then, having examined the personage whose piteous face rendered him still more comic, he went laughingly to take his place at the table, while the poor devil whom he had dislodged threw himself on his knees before them and without daring to raise his eyes murmured, clasping his hands,—
"Gentlemen if I have killed the Prince of Cochin-China it was against my will and because he had provoked me, but I swear to you that I will not try it again; I will not even carry Rolande, if they exact it of me."
"What the devil is he saying?"
"Do you understand any of it, marquis?"
"My faith, no! He is speaking about the Prince of Cochin-China."
"He's a fool!"
"Hang it! we must amuse ourselves with him."
"One moment; it is necessary that I should learn how this clown penetrated here. Hello! Marcel, Marcel."
While Marcel was coming upstairs Chaudoreille's terror became somewhat lessened. While he had been immured in the pedestal a murmuring sound only penetrated to his ears, and he believed that the room was filled with armed men who were looking for him. Now the words which he caught, the name of the marquis which he heard pronounced, taught him the truth. Reassured that his life was in no danger, he began to glance pleadingly at the persons who surrounded the table, and meeting nothing but laughing faces he entirely recovered his spirits.
Marcel entered and, at the sight of Chaudoreille, remained stunned and confused before his master.
"Who is this man, Marcel?" said the marquis. "Is he a thief? is it he or you whom we ought to hang? Come, speak, clown, and tell us the truth, or you shall be chastised in good fashion."
Marcel, trembling, did not know how to excuse himself for having received someone despite the commands of the marquis, and muttered,—
"Monseigneur, I couldn't help it, I did not wish to, I refused him at first."
"Monseigneur," exclaimed Chaudoreille, rising and standing on his tiptoes, "if you will permit me I will relate to your excellency how all this happened, for I see that Marcel will find it difficult to come to an end."
"The trembler has recovered his speech," said the big Montgéran, who could not take his eyes from Chaudoreille.
"Come, marquis, let him speak."
"Yes, yes, he will make us laugh," cried the others.
"Very well, gentlemen, since you desire it. Come, speak, you little cur; and you, Marcel, remain there to give him the lie if he attempts to deceive us."
Though the sobriquet, little cur, made Chaudoreille knit his brow, permission to speak before noblemen of high rank caused him so much pleasure that he immediately assumed a smiling expression, and commenced his speech,—
"Messeigneurs, your excellencies behold in me Loustic-Goliath de Chaudoreille, Knight of the Round Table; descended on the male side from the famous Milo of Crotona, and on the female side from the celebrated Delilah, who, sacrificing herself for her country, had the courage to cut from Samson, her lover, that which made his strength."
Shouts of laughter here interrupted the orator. "It's delightful! he's charming! He's worth his weight in gold!"
"Hang it!" said Chaudoreille, "I was sure that I only had to speak."
"In fact, descendant of Delilah," said the marquis, "what is your business?"
Chaudoreille appeared embarrassed for the moment, then he exclaimed volubly,—
"Defender and protector of beauty—and of gambling houses; understanding how to bear arms and to play at piquet; teaching music, and the way to turn the king or ace at will; succoring young men of family and girls who have been seduced; bearer of love letters; master of the sitar; duellist and messenger,—and all at a very moderate price."
"But what a treasure we have in this man!"
"Finally, who led you here?"
"Your excellencies have heard me speak of my duel this morning. I killed the Prince of Cochin-China near the Porte Saint-Denis."
"The Prince of Cochin-China, and where the devil did you find such a prince as that?"
"By the side of the Fosses-Jaunes. I was walking quietly along, he came up and assaulted me, and I fought him. Isn't that true, Marcel?"
"Yes, it's very true that he told me all that, monseigneur. He arrived here wild with fright, and exhausted; he told me that he was pursued, and though I did not understand all his history of the prince, I saw that he trembled, so I consented to allow him to come in for a moment. We were having supper when you came in, monseigneur, and immediately he fled, seeing and hearing nothing."
"Yes, monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, "I believed that the archers and the sergeants were coming to arrest me, and I hid in the first place that I could see."
"Do you think, clown, that I believe the story you told Marcel in order to get some supper?"
"Monseigneur, I swear to you!"
"Peace!"
"There were witnesses to the duel."
"Silence, I tell you! To come to this house to seek Marcel, you must have known that he lived here. Who taught you the way to this dwelling? Did you know that it belonged to me? and if you knew it belonged to me, who gave you the audacity to present yourself here."
Chaudoreille, who perceived that the marquis was no longer joking, answered with less assurance,—
"Monseigneur, I've already had the honor of visiting here in your lordship's service."
"To serve me, rascal?"
"Yes, monseigneur; I served you indirectly in a certain matter with a young Italian, an elopement on the Pont de Latournelle. It was I whom Touquet charged to keep watch."
"O marquis," said the three guests, smiling, "this is clear enough. The chevalier of the Round Table has ministered to your love."
"I've had that honor, monseigneurs," answered Chaudoreille, bowing, and twisting his mustaches.
"Hang it! I don't remember it," cried the marquis, looking hard at Chaudoreille. "What, Touquet, so clever, so inventive, could he be served by such a marionette. Come, that is not possible."
"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, compressing his lips, "if you knew the talents of the one you call marionette, you would, perhaps, speak differently. Touquet himself is only a beginner beside me."
"Oh, as to that, clown, it is necessary that you should justify your boasting or that you should perish beneath the stick. For some days I have been suffering from ennui; I don't find anyone, at the court or in the town, who deserves my homage. My Italian, even, has commenced to tire me. I wish—I don't know—I would give all the world for the capacity of falling truly in love; find me a woman who is capable of inspiring me with this feeling. I will give you twenty-four hours to discover this treasure for me. A hundred pistoles for you if you gratify my wishes, a hundred strokes of the stick if you are not successful."
"That's it! That's it," shouted Villebelle's guests, "if he is successful in what you have given him to do, tell us and we will employ him in turn."
"O capededious," said Chaudoreille to himself, "a hundred pistoles if I render him amorous. Zounds! my fortune will be made. But a hundred blows of the stick if I am not successful. How can I render a man amorous who is tired of everything, and that in twenty-four hours. O my genius inspire me! Ah, if my portress resembled this Psyche."
"Wait, drink that," said Montgéran, presenting Chaudoreille with a large glass full of madeira. "That will help you, perhaps, to find what Villebelle wants."
Chaudoreille emptied the glass at a draught, after humbly bowing to the company; then he struck his forehead sharply, made a leap forward, and exclaimed,—
"I have found her!"
"The wine has already operated," said De Chavagnac.
"Come, speak," cried the marquis, "what have you found?"
"Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, bowing with respect, "deign to permit me to speak to you without witnesses."
"The clown is right," said the marquis rising from the table. "If he should speak before you each one would wish to assure himself of the truth of his recital, and we should become rivals. Marcel carry a light into the next room. Come, my Chaudoreille, I will give you an audience. Have patience, gentlemen, I shall not be long."
Saying these words, the marquis went into the next room, and Chaudoreille followed him with an air so important and mysterious that it greatly amused the three persons who remained at the table.
When Chaudoreille found himself alone with the marquis, he examined the doors to see if they were shut, and stooped to look under the table, but the marquis pulled him by the ear, saying,—
"What signifies all this ceremony?"
"Monseigneur, it is that I'm about to speak of something mysterious, a secret, and I don't wish that anybody should know it. I shall expose myself to great danger in speaking; they will perhaps want to take my life."
"You'll expose yourself to a great deal more by not speaking," said the marquis impatiently, seizing the fire shovel.
"I'm about to do so, monseigneur. I wager you've never seen Touquet's daughter."
"Touquet's daughter. Has he a daughter?"
"Not exactly, monseigneur; she's only a child that he adopted about ten years ago."
"Touquet adopted a child? Hang it! that surprises me."
"I was very sure, monseigneur, that you were ignorant of the circumstance."
"There's something mysterious about it."
"Very extraordinary. No one would guard a girl so closely unless he were keeping her for himself."
"What is this girl like?"
"She's an angel, monseigneur, divinely beautiful, an enchantress; hardly sixteen years of age, with the figure of a nymph, and Touquet spreads it abroad that she is ugly and ill-made, that there is nothing pleasing about her. He has even ordered me to tell it all about. If I have seen young Blanche it's only because the barber, wishing to have her taught music, was obliged to introduce me into her room, which she never leaves."
"This is all very singular," said the marquis, "and you pique my curiosity."
"Good! I shall have a hundred pistoles," said Chaudoreille to himself, "that's much better than the two golden crowns which the barber promised me, to say nothing of the honor of acting as the Marquis of Villebelle's business man."
"And you say it's not because he is in love with her himself that he hides this young girl," resumed the marquis, after a moment.
"No, monseigneur, for a few days from now he is about to marry her."
"To marry her?"
"Yes, monseigneur, to a young man whom the beautiful Blanche did not know, I am sure; for no one ever went near her except your humble servant. I bet that Touquet has sacrificed her, and that the poor little thing hates her future husband."
Here Chaudoreille said what he did not think, but he imagined it more prudent to present the matter in that aspect.
The marquis reflected for some moments, then he said,—
"Tell me quickly all that you know about the adoption of that young girl."
"Yes, monseigneur. About ten years ago, Touquet, who then had not a sou, took lodgers in addition to his business as a barber and bath-keeper. One evening a gentleman went to his house, with a little girl five or six years old, and requested a bed. Touquet received him. The traveller went out the same evening, leaving his little girl with Touquet, and that night he was murdered in the Rue Saint-Honoré near the Barrière des Sergents."
"Were the murderers discovered," said the marquis, looking attentively at Chaudoreille.
"Oh, no, monseigneur," responded the latter, smiling almost imperceptibly, "but—sometime afterwards Touquet was possessed of enough to buy the house which he had rented."
The marquis made a sudden movement, like that of a man who is about to step on a snake. A long silence succeeded, during which Chaudoreille kept his eyes bent on the ground, not daring to seek to read those of the marquis.
"And it is the daughter of that man whom he adopted," said Villebelle, breaking the silence.
"Yes, monseigneur, it is she."
"What was her father's name?"
"Moranval, at least, so I believe. Nothing was found upon him but an insignificant letter, which gave no information in regard to his family."
"And his daughter is beautiful?"
"As far as I am competent to judge, monseigneur, and if you should see her—"
"Yes, I shall see her."
"Monseigneur, I have the honor to inform you that Touquet has expressly forbidden me to speak of young Blanche and of her coming marriage. In order to be agreeable to your lordship I have sacrificed myself; but the barber is wicked, very wicked. I beg of you, monseigneur, not to tell him that you learned all this from me."
"Be easy about that."
"In any case I beg to be allowed to claim the protection of monseigneur in regard to my duel with the Prince of Cochin-China, which is not a falsehood as monseigneur appears to believe."
The marquis was reflecting deeply; finally he rose, saying to Chaudoreille,—
"Follow me, and not a word of all this. In twenty-four hours you will return here, and if you have not deceived me you will receive the recompense which I have promised you."
Chaudoreille bowed nearly to the ground and followed the marquis. They returned to the banquet hall, where his guests awaited with impatience Villebelle's return.
"Well," said De Chavagnac, as he entered, "was it worth the trouble of leaving the table?"
"I think so," answered the marquis; "but as to that I shall be better able to tell you after tomorrow. Chaudoreille, go down with Marcel and make him give you some supper before you leave." The latter did not wait for this order to be repeated. He went down to look for Marcel and, already assuming a patronizing air, made the valet serve him with all that he thought best, while saying to his old friend,—
"I am in great favor with your master, treat me well and I can say two words for you. Above all never refuse to play a game of piquet with me, or I'll cause you to lose favor with monseigneur."
Poor Marcel, who understood nothing of all this, allowed his intimate friend to beat him at six games. Finally, day appeared, and Chaudoreille left the house saying,—
"I shall come back this evening at ten o'clock. The marquis has made an appointment with me." Then he ventured into the Faubourg, stopping whenever he saw from afar two men together, and with a mysterious air inquiring of some shopkeepers if they had heard anyone speak of the death of Cochin-China. As nobody understood what he said, he finally persuaded himself that his prince was dead, but that nobody knew who he was, and more tranquil as to the result of the affair he at length ventured to reënter Paris.
After the secret interview of the marquis and Chaudoreille, the four profligates returned to their play; but the party was no longer gay. Villebelle was preoccupied and took little part in the conversation; the vicomte was sleepy; fat Montgéran no longer sang, and Chavagnac was tired of losing. At six o'clock in the morning these gentlemen separated, each one returning to his dwelling in the city and the marquis reëntered his hotel, reflecting on all that Chaudoreille had told him.
"Only two days more and I shall be your husband, my Blanche," said Urbain, pressing the young girl's hands in a tender transport.
"Oh, my dearest, how very happy we shall be, when we no longer have to part, even for a few hours," answered Blanche, smiling at her lover, "how much I shall like living in the country! I shall breathe more freely there in the pure air, I am sure, than in this close room. We shall play and run on the grass, shall we not, dear?"
"Yes, and we will work in our own garden."
"How delightful! We shall have flowers then, and I am so passionately fond of them."
"We shall have some cows also, I hope," said Marguerite.
"Oh, yes, dear nurse, and some pigeons, and rabbits and fowls—it will all be so delightful. It seems to me that when I was a very little child I lived in the country, in a house where they had all those things."
"Poor Blanche! and is that all you remember of your infancy?"
"I still remember a lady who was always with me, who often kissed me; no doubt she was my mother."
"Poor woman!" said Marguerite; "perhaps she is still living; and to think that no one knows. But away with sad thoughts!"
"Then you'll not regret Paris, my dear Blanche," said Urbain.
"Would you wish me to regret it, dear, when you are with me?"
"Those dear children!" said the old servant rising from her chair; "it is Providence which has brought them together, for they are made for one another. But it's nine o'clock, Monsieur Urbain, you must go."
"Nine o'clock already! The time is approaching when we need part no more, but the days seem very long now, because I spend them away from you."
"It's the same with me, dear; it seems to me that evening will never come."
"I haven't seen M. Touquet for some days."
"And you'll not see him this evening," said Marguerite; "he received a letter after dinner. It was no doubt some pressing matter of business, for he left immediately and has not yet returned."
"Good-by, then, dear Blanche."
"Good-by, my dear."
"Two days more. It seems a long time to wait."
"You have managed to live through a fortnight," said Marguerite.
"Yes, I don't know why, but these last few days seem to me as if they would be eternal."
Urbain could not tear himself away from Blanche; his heart was oppressed; the eyes of both the young lovers were filled with tears; the young girl extended her hand to her friend and he pressed it to his heart.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," said Blanche, "but your going makes me sadder than usual."
"What childishness!" said Marguerite; "no one would suppose that you were going to meet within two days. Isn't M. Urbain coming tomorrow evening? Come, come, it's time to go to bed."
The lovers again said good-by, sighing deeply, and Urbain finally followed Marguerite, who shut the street door on him and then went upstairs to Blanche and scolded her for her sadness. But she could not restore her gayety, for the dictates of reason may persuade the mind, but cannot allay the fears of the heart.
Not more than a quarter of an hour after Urbain's departure some one rapped loudly at the street door.
"That's Urbain, no doubt," said Blanche; "he saw that I was sad and has come back to console me."
"That's very improbable," said Marguerite; "it's more likely M. Touquet who has returned. However, I am astonished that he should knock, for I thought he had taken his master key."
"Go and see who it is, dear nurse."
"Yes, yes, mademoiselle; but if it should not be monsieur? It is late—we are alone in the house, and I don't know if I ought to open to any one."
"Do you want me to look out of the window, dear nurse, I shall very soon see if it's Urbain."
"Yes, do so; that seems to me more prudent."
Blanche had already opened the window, and she looked down into the street; the night was dark, but love renders the sight clear, and the young girl soon saw that it was not Urbain.
"Who is there," demanded Marguerite, thrusting out her head.
A deep voice answered, "I come from Master Touquet, he has charged me with a commission to his adopted daughter, Mademoiselle Blanche."
"How very singular," said Marguerite to Blanche. "What! monsieur, who has hidden you from everybody's sight, sends a stranger to us at this hour?"
"But, dear nurse, since he has sent him, it is necessary to open to this gentleman. Perhaps something has happened to my protector."
"Is the man alone, my child?"
"Yes, dear nurse, I see nobody but him."
"Why don't you open the door," cried the man in the street, "my message is urgent."
"Wait one moment, somebody will be there.—Remain here, my child."
Marguerite went down, holding her lamp in her hand. She was not reassured, but opened the door, and a man wrapped in a large cloak, his head covered with a plumed hat, appeared before her.
"You've been very slow, my good woman," said he, smiling, "however, I'll indemnify you for the trouble I have caused you."
While saying these words, he slipped several pieces of gold into Marguerite's hand. The old woman did not know if she ought to accept them, but said to herself, "His manners are not those of a robber."
The stranger quickly entered the alleyway and the old woman as she looked at him said to herself, "This is not the first time that I have seen that figure, and I remember his voice. Yes, I believe that that's the friend my master was waiting for so late some time ago."
Marguerite was not deceived, it was in fact the marquis who had introduced himself into the house, having first sent the barber a letter in which he gave him a rendezvous outside, and ordered him to wait there until ten o'clock in the evening.
"Monsieur has been here before, I believe," said Marguerite, reassured on recognizing one whom she believed to be her master's friend.
"Yes, yes, my good mother, I have often been here; but hasten to lead me to your young mistress. It is absolutely necessary that I should see her."
"Is my master ill?—has he been involved in some quarrel? Many accidents happen in this city."
"Don't be uneasy, there's nothing of that kind."
The marquis followed Marguerite, who led him to Blanche's chamber, and opened the door, saying,—
"Mademoiselle, here is a gentleman who brings you a message from M. Touquet."
Blanche took some steps forward to meet the stranger; the marquis had entered abruptly, but on perceiving the young girl he paused, and for some moments remained motionless, occupied in contemplating her. There was something in the aspect of the marquis which compelled respect, and while at that moment there was nothing severe in his expression, the astonishment and admiration depicted on his features lent additional animation to his naturally proud and noble look. Blanche involuntarily lowered her eyes, for she could not meet the fixed gaze with which the marquis seemed to examine her person, and Marguerite dared not utter a word, because the stranger intimidated her also.
"This is truly beyond all that I could have imagined," said the marquis, as if he were speaking to himself.
"Monsieur," said Blanche, with embarrassment, "my nurse informs me that you have something to say to me, some message from my benefactor; has anything happened to him, monsieur?"
"No, lovely Blanche, no; your benefactor, since you deign to so call him, has run into no danger, but I would brave a thousand if by that means I could make you take the same interest in me."
Blanche glanced timidly at the marquis as if she were waiting for him to explain himself better; the latter, in hastening to lead her to a chair, dropped a corner of his mantle, allowing his rich attire to be seen, and Marguerite said under her breath to the young girl,—
"Mon Dieu, my child, look at those precious stones, that lace, this is at least a great nobleman."
"Oh, yes," answered Blanche, in the same tone, "it is superb, but I like Urbain's costume much better."
Villebelle, who had not taken his eyes from Blanche, remained silent.
"Why did you come here then," said she, seeing that he was contented with looking at her.
"Yes," said Marguerite, who sought to resume her ordinary assurance, "for you must have come for something."
"And I have found more than I had believed possible," said the marquis, smiling. Then, without appearing to notice the embarrassment which his presence caused, he approached Blanche, took her hand, and cried,—
"You in this retreat! you hidden from all eyes!—when you should be the ornament of the world and receive the homage of the whole universe."
"Forgive me, monsieur," said Blanche, "but I don't understand you."
"I don't understand you either," murmured Marguerite, fixing her small eyes on the marquis.
"Better still, adorable girl," responded the marquis to Blanche, without paying the least attention to Marguerite. "They did not deceive me, this is innocence itself, the most perfect ingenuousness united to the most seductive grace and beauty."
"But, monsieur, was that what M. Touquet told you to say to me?"
"No, lovely child, not at all," said the marquis laughing, and still retaining Blanche's hand, which she vainly tried to disengage.
"It's necessary however that you should explain yourself," said Marguerite in a dry tone, "you have been here for a quarter of an hour and you have not yet said why you came. It is very late and we are accustomed to go to bed early."
"Oh, well, old woman, go to your bed; I will remain with this lovely child until the return of Master Touquet."
"Do you think I will leave you alone with my dear Blanche," cried Marguerite, rendered still more suspicious by the word old, "no, monsieur, no, I take better care of her than that. Your laces, your jewelry, and your fine appearance do not inspire me with much confidence. Wait! take back your pieces of gold, I don't wish them, for I begin to believe that your intentions are not good, and Marguerite will never second the plans of a seducer, whether duke or prince, even should he offer her the mines of Peru."
The marquis replied only by shrugging his shoulders without turning towards Marguerite, then he seated himself near Blanche and took off his hat and mantle, establishing himself in the room like one who is not disposed to go.
Blanche was trembling, confused; she looked at Marguerite as if to implore her not to abandon her, and the old woman, whom the conduct of the stranger had filled with new dread, forced herself to appear calm, saying in a voice whose faltering accents betrayed her fright,—
"Be easy, my child, I am here, I will not leave you, and while monsieur does not appear to listen to me it is, above all, necessary that he should tell us what he came here to do."
"I have told you, my good woman, I am waiting for Touquet. I must speak to him this evening; that is very important."
"And just now you said that it was he who had sent you; you were deceiving us, then?"
"Perhaps," said the marquis, laughing.
"Very well, monsieur, if you are really waiting for my master, come into the lower room. I will give you a light, and you will find a fire there."
"No, indeed, my good woman, I like this much better than your lower room; the society of this charming child will make the time seem very short, and surely, adorable Blanche, you will not be cruel enough to refuse to keep me company."
"No, monsieur, if you desire it, if it will amuse you, I must wish it also."
"Yes," said Marguerite, "it seems that it is necessary that we should do monsieur's will, but patience—soon I hope—"
At this moment somebody violently shut the street door. Blanche started joyfully, and Marguerite cried, with a triumphant air,—
"Ah! here is my master! We shall now see whether anyone can establish himself here in spite of us."
The marquis rose without answering, took his mantle, put his hat on his head, kissed Blanche's hand, saying to her,—
"Au revoir, charming girl," then left the room saying to Marguerite,—
All this had happened so quickly that Blanche, who was greatly astonished, had not time to oppose the action of the marquis, and the old servant followed the great nobleman, saying,—
"O mon Dieu, what a man!"
The barber had entered and was taking off his mantle, when the marquis, followed by Marguerite, appeared in the lower room. At the sight of Villebelle, Touquet started with surprise, saying,—
"What, you here, monseigneur!"
He paused and Marguerite cried,—
"Yes, my dear master, monseigneur has been here for three-quarters of an hour. He presented himself as coming from you, and he installed himself in Mademoiselle Blanche's room."
"In Blanche's room," said the barber, appearing violently agitated.
"Yes, monsieur, in mademoiselle's room—"
"That's enough, my good woman, leave us," said the marquis, in an imperious tone.
"Leave you," answered Marguerite, "oh, it is necessary before all—"
"It is necessary to obey," said the barber, in a gloomy voice. "Go!"
Marguerite was dumbfounded, but she dared not reply and left them, saying,—
"Well, I don't understand all this, this man does as he pleases here, it troubles me."
"Well, dear nurse," said Blanche to the old woman, "and what about the stranger?"
"Oh, I don't know who that man can be, but M. Touquet is as submissive as a child before him. I left them together. This fine gentleman said to me, 'Go!' and it was necessary to obey him."
"That's very surprising, dear nurse."
"How did you like that man?"
"Oh, he is not so bad, dear nurse, and if I had not been a little afraid of him, I believe I should have thought him very agreeable."
"Ah, mon Dieu, I was very much frightened; he has something satanic in his looks."
"Oh, dear nurse, you're mistaken, he has a very fine face, features which inspire respect, and which are bland at the same time."
"Fie! for shame! my child, to admire such an impertinent man. Oh, if your Urbain could hear you."
"But, dear nurse, I should say the same thing before Urbain. Is it not necessary to tell him all that I think? That could not displease him, for he knows how much I love him."
"Come, my child, it's late, go to bed. I am going, too, good-night."
Marguerite went up to her room, saying to herself,—
"Young girls will always be young girls. The most virtuous of them will allow themselves to be favorably impressed by fine compliments, a handsome face, and rich clothing. These are terrible talismans with the women."
When Marguerite had left the lower room, the barber shut the door. His manner disclosed a violent agitation; however, he awaited the marquis' explanation, and the latter narrowly watched and appeared to enjoy his uneasiness.
"May I know, monseigneur," said Touquet at last, "how it is that you are at my house when you appointed another meeting place?"
"What, Touquet, don't you understand it? I made a distant appointment with you in order that I might represent myself as sent by you to this young girl, whom you have hidden from me and whom I ardently desired to see. This is one of the little tricks which you yourself formerly taught me, and which are nearly always successful."
The barber bit his lips, but did not answer.
"Well, to be sure," resumed the marquis, "that you should possess such a treasure, an angel of beauty and grace, and hide her from me, your old master! From me, when you know my partiality for the sex which has led me to commit so many follies."
"It was precisely because of that partiality, monsieur le marquis, that I hoped to shield Blanche from your notice; I am interested in that young girl, to whom I stand in the place of her parents. I know the impetuosity of your passions, and I don't think the honor of being your mistress for a fortnight will assure the child's happiness."
"And how long, clown, have you made similar reflections," said the marquis, looking witheringly at the barber. "After lending aid in all my intrigues, after leading me to commit actions which, but for you, I should never have thought of, should you allow yourself to control my morals and enact the knight errant of the beauties I deign to distinguish."
"Monseigneur!"
"Remember that though your hypocrisy and lies may serve you sometimes, they can never deceive me. It is not from me only that you hide this young girl, for you hold her a prisoner in her chamber and do not permit her to go out. It is not because you are in love with Blanche, since you are about to give her in marriage; besides, love is a feeling unknown to you; your heart knows nothing but a thirst for gold. There is in all this some mystery which I must discover."
Touquet became pale and trembling, and murmured, lowering his eyes,—
"I swear to you, monsieur le marquis—"
"Make an end of this," said Villebelle, interrupting him. "Listen to me. I love, what do I say, I adore this young girl whom I have seen only for a moment; for a very long time I have not experienced sensations similar to those I felt in her presence. This is not a passing caprice; these are not desires to which the heart is a stranger. No, on seeing Blanche I felt moved, uneasy, softened. I cannot define all that passed within me. It seemed to me that I recognized that lovely child—that my love for her had existed for a long time. After that you must divine that it is impossible henceforth to live without her. Blanche must be mine; I am capable of every sacrifice in order to arrive at that end."
"Ah, monsieur, that is what I feared," said Touquet, who appeared to be really grieved at what he heard. "You wish to make Blanche your mistress!"
"I wish to make her happiness; I feel that my love for her will be lifelong."
"That is impossible, monseigneur. Blanche is about to be married to a young man whom she loves. You must see that your love cannot render her happy."
For some moments the marquis walked up and down the room, then he cried passionately,—
"I repeat to you, Blanche must be mine—it must be so. I will leave no means unemployed to attain this end. She cannot yet love her destined husband; she has only known him for a few days."
"Monseigneur, who has informed you as to all this?"
"What does that matter to you? That love is but a passing sentiment and I shall know how to make her forget it by overwhelming her with presents, with jewels, and by seeking to invent new pleasures to make each day delightful to her."
"Monseigneur, Blanche is accustomed to retirement; she is not a coquette; your ornaments, your gifts will have no effect upon her."
"Enough of this," said the marquis, "your objections weary me; I have now some orders to give you. I wish you to give me Blanche, on whom I swear to settle an independent fortune. Such a treasure I feel is worthy of a great price. Wait, here are six thousand crowns in notes and gold. You shall have as much more when you have fulfilled my commands."
The barber eyed with avaricious looks the money which the marquis had spread upon the table; then he turned his eyes away, saying in a gloomy voice,—
"Gold! yes, it is always that which draws me on; but this time—no, I cannot. Remember, monseigneur, that within two days Blanche should be united to her lover."
"Then at once, tonight even, it is necessary that she be given into my hands."
The barber appeared to be weighing the proposition in his mind; from time to time he looked at the money on the table, and, finally, speaking with a great effort, he said,—
"It cannot be, monseigneur, I am extremely grieved to have to disappoint you, but matters are too far advanced."
The marquis drew near Touquet, and grasping him tightly by the arm, said in a low tone,—
"It will, then, be necessary that I beg my uncle, the grand provost, to cause a new inquiry to be held in regard to the murder of Blanche's father. Do you think, scoundrel, that I do not partly divine the cause which has induced you to keep this young girl so carefully hidden from everybody's sight? Her beauty would be remarked, and could not fail to draw a throng of admirers who would have much to say of Blanche, and in seeking to learn who she is and what family she belongs to they would obtain new facts about that unfortunate traveller who was murdered on the evening of his arrival in Paris. They would make reflections on the fortune which came to you, nobody knows how, some time after that event."
"Monseigneur," said the barber, whose face had become livid, while a convulsive trembling seized his limbs; "monseigneur, what do you say? Could you believe it of me?"
"I believe nothing yet, but tomorrow I shall urge the magistrates to make an effort to pierce this mystery."
"Monseigneur, you shall have Blanche," said Touquet dropping into a chair as though he were perfectly helpless.
The marquis smiled triumphantly and seemed to forget all but his love. Touquet who had been thrown into a state of the deepest depression and consternation, remained for some minutes without daring to raise his eyes, and unable to resume his ordinary expression. Finally, he rose and murmured, in a broken voice,—
"Believe me, monsieur le marquis, that it is not the suspicions you have conceived which determine me to obey you—my devotion alone—"
"Enough," said the marquis interrupting him; "not another word about that. I am quite willing to believe that appearances are deceitful. We will occupy ourselves only with my love. I don't wish to lose a single instant in obtaining possession of Blanche, and, since you tell me that in two days she was to have been married, it is necessary that she should leave this house tonight."
"I agree with you," said Touquet, "since she is to go the sooner the better. But how can it be done tonight?"
"I don't recognize you, Touquet; you see nothing but obstacles, as for me, I don't know of any. It is not yet midnight, we have some time remaining. I'll go to my hotel and send Germain, my valet de chambre, to get a carriage—and to go only as far as my little house."
"Monseigneur, you must not take Blanche there; she would not be safe; the place is too near Paris. Urbain Dorgeville, the person she was to marry, will make every effort to discover her. The young man adores her; he is enterprising; you have everything to fear from his despair."
"I fear nobody, and you know it. However, I think your advice is wise. Blanche is so pretty; I already feel jealous of a glance given by her to another, and a good many giddy fellows know my little house. But wait, wait, I have just what will suit me; amongst all the property that came to me from my mother is a château situated in the neighborhood of Grandvilliers, about twenty-two leagues from here, and far enough from the town and the highway to avoid the notice of travellers."
"Very well, monsieur, that will suit perfectly."
"I have only once visited this château, which is called Sarcus, but although I only made a short stay there, I was greatly struck by the elegance of the beautiful estate. The château, built in 1522, was given to Mademoiselle de Sarcus by Francis the First, and in the neighborhood is noted for the marvellous beauty of its architecture, and especially of its façade, in which the artist excelled all his previous works. That is the place to which I shall take, or rather, to which I shall have Blanche taken. Twenty-eight leagues—two trusty men—she will be at the château in ten hours or so. As for myself, after tomorrow I shall arrange my affairs, and pretending at court that I am obliged to go to England, I shall repair secretly to Sarcus to her whom I never more wish to leave. You see, Touquet, my plan is perfect and no one will suspect that I have abducted the young orphan."
"Yes, monseigneur, no one among your brilliant acquaintances; but how shall we induce Blanche to go with you quietly and prevent a noise and cries which will attract the attention of the neighbors?"
"Oh, hang it! it will be necessary to mislead her at first—that's your look out. Is your invention so sterile that you can think of nothing to deceive a mere child. You can make her believe that she is going to rejoin her future husband."
"Wait, monseigneur, I've thought of a way, but Blanche mustn't see you. She would suspect something, and my stratagem would fail."
"I repeat to you she will start alone—a postilion and two well-armed men behind the carriage will answer to me for her safety."
"That is all that is necessary."
"It is midnight. I'll go and settle everything. My valet de chambre shall start before at full speed, that he may give my orders at the château and that he may be there to receive our beautiful girl; at two o'clock in the morning I shall be at your door with a coach; you understand me, at two o'clock."
"Yes, monsieur le marquis," said the barber, "I will not forget the hour."
"Manage so as to have Blanche ready to get into the carriage. I leave it to you. Do not try to evade your promise or my vengeance will be terrible."
"You may rely on me, monseigneur."
The marquis wrapped himself in his mantle and hastily left the barber's shop. Touquet remained alone for some time, thoughtful and depressed; at length he rose abruptly.
"What does it matter after all," said he, "whether Blanche be with Urbain or the marquis? Shall I be foolish enough to sympathize with the love of two children? In keeping this young girl with me I hoped to avoid all suspicion. But at last I shall be relieved of the burden that oppresses me. Come let's put up this gold; the marquis has promised me as much more—and I would have refused him. No. My destiny must be accomplished; this metal has always served as its compass. I was only sixteen years old when it caused me to commit actions which drew down upon me my father's curse; arrived in Paris, which I had yearned to know, I soon found myself robbed of everything I possessed by people who were more adroit than myself; I had been deceived and I wished to make others suffer as I had suffered. I gave scope to my talents. Up to that time I had done no great wrong—but this cursed thirst for gold. Ten years have passed and have not effaced from my memory that horrible night—when—since then I have not tasted a moment's peace. I will return to my birthplace and if my father is still alive I will try to obtain his pardon; perhaps then I may regain quiet of mind. But if he knew how I enriched myself."
The barber again gave himself to his reflections. Soon Saint-Eustache's clock struck one. Touquet slowly took the money from the table, and, after locking it in his room upstairs, he went to Blanche's chamber and knocked at the door.
The poor little girl was not asleep; she had been too greatly excited by the events of the evening. She still seemed to see the stranger seated near her, holding her hand and looking at her with an expression that she could not define. She felt oppressed; it seemed to her that she should never see Urbain more. The marquis' figure appeared constantly between herself and Urbain, and the sadness the latter had felt on leaving her heightened her own premonitions. Yielding to this indefinite anxiety, often harder to bear than a real sorrow, Blanche could not rest, and the sound of a knock at her door in the middle of the night awoke in her fresh terror.
"Who is there?" she cried, in a faltering voice.
"It is I, Blanche," answered the barber; "open the door. I have something of importance to tell you."
The young girl, who had recognized Touquet's voice, rose, hastily put on a dressing gown, and opened the door. The barber held the lamp in his hand and avoided looking at the young girl, who, on the contrary, wished to question him and said,—
"Mercy, my good friend, what has happened?"
These words, "my good friend," uttered in Blanche's sweet voice, always agitated Touquet; he forced himself to hide his feelings.
"Calm yourself, Blanche," he said, "and listen to me; Urbain has had a quarrel tonight—a duel."
"O heavens! He is wounded!"
"No, no, nothing has happened to him, but it was necessary to his safety that he should leave Paris immediately; had he not done so they would have arrested him; he therefore left for the country."
"He left without me?"
"Let me finish; you should have been married here, in place of which you will be married at his house; but to quiet Urbain's anxiety I had to promise that tonight you should rejoin him."
"Oh, at once, my friend, as soon as you please; but why did he not take me with him?"
"That was impossible; Urbain had not an instant to lose; by a lucky chance, one of my friends is sending his valet into the country to find a wife. The carriage will come to take you in an hour. Get ready, therefore. He will charge you nothing and you will find everything down there that you need—do you understand me?"
"Oh, I shall be ready in a moment, and what about Marguerite?"
"She can follow you later; I need her to make divers arrangements. In a few days I shall come to see you. I'll leave you now; make your preparations. I shall come for you when the carriage arrives."
The barber departed, and Blanche, who had not the slightest suspicion that anyone would deceive her, continued her toilet.
"Poor Urbain," she said to herself, "I was sure that something would happen to him; and he, also, had a presentiment. How fortunate that he was able to escape; but I shall rejoin him and I shall nevermore leave him."
During this time Touquet had returned to his room, saying to himself,—
"Everything is going well—the little one will start without making the least difficulty. But if Marguerite is not asleep; if she should have heard some words of my conversation with the marquis and if she wishes to follow Blanche. It is important that the old woman should know nothing—it is easy to assure myself she is sleeping, since she now sleeps in the room occupied by Blanche's father. Come, I mustn't be weak. I'll go up."
The barber took his light, and directed his steps towards a closet which was at the end of his room. When he reached it he still hesitated; then, making an effort to command himself, he touched a button hidden by the hangings, and a small door opened and discovered a small and very narrow staircase which led to the floor above. Touquet turned his eyes, murmuring,—
"Since that fatal night I have not been in this passage."
He mounted the stairs, his wild eyes seeming to fear that they would meet some frightful object, the hand in which he held the lamp trembling, while with the other he held to the wall to steady his tottering steps.
At the top of the staircase was a door closed by two bolts, which he withdrew with as little noise as possible, and entered the little dark closet at the back of Marguerite's alcove, which the old nurse and Blanche had entered without perceiving the door on the staircase, because it was artistically hidden in the woodwork. The barber placed his lamp on the floor, and put his ear to the door which led into the alcove; he soon heard a prolonged snore, which announced that Marguerite was sleeping soundly; however, he softly opened the door so as to thoroughly assure himself of the fact; then he reentered the little room and left by the secret door, drew the bolts and went down, saying,—
"There is nothing to fear from her."
Suddenly the barber made a false step, he lowered his lamp and perceived some reddish stains on the staircase. Although it was difficult to distinguish what had produced these stains, Touquet recoiled with horror, his hair stood up on his head, his feet refused to carry him over the steps on which were imprinted the marks which caused his fear; in his agitation he allowed the lamp to fall from his hands; it rolled and was extinguished. The barber was left in the most profound darkness in the secret passage. Showing every sign of the most ungovernable terror, he ran as fast as possible down the stairs, bumping his head against the wall, falling and crawling on the stairs.
"Mercy! mercy!" he cried, in a suffocating voice, "do not pursue me. Is it because I am giving up your daughter that you come anew to torment me? Well, I won't give her to the marquis. No, but leave me. Don't touch me with your bloody hands."
At length he came to the foot of the stairs; he reclosed the door hidden by the hangings and without pausing in his room, where he had no light, he went down into the lower room, which was lit by one lamp and by the fire which still burned on the hearth.
He threw himself upon a seat, and looked wildly about him, gradually becoming more assured; finally, he passed his hand over his brow saying,—
"It was a dream."
At that moment he heard the sound of a carriage, which stopped in front of the house, and having entirely recovered his wits he went to open the street door.
"Here I am," said the marquis, alighting from the travelling carriage. "I have come even sooner than I promised. My valet de chambre is already on the way to Grandvilliers. The postilion is in the saddle, these two efficiently armed men will follow the coach, all is ready; and Blanche?"
"I will go and get her; she believes that she is going to rejoin her future husband who has been wounded tonight in a duel; she has not the slightest suspicion that there is any trickery, and goes of her own free will."
"That's excellent!"
"But hide yourself, monseigneur, that she may not perceive you, or all will be lost."
"Fear nothing; I will ensconce myself in the angle of this doorway—I only wish to see her enter the carriage—tomorrow I shall be at Sarcus, and I shall dry her tears."
"I will go and fetch her."
The barber went up to call Blanche, who had heard the carriage and was ready.
"I am here, my good friend," said she, hastily leaving her room, "I knew the carriage had come."
Touquet walked first, and Blanche followed; her heart was palpitating and, although she thought she was going to rejoin Urbain, this departure in the middle of the night had about it something mysterious, singular, which almost frightened her. When they had reached the lower room the sweet girl glanced around her, saying,—
"What! has not Marguerite come to bid me good-by and kiss me?"
"No, no, we haven't time for that," said Touquet taking her hand and leading her into the passage. When they reached the front door the barber put out his head to assure himself that the marquis was not within sight, then he opened the carriage door.
"Come quickly," said he to Blanche, "get in; don't lose any time."
Blanche darted into the street and stepped into the vehicle; her heart grew heavy as she found herself alone in it in the darkness of the night; but Touquet had already closed the door.
"Good-by, my dear friend," she said to him, "I am going to rejoin Urbain, but I shall never forget you. All you have done for me is graven on my heart by gratitude."
"Go on, go on, postilion," cried the barber, in a voice faltering with the emotions he experienced. At this moment two o'clock struck, the postilion cracked his whip, and the carriage which held Blanche started.
"She is mine!" cried the marquis, and the barber hastily reëntered his dwelling.