'YOU SHALL SEE HOW I HANDLE A KNIFE!'
 
 WORKS OP 
 
 EUGENE SUE 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS 
 THE TAPIS-FRANC 
 
 New York, CURRENT LITERATURE 
 PUBLISHING COMPANY - 1912
 
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Tapis-Franc 1 
 
 II. The Ogress 7 
 
 III. History of La Goualeuse 16 
 
 IV. The Chourineur's Iliatory 27 
 
 V. The Arrest 36 
 
 VI. Thomas Sey ton and the Countess Sarah, 42 
 
 VII. " Your money or your life " 47 
 
 VIII. The Walk 50 
 
 IX. The Surprise 58 
 
 X. Castles in the Air . . . 64 
 
 XI. Murphy and Rodolph 79 
 
 XII. The Rendezvous 92 
 
 XIII. Preparations 101 
 
 XIV. The Bleeding Heart 106 
 
 XV. The Vault 112 
 
 XVI. The Sick-Nurse 116 
 
 XVII. The Punishment 128 
 
 XVIIL The Isle-Adam 141 
 
 XIX. Recompense 145 
 
 XX. The Departure 151 
 
 XXI. Researches 154 
 
 XXII. History of David and Cecily 169 
 
 XXIII. A House in the Rue du Temple 177 
 
 XXIV. The Four Stories 202 
 
 XXV. Tom and Sarah 209 
 
 XXVI. The Ball 225 
 
 XXVII. The Rendezvous 260 
 
 XXVIII. An Idyl 278 
 
 XXIX. The Ambuscade 287 
 
 iii
 
 iy CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 XXX. The Rectory-House 297 
 
 XXXI. The Rencounter 305 
 
 XXXII. An Evening at the Farm 308 
 
 XXXIII. TheDream 341 
 
 XXXIV. The Letter 348 
 
 XXXV. The Hollow Way 375 
 
 XXXVI. Clemence d'Harville 379 
 
 XXXVTI. Misery 419 
 
 XXXVIII. Judgment and Execution 441
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 THE TAPIS-FRANC.* 
 
 IT was on a cold and rainy night, towards the end of October 
 1838, that a tall and powerful man, with an old broad-brimmed 
 straw hat upon his head, and clad in a blue cotton carter's frock, 
 which hung loosely over trousers of the same material, crossed 
 the Pont au Change, and darted with a hasty step into the Cite, 
 that labyrinth of obscure, narrow, and winding streets which 
 extends from the Palais de Justice to Notre Dame. 
 
 Although limited in space, and carefully watched, this quarter 
 serves as the lurking-place, or rendezvous, of a vast number 
 of the very dregs of society in Paris, who flock to the tapis-franc. 
 This word, in the slang of theft and murder, signifies a drink- 
 ing-shop of the lowest class. A returned convict, who, in this 
 foul phraseology, is called an ogre, or a woman in the same 
 degraded state, who is termed an ogress, generally keep such 
 " cribs," frequented by the refuse of the Parisian population ; 
 freed felons, thieves, and assassins, are there familiar guests. If 
 a crime is committed, it is here, in this filthy sewer, that the 
 police throws its cast-net, ari*d rarely fails to catch the criminals 
 it seeks to take. 
 
 On the night in question, the wind howled fiercely in the 
 dark and dirty gulleys of the Cite: the blinking and uncertain 
 light of the lamps which swung to and fro in the sudden gusts 
 were dimly reflected in pools of black slush, which flowed 
 abundantly in the midst of the filthy pavement. 
 
 The murky-colored houses, which were lighted within by a 
 few panes of glass in the worm-eaten casements, overhung each 
 other so closely, that the eaves of each almost touched its op- 
 
 * Tapis-franc ; literally, a " free carpet ; " a low haunt equivalent to what 
 in English slang is termed "a boozing ken." 
 
 1
 
 2 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 posite neighbor, so narrow were the streets. Dark and noisome 
 alleys led to staircases still more black and foul, and so per- 
 pendicular, that'they could hardly be ascended by the help of a 
 cord fixed to the dank and humid walls by holdfasts of iron. 
 
 Stalls of charcoal-sellers, fruit-sellers, or venders of refuse 
 meat, occupied the ground-floor of some of these wretched 
 abodes. Notwithstanding the small value of their commodities, 
 the front of nearly all these shops were protected by strong 
 bars of iron, a proof that the shopkeepers knew and dreaded 
 the gentry who infested the vicinity. 
 
 The man of whom we have spoken, having entered the Rue 
 aux Feves, which is in the center of the -Cite, slackened his pace : 
 he felt he was on his own soil. The night was dark, and strong 
 gusts of wind, mingled with rain, dashed against the walls. 
 Ten o'clock struck by the distant dial of the Palais de Justice. 
 Women were huddled together under the vaulted arches, deep 
 and dark, like caverns ; some hummed popular airs in a low key ; 
 others conversed together in whispers; whilst some, dumb and 
 motionless, looked on mechanically at the wet, which fell and 
 flowed in torrents. The man in the carter's frock, stopping 
 suddenly before one of these creatures, silent and sad as she 
 gazed, seized her by the arm, and said, "Ha! good-evening, 
 La Goualeuse." * 
 
 The girl receded, saying, in a faint and fearful tone, " Good- 
 evening, CJiourineur.} Don't hurt me." 
 
 This man, a liberated convict, had been so named at the hulks. 
 
 " Now I have you," said the fellow ; " you must pay me the 
 glass of 'tape' (eau d'aff), or I'll make you dance without 
 music," he added, with a hoarse and brutal laugh. 
 
 "Oh, Heaven! I have no money," replied Goualeuse, trem- 
 bling from head to foot, for this man was the dread of the 
 district. 
 
 " If you're stumped, the ogress of the tapis-franc will give 
 you tick for your pretty face." 
 
 " She won't ; I already owe her for the clothes I'm wearing." 
 
 "What, you want to shirk it?" shouted the Chourineur, 
 darting after La Goualeuse, who had hid herself in a gulley as 
 mirk as midnight. 
 
 " Now, then, my lady, I've got you ! " said the vagabond, 
 after groping about for a few moments, and grasping in one of 
 his coarse and powerful hands a slim and delicate wrist; 
 " and now for the dance I promised you." 
 
 * Sweet-throated ; in reference to the tone of her voice. 
 f One who strikes with the knife; the stabber, or slasher.
 
 TUB TAPIS- FRANC. 3 
 
 " No, it is you who shall dance ! " was uttered by a masculine 
 and deep voice. 
 
 " A man ! Is't you, Bras Rouge ? Speak ; why don't you ? 
 and don't squeeze so hard. I am here in the entrance to your 
 ' ken,' and you it must be." 
 
 " 'Tis not Bras Rouge ! " said the voice. 
 
 " Oh ! isn't it ? Well, then, if it is not a friend, why, here 
 goes at you," exclaimed the Chourineur. " But whose bit of a 
 hand is it I have got hold of ? it must be a woman's ! " 
 
 " It is the fellow to this," responded the voice. 
 
 And under the delicate skin of this hand, which grasped his 
 throat with sudden ferocity, the Chourineur felt himself held by 
 nerves of iron. The Goualeuse, who had sought refuge in this 
 alley, and lightly ascended a few steps, paused for an instant, 
 and said to her unknown defender, "Thanks, sir, for having 
 taken my part. The Chourineur said he would strike me be- 
 cause I could not pay for his glass of brandy; but I think he 
 only jested. Now I am safe, pray let him go. Take care of 
 yourself, for he is the Chourineur." 
 
 " If he be the Chourineur, I am a bully boy who never 
 knuckles down," exclaimed the unknown. 
 
 All was then silent for a moment, and then were heard for 
 several seconds, in the midst of the pitchy darkness, sounds of a 
 fierce struggle. 
 
 " Who the devil is this ? " then said the ruffian, making a 
 desperate effort to free himself from his adversary, whose ex- 
 traordinary power astonished him. " Now, then, now you shall 
 pay both for La Goualeuse and yourself ! " he shouted, grinding 
 his teeth. 
 
 " Pay ! yes, I will pay you, but it shall be with my fists ; and 
 it shall be cash in full," replied the unknown. 
 
 " If," said the Chourineur, in a stifled voice, " you do but 
 let go my neckcloth, I will bite your nose off." 
 
 " My nose is too small, my lad, and you hav'nt light enough 
 to see it." 
 
 " Come under the * hanging glim ' * there." 
 
 " That I will," replied the unknown, " for then we may look 
 into the whites of each other's eyes." 
 
 He then made a desperate rush at the Chourineur, whom he 
 still held by the throat, and forced him to the end of the alley, 
 and then thrust him violently into the street, which was 
 but dimly lighted by the suspended street-lamp. The bandit 
 
 * Under the lamp, called reverbere.
 
 4; THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 stumbled; but, rapidly recovering his feet, he threw himself 
 furiously upon the unknown, whose slim and graceful form 
 appeared to belie the possession of the irresistible strength he 
 had displayed. After a struggle of a few minutes, the Chou- 
 rineur, although of athletic build, and a first-rate champion in a 
 species of pugilism vulgarly termed the savate, found that he 
 had got what they call his master. The unknown threw him 
 twice with immense dexterity, by what is called, in wrestling, 
 the leg-pass, or crook. Unwilling, however, to acknowledge the 
 superiority of his adversary, the Chourineur, boiling with rage, 
 returned again to the charge. Then the defender of La Goua- 
 leuse, suddenly altering his mode of attack, rained on the head 
 and face of the bandit a shower of blows with his closed fist, as 
 hard and heavy as if stricken by a steel gauntlet. These blows, 
 worthy of the admiration of Jem Belcher, Dutch Sam, Tom 
 Cribb, or any other celebrated English pugilist, were so entirely 
 different from the system of the savate, that the Chourineur 
 dropped like an ox on the pavement, exclaiming, as he fell, 
 " I'm floored " (Mon linge est lave) \ 
 
 " Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! have pity on him!" exclaimed La 
 Goualeuse, who, during the contest, had ventured on the thresh- 
 old of the alley, adding, with an air of astonishment, " But who 
 are you then? Except the Schoolmaster and Skeleton, there is 
 no one, from the Eue Saint Eloi to Notre Dame, who can 
 stand against the Chourineur. I thank you, very, very much, 
 sir, for, indeed, I fear that without your aid he would have 
 beaten me." 
 
 The unknown, instead of replying, listened with much at- 
 tention to the voice of this girl. Perhaps a tone more gentle, 
 sweet, and silvery, never fell on human ear. He endeavored to 
 examine the features of La Goualeuse; but the night was too 
 dark, and the beams of the street-lamp too flickering and feeble. 
 After remaining for some minutes quite motionless, the Chou- 
 rineur shook his legs and arms, and then partly rose from the 
 ground. 
 
 " Pray be on your guard ! " exclaimed the Goualeuse, retreat- 
 ing again into the dark passage, and taking her champion by 
 the arm ; " take care, or he will have his revenge on you." 
 
 " Don't be frightened, my child ; if he has not had enough, I 
 have more ready for him." 
 
 The brigand heard these words. 
 
 " Thanks," he murmured ; " I'm half throttled, and one eye 
 is closed that is quite enough for one day. Some other time, 
 perhaps, when we may meet again "
 
 THE TAPIS-FRANC. 5 
 
 "What! not content yet grumbling still?" said the un- 
 known, with a menacing tone. 
 
 " No, no not at all ; I do not grumble in the least. You 
 have regularly served me out you are a lad of mettle," said the 
 Chourineur, in a coarse tone, but still with that sort of 
 deference which physical superiority always finds in persons of 
 his grade. " You are the better man, that's clear. Well, except 
 the Skeleton, who seems to have bones of iron, he is so thin 
 and powerful, and the Schoolmaster, who could eat three Her- 
 culeses for his breakfast, no man living could boast of having 
 put his foot on my neck." 
 
 "Well, and what then?" 
 
 " Why, now I have found my master, that's all ; you will find 
 yours some day, sooner or later everybody does. One thing, 
 however, is certain; now that you are a better man than the 
 Chourineur, you may ' go your length ' in the Cite. All the 
 women will be your slaves; ogres and ogresses will give you 
 credit, if it is only for fear; you may be a king in your way! 
 But who and what are you? You patter flash like a family 
 man ! If you are a ' prig,' I'll have nothing to do with you. 
 I have used the knife, it is true, because, when the blood comes 
 into my eyes, I see red, and I must strike, in spite of myself; 
 but I have paid for my slashing, by going to the hulks for 
 fifteen years. My time is up, and I am free from surveillance. 
 I can now live in the capital, without fear of the ' beaks ; ' and 
 I have never prigged have I, La Goualeuse ? " 
 
 " No, he was never a thief," said the girl. 
 
 " Come along, then, and let us have a glass of something to- 
 gether, and I'll tell you who I am," said the unknown. " Come, 
 don't let us bear malice." 
 
 " Bear malice ! devil a bit ! You are master I confess it. 
 You do know how to handle your fists; I never knew anything 
 like it. Thunder and lightning! how your thumps fell on my 
 sconce I never felt anything like it. Yours is a new game, 
 and you must teach it to me." 
 
 " I will recommence whenever you like." 
 
 " Not on me, though, thank ye not on me," exclaimed the 
 Chourineur, laughing, "your blows fell as if from a sledge- 
 hammer; I am still giddy from them. But do you know Bras 
 Rouge, in whose passage you were ? " 
 
 " Bras Rouge ? " said the unknown, who appeared disagree- 
 ably surprised at the question; adding, however, with an in- 
 different air, " I do not know Bras Rouge. Is he the only 
 person who inhabits this abode? It rained in torrents, and I
 
 Q THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 took shelter in the alley. You meant to beat this poor girl, and 
 I have thrashed you that's all." 
 
 " You're right ; I have nothing to do with your affairs. Bras 
 Rouge has a room here, but does not occupy it often. He is 
 usually at his estaminet in the Champs Elysees. But what's the 
 good of talking about him ? " Then turning to the Goualeuse, 
 " On my word you are a good wench, and I would not have 
 beaten you ; you know I would not harm a child it was only my 
 joke. Never mind; it was very good of you not to set on this 
 friend of yours against me when I was down, and at his mercy. 
 Come and drink with us; he pays for all. By the way, my 
 trump," said he, to the unknown, "what say you, instead of 
 going to tipple, shall we go and have a crust for supper with 
 the ogress at the White Rabbit? It is a tapis-franc/' 
 
 " With all my heart. I will pay for the supper. You'll come 
 with us, Goualeuse ? " inquired the unknown. 
 
 "Thanks, sir," she replied, "but, after having seen your 
 struggle, it has made my heart beat so that I have no appetite." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! one shoulder of mutton pokes the other down," 
 said the Chourineur ; " the cookery at the White Eabbit is first- 
 rate." 
 
 The three personages then, in perfect amity, bent their steps 
 together toward the tavern. 
 
 During the contest between the Chourineur and the unknown, 
 a charcoal-seller, of huge size, ensconced in another passage, 
 had contemplated with much anxiety the progress of the combat, 
 but without attempting to offer the slightest assistance to either 
 antagonist. When the unknown, the Chourineur, and the Goua- 
 leuse, proceeded to the public-house, the charcoal-man followed 
 them. 
 
 The beaten man and the Goualeuse first entered the tapis- 
 franc; the unknown was following, when the charcoal-man ac- 
 costed him, and said in a low voice, in the German language, 
 and in a most respectful tone of remonstrance, "Pray, your 
 highness, be on your guard." 
 
 The unknown shrugged his shoulders, and rejoined his new 
 companion. The charcoal-dealer did not leave the door of the 
 cabaret, but listened attentively, and gazed from time to time 
 through a small hole which had been accidentally made in the 
 thick coat of whitening with which the windows of such haunts 
 as these are usually covered on the inside.
 
 THE OGRESS. f 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE OGRESS. 
 
 THE White Rabbit is situated in the center of the Rue aux 
 Feves. This tavern occupies the ground-flour of a lofty house, 
 the front of which is formed by two windows, which are styled 
 " a guillotine." Hanging from the front of the door leading to 
 a dark and arched passage, was an oblong lamp, on the cracked 
 panes of which were written, in red letters, "Nightly Lodgings 
 here" 
 
 The Chourineur, the unknown, and the Goualeuse, entered 
 into a large but low apartment, with the ceiling smoked, and 
 crossed by black rafters, just visible by the flickering light of 
 a miserable suspended lamp. The cracked walls, formerly 
 covered with plaster, were now ornamented in places with 
 coarse drawings, or sentences of flash and obscenity. 
 
 The floor, composed of earth beaten together with saltpeter, 
 was thick with dirt; an armful of straw an apology for a 
 carpet was placed at the foot of the ogress's counter, which 
 was at the right hand of the door, just beneath the dim lantern. 
 
 On each side of this room there were six tables, one end of 
 each of which was nailed to the wall, as well as the benches on 
 either side of them. At the farther end was a door leading to a 
 kitchen; on the right, near the counter, was a passage which 
 led into a den where persons slept for the night at three half- 
 pence a-head. 
 
 A few words will describe the ogress and 'her guests. The 
 lady was called Mother Ponisse; her triple trade consisted in 
 letting furnished apartments, keeping a public-house, and 
 lending clothes to the miserable creatures who infest these foul 
 streets. 
 
 The ogress was about forty years of age, bulky, fat, and heavy. 
 She had a full color, and strong symptoms of a beard. Her 
 deep voice, her enormous arms, and coarse hands, betokened 
 uncommon strength. She wore on her cap a large red and 
 yellow handkerchief; a shawl of rabbit-skin was crossed over 
 her bosom, and tied behind : her woolen gown fell upon black 
 wooden shoes, scorched almost black by the small stove at which 
 she warmed her feet ; and, to crown her beauty, she had a 
 copper complexion, which the use of strong liquors had mate- 
 rially tended to heighten.
 
 g TBB MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 The counter, covered with lead, was decked with jugs with iron 
 hoops, and various pewter measures. In an open cupboard, 
 fastened to the wall, there were several flasks of glass, so 
 fashioned as to represent the pedestrian figure of the Emperor. 
 These bottles contained sundry cordials, red and green in 
 color, and known by the names of "Drops for the Brave," 
 " Ratafia of the Column/' etc., etc. 
 
 A large black cat, with green eyes, was sitting near the ogress, 
 and seemed the familiar demon of the place. Then, in strange 
 contrast, a holy branch of boxwood, bought at church by the 
 ogress, was suspended at the back of an old cuckoo-clock. 
 
 Two marvelously ill-favored fellows, with unshaven beards, 
 and their garb all in tatters, hardly tasted of the pitcher of wine 
 before them, and conversed together in low voices, and with 
 uneasy aspect. One of the two, very pale and livid, pulled, 
 from time to time, his shabby skull-cap over his brows, and 
 concealed as much as possible his left hand, and, even when 
 compelled to use it, he did so with caution. 
 
 Further on there was a young man, hardly sixteen years of 
 age, with beardless chin, and a countenance wan, wrinkled, and 
 heavy, his eye dull, and his long black hair straggling down 
 his neck. This youthful rake, the emblem of precocious vice, 
 was smoking a short black pipe. His back was resting against 
 the wall, and his two hands were in the pockets of his blouse, 
 and his legs stretched along the bench. He did not cease 
 smoking for a moment, unless it was to drink from a cannakin 
 of brandy placed before him. 
 
 The other inmates of the tapis-franc, men and women, 
 presented no remarkable characteristics. There was the 
 ferocious or embruted face the vulgar and licentious mirth ; 
 but from time to time there was a deep and dull silence. Such 
 were the guests of the tapis-franc when the unknown, the 
 Chourineur, and the Goualeuse, entered. 
 
 These three persons play such important parts in our recital, 
 that we must put them in relief. 
 
 The Chourineur was a man of lofty stature and athletic make, 
 with hair of a pale brown, nearly white; thick eyebrows, and 
 enormous whiskers of deep red. The sun's rays, misery, and the 
 severe toil of the galleys, had bronzed his skin to that deep and 
 olive hue which is peculiar to convicts. In spite of his horrible 
 nickname, his features did not express ferocity, but a sort of 
 coarse familiarity and irrepressible audacity. We have said 
 already that the Chourineur was clothed in trousers and frock 
 of blue cotton, and on his head he had one of those large straw
 
 THE OGRESS. g 
 
 hats usually worn by workmen in timber-yards, and barge- 
 emptiers. 
 
 The Goualeuse was, perhaps, about sixteen and a half years 
 old. A forehead, of the purest and whitest, surmounted a face 
 of perfect oval and angel-like expression; a fringe of eyelids, 
 so long that they curled slightly, half veiled her large blue eyes, 
 which had a melancholy expression. The down of early youth 
 graced cheeks lightly colored with a scarlet tinge. Her small 
 and rosy mouth, which hardly ever smiled, her nose, straight, 
 and delicately chiseled, her rounded chin, had, in their com- 
 bined expression, a nobility and a sweetness, such as we can only 
 find in the most beautiful of Raphael's portraits. On each side 
 of her fair temples was a band of hair, of the most splendid 
 auburn hue, which descended in luxuriant ringlets half way 
 down her cheeks, and were then turned back behind the ear, a 
 portion of which ivory shaded with carnation was thus 
 visible, and was then lost under the close folds of a large cotton 
 handkerchief, with blue checks, tied, as it is called, en mar- 
 motte. Her graceful neck, of dazzling whiteness, was encircled 
 by a small necklace of grains of coral. Her gown, of brown 
 stuff, though much too large, could not conceal a charm- 
 ing form, supple and round as a cane ; a worn-out small orange- 
 colored shawl, with green fringe, was crossed over her bosom. 
 
 The lovely voice of the Goualeuse had made a strong impres- 
 sion on her unknown defender, and, in sooth, that voice, so 
 gentle, so deliciously modulated, and harmonious, had an at- 
 traction so irresistible, that the horde of villains and abandoned 
 women, in the midst of whom this unfortunate girl lived, often 
 begged her to sing, and listened to her with rapture. 
 
 The Goualeuse had another name, given, doubtless, to the 
 maiden sweetness of her countenance, she was also called Fleur- 
 de-Marie. 
 
 The defender of La Goualeuse (we shall call the unknown, 
 Rodolph) appeared about thirty-six years of age; his figure, 
 tall, graceful, and admirably proportioned, yet did not betoken 
 the astonishing vigor which he had displayed in his rencounter 
 with the Chourineur. 
 
 It would have been difficult to assign a decided character to 
 the physiognomy of Rodolph. Certain wrinkles in his forehead 
 betokened a man of meditation; and yet the firm expression of 
 his mouth, the dignified and bold carriage of the head, assured 
 us of the man of action, whose physical strength and presence 
 of mind would always command an ascendancy over the mul- 
 titude.
 
 10 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 In his straggle with the Chourineur, Rodolph had neither 
 betrayed anger nor hatred. Confident in his own strength, his 
 address, and agility, he had only shown a contempt for the brute 
 beast which he subdued. 
 
 We will finish this bodily picture of Rodolph by saying that 
 his features, regularly handsome, seemed too beautiful for a 
 man. His eyes were large, and of a deep hazel, his nose aquiline, 
 his chin rather projecting, his hair bright chestnut, of the same 
 shade as his eyebrows, which were strongly arched, and his small 
 mustache, which was fine and silky. Thanks to the manners 
 and the language which he assumed with so much ease, 
 Rodolph was exactly like the other guests of the ogress. Round 
 his graceful neck, as elegantly modeled as that of the Indian 
 Bacchus, he wore a black cravat, carelessly tied, the ends of 
 which fell on the collar of his blue blouse. A double row of 
 nails decorated his heavy shoes, and, except that his hands 
 were of most aristocratic shape, nothing distinguished him 
 from the other guests of the tapis-franc; though, in a moral 
 sense, his resolute air, and, what we may term, his bold serenity, 
 placed an immense distance between them. 
 
 On entering the tapis-franc, the Chourineur, laying one of 
 his heavy hands on the shoulders of Rodolph, cried, " Hail the 
 conqueror of the Chourineur! Yes, my boys, this springald 
 has floored me; and if any young gentleman wishes to have his 
 ribs smashed, or his 'nob in Chancery' even including the 
 Schoolmaster and the Skeleton, here is their man ; I will answer 
 for him, and back him ! " 
 
 At these words, all present, from the ogress to the lowest 
 ruffian of the tapis-franc, contemplated the victor of the Chou- 
 rineur with respect and fear. Some, moving their glasses and 
 jugs to the end of the table at which they were seated, offered 
 Rodolph a seat, if he were inclined to sit near them ; others 
 approached the Chourineur, and asked him, in a low voice, for 
 the particulars of this unknown, who had made his entrance 
 into their world in so striking a manner. 
 
 Then the ogress, accosting Rodolph with one of her most 
 gracious smiles, a thing unheard of, and almost deemed fabu- 
 lous, in the annals of the White Rabbit, rose from the bar to 
 take the orders of her guest, and know what he desired to have 
 for the refreshment of his party an attention which she did 
 not evince either to the Schoolmaster or the Skeleton, two 
 fearful ruffians, who made even the Chourineur tremble. 
 
 One of the men with the villainous aspect, whom we have 
 before described as being very pale, hiding his left hand, and
 
 THE OORESS. H 
 
 continually pulling his cap over his brows, leaned towards the 
 ogress, who was carefully wiping the table where Rodolph had 
 taken his seat, and said to her, in a hoarse tone, " Hasn't the 
 Gros-Boiteux been here to-day ? " 
 
 " No/' said Mother Ponisse. 
 
 " Nor yesterday? " 
 
 " Yes, he came yesterday." 
 
 " Was Calebasse with him the daughter of Martial, who was 
 guillotined? You know whom I mean the Martials of the 
 lie de Ravageur?" 
 
 " What ! do you take me for a spy, with your questions ? 
 Do you think I watch my customers?" said the ogress, in a 
 brutal tone. 
 
 " I have an appointment to-night with the Gros-Boiteux and 
 the Schoolmaster," replied the fellow; "we have some business 
 together." 
 
 " That's your affair a set of ruffians, as you are, altogether." 
 
 " Ruffians ! " said the man, much incensed, " it is such ruffians 
 you get your living by." 
 
 " Will you hold your jaw ? " said the Amazon, with a threat- 
 ening gesture, and lifting, as she spoke, the pitcher she held in 
 her hand. 
 
 The man resumed his place, grumbling as he did so. 
 
 " The Gros-Boiteux has, perhaps, stayed to give that young 
 fellow Germain, who lives in the Rue du Temple, his gruel," 
 said he, to his companion. 
 
 " What, do they mean to do for him ? " 
 
 " No, not quite, but to make him more careful in future. It 
 appears he has ' blown the gaff ' in the job at Nantes, so Bras 
 Rouge declares." 
 
 " Why, that is Gros-Boiteux' affair ; he has only just left 
 prison, and has his hands full already." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie had followed the Chourineur into the tavern 
 of the ogress, and he, responding to a nod given to him by the 
 young scamp with the jaded aspect, said, " Ah ! Barbillon, what, 
 pulling away at the old stuff?" 
 
 " Yes : I would rather fast, and go haref oot any day, than be 
 without my drops for my throttle, and the weed for my pipe," 
 said the rapscallion, in a thick, low, hoarse voice, without 
 moving from his seat, and puffing out volumes of tobacco-smoke. 
 
 " Good-evening, Fleur-de-Marie," said the ogress, looking with 
 a prying eye on the clothes of the poor girl clothes which she 
 had lent her. After her scrutiny, she said, in a tone of coarse 
 satisfaction, " It's really a pleasure so it is to lend one's
 
 12 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 good clothes to you : you are as clean as a kitten, or else I would 
 never have trusted you with that shawl. Such a beauty as that 
 orange one is, I would never have trusted it to such gals as 
 Tourneuse and Boulotte; but I have taken every care on you 
 ever since you came here six weeks ago; and, if the truth must 
 be said, there is not a tidier nor more nicer girl than you in 
 all the Cite; that there ain't; though you be al'ays so sadlike, 
 and too particular/' 
 
 The Goualeuse sighed, turned her head, and said nothing. 
 
 " Why, mother," said Eodolph to the old hag, " you have got 
 some holy box-wood, I see, over your cuckoo; " and he pointed 
 with his finger to the consecrated bough behind the old clock. 
 
 " Why, you heathen, would you have us live like dogs ? " 
 replied the ogress. Then, addressing Fleur-de-Marie, she added, 
 " Come, now, Goualeuse, tip us one of your pretty little 
 ditties" (goualantes). 
 
 " Supper, supper first, Mother Ponisse," said the Chourineur. 
 
 "Well, my lad of wax, what can I do for you?" said the 
 ogress to Rodolph, whose good-will she was desirous to conciliate, 
 and whose support she might, perchance, require. 
 
 " Ask the Chourineur ; he orders, I pay." 
 
 " Well, then," said the ogress, turning to the bandit, " what 
 will you have for supper, you ' bad lot ? ' ' ; 
 
 " Two quarts of the best wine, at twelve sous, three crusts 
 of wheaten bread, and a harlequin,"* said the Chourineur, 
 after considering for a few moments what he should order. 
 
 " Ah ! you are a dainty dog, I know, and as fond as ever of 
 them harlequins." 
 
 " Well, now, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur, tl are you 
 hungry ? " 
 
 " No, Chourineur." 
 
 " Would you like anything better than a harlequin, my lass ? " 
 said Rodolph. 
 
 " No, I thank you, I have no appetite." 
 
 "Come, now," said the Chourineur, with a brutal grin, 
 "look my master in the face like a jolly wench. You have no 
 objection, I suppose ? " 
 
 The poor girl blushed, and did not look at Rodolph. A few 
 moments afterwards, and the ogress herself placed on the table 
 a pitcher of wine, bread, and a harlequin, of which we will not 
 attempt to give an idea to the reader, but which appeared most 
 
 * A "harlequin " is a collection of odds and ends of fish, flesh, and fowl, 
 after they come from table, which the Parisian, providing for the class to 
 Which the Chourineur belongs, finds a profitable and popular composition.
 
 THE OGRESS. 13 
 
 relishing to the Chourineur; for he exclaimed, " Di&u de Dieu! 
 what a dish! what a glorious dish! it is a regular omnibus; 
 there is something in it to everybody's taste. Those who like 
 fat can have it; so can they who like lean; as well as those 
 who prefer sugar, and those who choose pepper. There's tender 
 bits of chicken, biscuit, sausage, tarts, mutton-bones, pastry 
 crust, fried fish, vegetables, woodcocks' heads, cheese, and salad. 
 Come, eat, Goualeuse, eat ; it is so capital ! You have been to 
 a wedding-breakfast somewhere this morning." 
 
 " No more than on other mornings. I ate this morning, as 
 usual, my ha'porth of milk, and my ha'porth of bread." 
 
 The entrance of another personage into the cabaret interrupted 
 all conversation for a moment, and everybody turned his head in 
 the direction of the newcomer, who was a middle-aged man, 
 active, and powerful, wearing a loose coat and cap. He was 
 evidently quite at home in the tapis-franc, and, in language 
 familiar to all the guests, requested to be supplied with supper. 
 He was so placed, that he could observe the two ill-looking 
 scoundrels who had asked after Gros-Boiteux and the School- 
 master. He did not take his eyes off them ; but, in consequence 
 of their position, they could not see that they were the objects 
 of such marked and constant attention. 
 
 The conversation, momentarily interrupted, was resumed. In 
 spite of his natural audacity, the Chourineur showed a def- 
 erence for Rodolph, and abstained from familiarity. 
 
 " By Jove," said he to Rodolph, " although I have smarted 
 for it, yet I am very glad to have met with you." 
 
 " What! because you relish the harlequin?" 
 
 " Why, maybe so ; but more because I am all on the fret to 
 see you ' serve out ' the Schoolmaster. To see him who has 
 always crowed over me, crowed over in his turn would do me 
 good." 
 
 " Do you suppose, then, that for your amusement, I mean to 
 spring at the Schoolmaster, and pin him like a bull-dog?" 
 
 " No, but he'll have at you in a moment, when he learns that 
 
 u are a better man than he," replied the Ohourineur, rubbing 
 is hands. 
 
 "Well, I have coin enough left to pay him in full," said 
 Eodolph, in a careless tone; "but it is horrible weather: what 
 say you to a cup of brandy with sugar in it ? " 
 
 " That's the ticket ! " said the Chourineur. 
 
 "And, that we may be better acquainted, we will tell each 
 other who we are," added Rodolph. 
 
 "The Albinos called the Chourineur a freed convict, worker 
 
 yo 
 hi
 
 14 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 at the wood that floats at St. Paul's Quay ; frozen in the winter, 
 scorched in the summer, from twelve to fifteen hours a-day in 
 the water; half man, half frog; that's my description," said 
 Rodolph's companion, making him a military salute with his 
 left hand. " Well, now, and you, my master, this is your first 
 appearance in the Cite. I don't mean anything to offend; but 
 you entered head foremost against my skull, and beating the 
 drum on my carcase. By all that's ugly, what a rattling you 
 made, especially with these blows with which you doubled me up ! 
 I never can forget them thick as buttons what a torrent ! 
 But you have some trade besides ' polishing off ' the Chou- 
 rineur ? " 
 
 " I am a fan-painter, and my name is Rodolph." 
 
 " A fan-painter ! ah ! that's the reason, then, that your hands 
 are so white," added the Chourineur. "If all your fellow- 
 workmen are like you, there must be a tidy lot of you. But, 
 as you are a workman, what brings you to a tapis-franc in the 
 Cite, where there are only prigs, cracksmen, or freed convicts 
 like myself, and who only come here because we cannot go else- 
 where ? This is no place for you. Honest mechanics have their 
 coffee-shops, and don't talk slang." 
 
 "I come here because I like good company." 
 
 " Gammon ! " said the Chourineur, shaking his head with an 
 air of doubt. " I found you in the passage of Bras Rouge. 
 Well, man, never mind. You say you don't know him ? " 
 
 " What do you mean with all your nonsense about your 
 Bras Rouge? Let him go to the " 
 
 " Stay, master of mine. You, perhaps, distrust me : but you 
 are wrong ; and if you like I will tell you my history ; but that 
 is on condition that you teach me how to give those precious 
 thumps which settled my business so quickly. What say you ? " 
 
 "I agree, Chourineur; tell me your story, and Goualeuse will 
 also tell hers." 
 
 " Very well," replied the Chourineur ; " it is not weather to 
 turn a mangy cur out of doors, and it will be an amusement. Do 
 you agree, Goualeuse ? " 
 
 "Oh, certainly; but my story is a very short one," said 
 Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 " And you will have to tell us your history, comrade Rodolph," 
 added the Chourineur. 
 
 " Well, then, I'll begin." 
 
 " Fan-painter ! " said Goualeuse, " what a very pretty trade ! " 
 
 "And how much can you earn if you stick close to work?" 
 inquired the Chourineur.
 
 THE OGRESS. 15 
 
 " I work by the piece," responded Rodolph ; " my good days 
 are worth three francs, sometimes four, in summer, when the 
 days are long." 
 
 " And you are idle, sometimes, you rascal ? " 
 
 " Yes, as long as I have money, though I do not waste it. 
 First, I pay ten sous for my night's lodging." 
 
 " Your pardon, Monseigneur, you sleep, then, at ten sous, 
 you do ? " said the Chourineur, raising his hand to his cap. 
 
 The word Monseigneur spoken ironically by the Chourineur, 
 caused an almost imperceptible smile on the lips of Rodolph, who 
 replied, " Oh, I like to be clean and comfortable." 
 
 " Here's a peer of the realm for you ! a man with mines of 
 wealth ! " exclaimed the Chourineur ; " he pays ten sous for his 
 bed ! " 
 
 " Well, then," 1 continued Rodolph, " four sous for tobacco ; that 
 makes fourteen sous; four sous for breakfast, eighteen; fifteen 
 sous for dinner; one or two sous for brandy; that all comes to 
 about thirty-four or thirty-five sous a-day. I have no occasion 
 to work all the week, and so the rest of the time I amuse myself." 
 
 " And your family ? " said the Goualeuse. 
 
 " Dead," replied Rodolph. 
 
 " Who were your friends ? " asked the Goualeuse. 
 
 " Dealers in old clothes and marine stores under the pillars of 
 the market-place." 
 
 "How did you spend what they left you?" inquired the 
 Chourineur. 
 
 "I was very young, and my guardian sold the stock ; and, 
 when I came of age, he brought me in his debtor for thirty 
 francs; that was my inheritance." 
 
 " And who is now your employer? " the Chourineur demanded. 
 
 " His name is Gauthier, in the Rue des Bourdonnais, a beast 
 brute thief miser! he would almost as soon lose the sight of 
 an eye as pay his workmen. Now, this is as true a description 
 as I can give you of him : so let's have done with him. I learned 
 my trade under him from the time when I was fifteen years of 
 age; I have a good number in the Conscription, and my name 
 is Rodolph Durand. My history is told." 
 
 " ISTow, it's your turn, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur ; " I 
 keep my history till last, as a bonne louche."
 
 16 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HISTORY OF LA GOUALEUSE. 
 
 " LET us begin at the beginning," said the Chourineur. 
 
 " Yes. Your parents ? " added Eodolph. 
 
 " I never knew them," said Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 "The deuce!" said the Chourineur. "Well, that is odd, 
 Goualeuse ! you and I are of the same family." 
 
 " What ! you, too, Chourineur ? " 
 
 " An orphan of the streets of Paris like you, my girl." 
 
 " Then who brought you up, Goualeuse ? " asked Eodolph. 
 
 " I don't know, sir. As far back as I can remember I 
 was, I think, about six or seven years old I was with an 
 old one-eyed woman, whom they call the Chouette,* because she 
 had a hooked nose, a green eye quite round, and was like an owl 
 with one eye out." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! I think I see her, the old night-bird ! " shouted 
 the Chourineur, laughing. 
 
 " The one-eyed woman," resumed Fleur-de-Marie, " made me 
 sell barley-sugar in the evenings on the Pont Neuf: but that 
 was only an excuse for asking charity ; and when I did not bring 
 her in at least ten sous, the Chouette beat me instead of giving 
 me any supper." 
 
 " Are you sure the woman was not your mother ? " inquired 
 Rodolph. 
 
 " Quite sure : for she often scolded me for being fatherless and 
 motherless, and said she picked me up one day in the street." 
 
 " So," said the Chourineur, " you had a dance instead of a 
 meal, if you did not pick up ten sous ? " 
 
 " Yes. And after that I went to lie down on some straw 
 spread on the ground; when I was cold very cold." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, for the feather of beans (straw) is a very 
 cold sort of stuff," said the Chourineur. "A dung-heap is 
 twice as good ; but then people don't like your smell, and say, 
 ' Oh, the blackguard ! where has he been ? ' * 
 
 This remark made Rodolph smile, whilst Fleur-de-Marie thus 
 continued : " Next day the one-eyed woman gave me a similar 
 allowance for breakfast as for supper, and sent me to Montf augon 
 to get some worms to bait for fish; for in the day-time the 
 Chouette kept her stall for selling fishing-lines, near the bridge 
 * The Screech-owl.
 
 OF LA GO UALEUSE. 17 
 
 of Notre Dame. For a child of seven years of age, who is 
 half-dead with hunger and cold, it is a long way from the 
 Hue de la Mortellerie to Montfaugon." 
 
 " But exercise has made you grow as straight as an arrow, my 
 girl: you have no reason to complain of that," said the Chou- 
 rineur, striking a light for his pipe. 
 
 " Well," said the Goualeuse, " I returned very, very tired ; 
 then, at noon, the Chouette gave me a little bit of bread." 
 
 " Ah, eating so little has kept your figure as fine as a needle, 
 girl: you must not find fault with that," said the Chourineur, 
 puffing out a cloud of tobacco-smoke. " But what ails you, com- 
 rade I mean, Master Rodolph? You seem quite down like: 
 are you sorry for the girl and her miseries? Ah, we all have, 
 and have had, our miseries ! " 
 
 " Yes, but not such miseries as mine, Chourineur," said Fleur- 
 de-Marie. 
 
 " What ! not I, Goualeuse ? Why, my lass, you were a queen 
 to me ! At least, when you were little you slept on straw and 
 ate bread : I passed my most comfortable nights in the lime- 
 kilns at Clichy, like a regular vagabond; I fed on cabbage- 
 stumps and other refuse vegetables, which I picked up when and 
 where I could ; but very often, as it was so far to the lime-kilns 
 at Clichy, and I was tired after my work, I slept under the 
 large stones at the Louvre; and then, in winter, I had white 
 sheets that is, whenever the snow fell." 
 
 " A man is stronger : but a poor little girl " said Fleur- 
 
 de-Marie. "And yet, with all that, I was as plump as a 
 skylark." 
 
 "What! you remember that, eh?" 
 
 " To be sure I do. When the Chouette beat me I fell always 
 at the first blow; then she stamped upon me, screaming out, 
 ' Ah, the nasty little brute ! she hasn't a farden's worth of 
 strength she can't stand even two thumps ! ' And then she 
 called me Pegriotte (little thief) : I never had any other name 
 that, was my baptismal name." 
 
 " Like me. I had the baptism of a dog in a ditch, and they 
 called me 'Fellow/ or 'You, sir/ or 'Albino.' It is really 
 surprising, my wench, how much we resemble each other ! " 
 said the Chourineur. 
 
 "That's true in our misery," said Fleur-de-Marie, who 
 addressed herself to the Chourineur almost always, feeling, in 
 spite of herself, a sort of shame at the presence of Rodolph, 
 hardly venturing to raise her eyes to him, although in appearance 
 he belonged to that class with whom she ordinarily lived.
 
 13 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "And when you had fetched the worms for the Chouette. 
 what did you do ? " inquired the Chourineur. 
 
 " Why, she made me beg until night : then, in the evening, she 
 went to sell fried fish on the Pont Neuf. Oh, dear ! at that time 
 it was a long while to wait for my morsel of bread; and if I 
 dared to ask the Chouette for something to eat, she beat me and 
 said, ' Get ten sous, and then you shall have your supper/ Then 
 I, being very hungry, and as she hurt me very much, cried with 
 a very full heart and sore body. The Chouette tied my little 
 basket of barley-sugar round my neck, and stationed me on 
 the Pont Neuf, where, in winter, I was frozen to death. Yet 
 sometimes, in spite of myself, I slept as J stood but not long; 
 for the Chouette kicked me until I awoke. I remained on the 
 bridge till eleven o'clock, my stock of barley-sugar hanging 
 round my neck, and often crying heartily. The passengers, 
 touched by my tears, sometimes gave me a sous; and then I 
 gained ten and sometimes fifteen sous, which I gave to the 
 Chouette, who searched me all over, and even looked in my 
 mouth, to see if I had kept back anything." 
 
 " Well, fifteen sous was a good haul for a little bird like 
 you." 
 
 " It was. And then the one-eyed woman seeing that " 
 
 " With her one eye ? " said the Chourineur, laughing. 
 
 " Of course, because she had but one. Well, then, she finding 
 that when I cried I got most money, always beat me severely 
 before she put me on the bridge." 
 
 " Brutal, but cunning." 
 
 " Well, at last I got hardened to blows ; and as the Chouette 
 got in a passion when I did not cry, why I, to be revenged upon 
 her, the more she thumped me the more I laughed, although the 
 tears came into my eyes with the pain." 
 
 " But, poor Goualeuse, did not the sticks of barley-sugar 
 make you long for them ? " 
 
 "Ah, yes, Chourineur; but I never tasted them. It was 
 my ambition, and my ambition ruined me. One day, returning 
 from Montfaugon, some little boys beat me and stole my basket. 
 I came back, well knowing what was in store for me ; and I had 
 a shower of thumps and no bread. In the evening, before going 
 to the bridge, the Chouette, savage because I had not brought in 
 anything the evening before, instead of beating me as usual 
 to make me cry, made me bleed by pulling my hair from the 
 sides of the temples, where it is most tender." 
 
 " Tonnerre! that was coming it too strong/' said the bandit, 
 striking his fist heavily on the table, and frowning sternly. " To
 
 HISTORY OF LA OOUALEUSE. 19 
 
 beat a child is no such great thing, but to ill-use one so 
 
 Heaven and earth ! " 
 
 Kodolph had listen attentively to the recital of Fleur-de- 
 Marie, and now looked at the Chourineur with astonishment : the 
 display of such feeling quite surprised him. 
 
 " What ails you, Chourineur ? " he inquired. 
 
 " What ails me? ails me? Why, have you no feeling? That 
 devil's dam of a Chouette who so brutally used this girl ! Are 
 you as hard as your own fists ? " 
 
 " Go on, my girl," said Rodolph to Fleur-de-Marie, without 
 appearing to notice the Chourineur's appeal. 
 
 " I have told you how the Chouette ill-used me to make me 
 cry. I was then sent on to the bridge with my barley-sugar. 
 The one-eyed was at her usual spot, and from time to time 
 shook her doubled fist at me. However, as I had not broken 
 my fast since the night before, and as I was very hungry, at 
 the risk of putting the Chouette in a passion, I took a piece 
 of barley-sugar, and began to eat it." 
 
 " Well done, girl ! " 
 
 " I ate another piece " 
 
 " Bravo ! go it, my hearties ! " 
 
 "I found it so good, not from daintiness, but real hunger. 
 But then a woman, who sold oranges, cried out to the one-eyed 
 woman, ' Look ye there, Chouette ; Pegriotte is eating the barley- 
 sugar ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, thunder and lightning ! " said the Chourineur ; " that 
 would enrage her make her in a passion! Poor little mouse, 
 what a fright you were in when the Chouette saw you ! eh ? " 
 
 " How did you get out of that affair, poor Goualeuse ? " asked 
 Eodolph, with as much interest as the Chourineur. 
 
 " Why, it was a serious matter to me but that was after- 
 wards; for the Chouette, although boiling over with rage at 
 seeing me devour the barley-sugar, could not leave her stove, for 
 the fish was frying." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! True, true that was a difficult position for 
 her," said the Chourineur, laughing heartily. 
 
 " At a distance, the Chouette threatened me with her long 
 iron fork; but, when her fish was cooked, she came towards me. 
 I had only collected three sous, and I had eaten six sous' worth. 
 She did not say a word, but took me by the hand and dragged me 
 away with her. At this moment, I do not know how it was that 
 I did not die on the spot with fright. I remember it as well as 
 if it was this very moment it was very near to New-year's day, 
 and there were a great many shops on the Pont Neuf, all filled
 
 20 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 with toys, and I had been looking at them all the evening with 
 the greatest delight beautiful dolls, little furnished houses, 
 you know how very amusing such things are for a child." 
 
 " You had never had any playthings, had you, Goualeuse ? " 
 asked the Chourineur. 
 
 " I ? Mon Dieu! who was there to give me any playthings? " 
 said the girl, in a sad tone. " Well, the evening passed. 
 Although it was in the depth of winter, I only had on a little 
 cotton gown, no stockings, no shift, and with wooden shoes on 
 my feet: that was not enough to stifle me with heat, was it? 
 Well, when the old woman took my hand, I burst out into a 
 perspiration from head to foot. What frightened me most was, 
 that, instead of swearing and storming as usual, she only kept 
 on grumbling between her teeth. She never let go my hand, but 
 made me walk so fast so very fast that I was obliged to run 
 to keep up with her, and in running I had lost one of my wooden 
 shoes ; and as I did not dare to say so, I followed her with one 
 foot naked on the bare stones. When we reached home it was 
 covered with blood." 
 
 " A one-eyed old devil's kin ! " said the Chourineur, again 
 thumping the table in his anger. " It makes my heart quite cold 
 to think of the poor little thing trotting along beside that cursed 
 old brute, with her poor little foot all bloody ! " 
 
 " We lived in a garret in the Rue de la Montellerie : beside the 
 entrance to our alley there was a dram-shop, and there the 
 Chouette went in, still dragging me by the hand. She then had 
 a half-pint of brandy at the bar." 
 
 " The deuce ! Why, I could not drink that without being 
 quite fuddled ! " 
 
 " It was her usual quantity : perhaps that was the reason why 
 she beat me of an evening. Well, at last we got up into our 
 cock-loft; the Chouette double-locked the door; I threw myself 
 on my knees, and asked her pardon for having eaten the barley- 
 sugar. She did not answer me, but I heard her mumbling to 
 herself as she walked about the room, 'What shall I do this 
 evening to this little thief, who has eaten all that barley-sugar? 
 Ah, I see ! ' And she looked at me maliciously with her one 
 green eye. I was still on my knees, when she suddenly went 
 to a shelf and took down a pair of pincers." 
 
 " Pincers ! " exclaimed the Chourineur. 
 
 "Yes, pincers." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To strike you ? " inquired Rodolph. 
 
 " To pinch you ? " said the Chourineur,
 
 HISTOR Y OF LA 00 UALE USE. 21 
 
 " No, no," answered the poor girl, trembling at the very recol- 
 lection. 
 
 " To pull out your hair ? " 
 
 " No ; to take out one of my teeth." 
 
 The Chourineur uttered a blasphemous oath, accompanied with 
 such furious imprecations, that all the guests in the tapis-franc 
 looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 "' Why, what is the matter with you? " asked Eodolph. 
 
 " The matter ! the matter ! I'll skin her alive, that infernal 
 old hag! if I can catch her. Where is she? tell me, where is 
 she ? Let me find her, and I'll throttle the old " 
 
 " And did she really take out your tooth, my poor child that 
 wretched monster in woman's shape?" demanded Kodolph, 
 whilst the Chourineur was venting his rage in a volley of the 
 most violent reproaches. 
 
 "Yes, sir; but not at the first pull. How I suffered! 
 She held me with my head between her knees, where she held 
 it as if in a vice. Then, half with her pincers, half with her 
 fingers, she pulled out my tooth, and then said, ' Now I will pull 
 out one every day, Pegriotte; and when you have not a tooth 
 left I will throw you into the river, and the fish shall eat you.' " 
 
 " The old devil ! to break and pull out a poor child's teeth in 
 that way ! " exclaimed the Chourineur, with redoubled fury. 
 
 " And how did you escape her, then ? " inquired Eodolph of 
 the Goualeuse. 
 
 "Next day. instead of going to Montfaugon, I went on the 
 side of the Champs Elysees, so frightened was I of being drowned 
 by the Chouette. I would have run to the end of the world, 
 rather than be again in the Chouette's hands. After walking 
 and walking, I fairly lost myself: I had not begged a farthing, 
 and the more I thought the more frightened did I become. At 
 night I hid myself in a timber-yard, under some piles of wood. 
 As I was very little, I was able to creep under an old door and 
 hide myself amongst a heap of logs. I was so hungry that I 
 tried to gnaw a piece of the bark, but I could not bite it it was 
 too hard. At length I fell asleep. In the morning, hearing a 
 noise, I hid myself still further back in the wood-pile. It was 
 tolerably warm, and, if I had had something to eat, I could not 
 have been better off for the winter." 
 
 " Like me in the lime-kiln." 
 
 " I did not dare to quit the timber-yard, for I fancied that the 
 Chouette would seek for me everywhere, to pull out my teeth 
 and drown me, and that she would be sure to catch me if I 
 stirred from where I was."
 
 22 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Stay, do not mention that old beast's name again it makes 
 the blood come into my eyes ! The fact is, that you have known 
 m i ser y bitter, bitter misery. Poor little mite ! how sorry I am 
 that I threatened to beat you just now, and frightened you. As 
 I am a man, I did not mean to do it." 
 
 " Why, would you not have beaten me ? I have no one to de- 
 fend me." 
 
 " That's the very reason, because you are not like the others 
 because you have no one to take your part, that I would not 
 have beaten you. When I say no one, I do not mean our com- 
 rade Eodolph ; but his coming was a chance, and he certainly did 
 give me my full allowance when we met." 
 
 " Go on, my child," said Eodolph. " How did you get away 
 form the timber-yard ? " 
 
 " Next day, about noon, I heard a great dog barking under 
 the wood-pile. I listened, and the bark came nearer and nearer; 
 then a deep voice exclaimed, ' My dog barks somebody is hid 
 in the yard ! ' ' They are thieves/ said another voice ; and the 
 men then began to encourage the dog, and cry, ' Find 'em ! find 
 'em, lad ! ' The dog ran to me, and, for fear of being bitten, I 
 began to cry out with all my might and main. ' Hark ! ' said one 
 of them : ' I hear the cry of a child.' They called back the dog ; I 
 came out from the pile of wood, and saw a gentleman and a man 
 in a blouse. ' Ah, you little thief ! what are you doing in my tim- 
 ber-yard ? ' said the gentleman, in a cross tone. I put my hands 
 together and said, ' Don't hurt me, pray : I have had nothing to 
 eat for two days, and I've run away from the Chouette, who 
 pulled out my tooth, and said she would throw me over to the 
 fishes. Not knowing where to sleep, I was passing before your 
 door, and I slept for the night amongst these logs, under this 
 heap, not thinking I hurt anybody.' " 
 
 " ' I'm not to be gammoned by you, you little hussy ! You 
 came to steal my logs. Go and call the watch/ said the timber- 
 merchant to his man." 
 
 " Ah, the old vagabond ! the old reprobate ! Call the watch ! 
 Why didn't he send for the artillery?" said the Chourineur. 
 " Steal his logs, and you only eight years old ! What an old 
 ass ! " 
 
 " ' Not true, sir/ his man replied. ' Steal your logs, master ! 
 How can she do that ? She is not so big as the smallest piece ! ' 
 ' You are right/ replied the timber-merchant : ' but if she does 
 not come for herself, she does for others. Thieves have a parcel 
 of children, whom they send to pry about and hide themselves 
 to open the doors of houses. She must be taken to the commis- 
 sary, and mind she does not escape/"
 
 m STORY OF LA GOUALEUSE. 23 
 
 " Upon my life, this timber-merchant was more of a log than 
 any log in his own yard," said the Chourineur. 
 
 " I was taken to the commissary," resumed Goualeuse. " I 
 accused myself of being a wanderer, and they sent me to prison. 
 I was sent before the Tribunal, and sentenced, as a rogue and 
 vagabond, to remain until I was sixteen years of age in a house 
 of correction. I thank the judges much for their kindness; for 
 in prison I had food, I was not beaten, and it was a paradise 
 after the cock-loft of the Chouette. Then, in prison I learned 
 to sew; but sad to say! I was idle: I preferred singing to 
 work, and particularly when I saw the sun shine. Ah, when the 
 sun shone on the walls of the prison I could not help singing; 
 and then, when I could sing, I seemed no longer to be a prisoner. 
 It was after I began to sing so much that they called me 
 Goualeuse, instead of Pegriotte. Well, when I was sixteen, I 
 left the jail. At the door, I found the ogress here, and two or 
 three old women, who had come to see my fellow-prisoners, and 
 who had always told me that when I left the prison they would 
 find work for me." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see," said the Chourineur. 
 
 " ' My pretty little maid,' said the ogress and her old compan- 
 ions, 'come and lodge with us: we will give you good clothes, 
 and then you may amuse yourself.' I didn't like them, and re- 
 fused, saying to myself, ' I know how to sew very well, and I have 
 two hundred francs in hand. I have been eight years in prison, 
 I should like to enjoy myself a bit that won't hurt anybody: 
 work will come when the money is spent.' And so I began to 
 spend my two hundred francs. Ah, that was my mistake," added 
 Fleur-de-Marie, with a sigh. "I ought first to have got my 
 work : but I hadn't a soul on earth to advise me. At sixteen, to 
 be thrown on the city of Paris, as I was, one is so lonely; and 
 what is done is done. I have done wrong, and I have suffered 
 for it. I began then to spend my money : first, I bought flowers 
 to put in my room I do love flowers ! then I bought a gown, 
 a nice shawl, and I took a walk in the Bois de Boulogne, and I 
 went to St. Germains, Vincennes, and other country places. Oh, 
 how I love the country ! " 
 
 " With a lover by your side, my girl ? " asked the Chourineur. 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu! no! I like to be my own mistress. I had 
 my little excursions with a friend who was in prison with me 
 a good little girl as can be : they call her Rigolette, because she 
 is always laughing." 
 
 " Bigolette ! Rigolette ! I don't know her," said the Chouri- 
 neur, who appeared to be appealing to his memory.
 
 24 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 e< I didn't think you knew her. I am sure Rigolette was very 
 well behaved in prison, and always so gay and so industrious, she 
 took out with her when she left the prison at least four hundred 
 francs that she had earned. And then she is so particular ! 
 you should see her! When I say I had no one to advise me, I 
 am wrong : I ought to have listened to her : for, after having had 
 a week's amusement together, she said to me, ' Now we have had 
 such a holiday, we ought to try for work, and not spend our 
 money in waste/ I, who was so happy in the fields and the 
 woods it was just at the end of spring, this year I answered, 
 ' Oh, I must he idle a little longer, and then I will work hard/ 
 Since that time I have not seen Rigolett,e, but I heard a few 
 days since that she was living near the Temple that she was a 
 famous needlewoman, and earned at least twenty-five sous a 
 day, and has a small workroom of her own : but now I could not 
 for the world see her again I should die with shame if I met 
 her." 
 
 " So, then, my poor girl," said Rodolph, " you spent your 
 money in the country you like the country, do you ? " 
 
 " Like it ? I love it ! Oh ! what would I not give to live there ? 
 Rigolette, on the contrary, prefers Paris, and likes to walk on the 
 Boulevards; but she is so nice and so kind, she went into the 
 country only to please me/' 
 
 " And you did not even leave yourself a few sous to live upon 
 whilst you found work?" said the Chourineur. 
 
 " Yes, I had reserved about fifty francs ; but it happened that 
 I had for my washerwoman a woman called Lorraine, a poor 
 thing, with none but the good God to protect her. She was then 
 very near her confinement, and yet was obliged all day long to be 
 with her hands and feet in her washing-tubs. She fell sick, and, 
 not being able to work, applied for admittance to a lying-in 
 hospital, but there was no room. She could not work, and her 
 time was very near at hand, and she had not a sous to pay for 
 the bed in a garret, from which they drove her. Fortunately, she 
 met one day, at the end of the Pont Notre-Dame, with Goubin's 
 wife, who had been hiding for four days in a cellar of a house 
 which was being pulled down behind the Hotel Dieu " 
 
 " But why was Goubin's wife hiding ? " 
 
 " To escape from her husband, who threatened to kill her ; 
 and she only went out at night to buy some bread, and it was 
 then she met with the poor Lorraine, ill, and hardly able to 
 drag herself along, for she was expecting to be brought to bed 
 every hour. Well, it seems this Goubin's wife took her to the 
 cellar where she was hiding it was just a shelter, and no more.
 
 BISTORT OF LA QOUALEUSE. 25 
 
 There she shared her bread and straw with the poor Lorraine, 
 who was confined in this cellar of a poor little infant: her only 
 covering and bed was straw ! Well, it seems that Goubin's wife 
 could not bear it, and so, going out at all risks, even of being 
 killed by her husband, who was looking for her everywhere, she 
 left the cellar in open day, and came to me. She knew I had 
 still a little money left, and that I could assist her if I would; 
 so, when Helmina had told me all about poor Lorraine, who was 
 obliged to lie with her new-born babe on straw, I told her to bring 
 thorn both to my room at once, and I would take a chamber for 
 her next to mine. This I did ; and, oh ! how happy she was, 
 poor Lorraine! when she found herself in a bed, with her babe 
 beside her in a little couch which I had bought for her. Hel- 
 mina and I nursed her until she was able to get about again, 
 and then, with the rest of my money, I enabled her to return 
 to her washing-tubs." 
 
 " And when all your money was spent on Lorraine and her in- 
 fant, what did you do, my child ? " inquired Rodolph. 
 
 " I looked out for work ; but it was too late. I can sew very 
 well, I have good courage, and thought that I had only to ask 
 for work and get it. Ah ! how I deceived myself ! I went into 
 a shop where they sell ready-made linen, and asked for employ- 
 ment, and as I would not tell a story, I said I had just left prison. 
 They showed me the door, without making me any answer. I 
 begged they would give me a trial, and they pushed me into the 
 street as if I had been a thief. Then I remembered, too late, 
 what Eigolette had told me. Little by little I sold my small 
 stock of clothes and linen, and when all was gone they turned 
 me out of my lodging. I had not tasted food for two days; 
 I did not know where to sleep. At this moment I met the ogress 
 and one of her old women who knew where I lodged, and was 
 always coming about me since I left the prison. They told me 
 they would find me work, and I believed them. I went with 
 them, so exhausted for want of food that my senses were gone. 
 They gave me brandy to drink, and and here I am ! " said the 
 unhappy creature, hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 " Have you lived a long time with the ogress, my poor girl ? " 
 
 spoke, 
 now as 
 
 well as if I were your father and mother, and you had never left 
 my lap. Well, well, this is a confession indeed ! " 
 
 " It makes you sad, my girl, to tell the story of your life," 
 said Rodolph.
 
 26 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Alas ! sir," replied Fleur-de-Marie, sorrowfully, " since I 
 was born this is the first time it ever happened to me to recall 
 all these things at once, and my tale is not a merry one/' 
 
 " Well," said the Chourineur, ironically, " you are sorry, per- 
 haps, that you are not a kitchen-wench in a cook-shop, or a serv- 
 ant to some old brutes who think of no one but themselves." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Fleur-de-Marie, with a deep sigh, " to be quite 
 happy, we must be quite virtuous." 
 
 " Oh, what is your little head about now ? " exclaimed the 
 Chourineur, with a loud burst of laughter. " Why not count 
 your rosary in honor of your father and mother, whom you never 
 knew?" 
 
 " My father and mother abandoned me in the street like a 
 puppy that is one too many in the house; perhaps they had not 
 enough to feed themselves," said Goualeuse, with bitterness. " I 
 want nothing of them I complain of nothing but there are 
 lots happier than mine." 
 
 " Yours ! why, what would you have ? You are as handsome as 
 a Venus, and yet only sixteen and a half; you sing like a night- 
 ingale, behave yourself very prettily, are called Fleur-de-Marie, 
 and yet you complain ! What will you say, I should like to know, 
 when you will have a stove under your paddlers, and a chinchilla 
 boa, like the ogress ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I shall never be so old as she is." 
 
 " Perhaps you have a charm for never growing any older ? " 
 
 " No ; but I could not lead such a life. I have already a bad 
 cough." 
 
 " Ah, I see you already in the ' cold-meat box.' Go along, 
 you silly child, you ! " 
 
 " Do you often have such thoughts as these, Goualeuse ? " said 
 Rodolph. 
 
 " Sometimes. You, perhaps, M. Rodolph, understand me. In 
 the morning, when I go to buy my milk from the milkwoman 
 at the corner of Eue de la Vieille-Draperie, with the sous which 
 the ogress gives me, and see her go away in her little cart drawn 
 by her donkey, I do envy her so, and I say to myself, ' She is 
 going into the country, to the pure air, to her home and her 
 family ; ' and then I return alone into the garret of the ogress, 
 where you cannot see plainly even at noon-clay." 
 
 " Well, child, be good laugh at your troubles be good," said 
 the Chourineur. 
 
 "Good! mon Dieu! and how do you mean be good? The 
 clothes I wear belong to the ogress, and I am in debt to her for
 
 THE C'lIO URINE UK'S HISTORY. 27 
 
 my board and lodging. I can't stir from her ; she would have me 
 taken up as a thief. I belong to her, and I must pay her." 
 
 When she had uttered these last words, the unhappy girl 
 could not help shuddering, and a tear trembled in her long eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 " Well, but remain as you are, and do not compare yourself 
 to a country milkwoman," said the Chourineur. " Are you 
 taking leave of your senses? Only think, you may yet cut a 
 figure in the capital, whilst the milkwoman must boil the pot 
 for her brats, milk her cows, gather grass for her rabbits, and, 
 perhaps, after all, get a black eye from her husband when he 
 comes home from the pot-house. Why, it is really ridiculous 
 to hear you talk of envying her." 
 
 The Goualeuse did not reply; her eye was fixed, her heart 
 was full, and the expression of her face was painfully distressed. 
 Rodolph had listened to the recital, made with so painful a 
 frankness, with deep interest. Misery, destitution, ignorance of 
 the world, had weighed down this wretched girl, cast at sixteen 
 years of age on the wide world of Paris! 
 
 Rodolph involuntarily thought of a beloved child whom he 
 had lost a girl, dead at six years of age, and who, had she sur- 
 vived, would have been, like Fleur-de-Marie, sixteen years and 
 a half old. This recollection excited the more highly his solici- 
 tude for the unhappy creature whose narration he had just 
 heard. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE CHOURINEUR'S HISTORY. 
 
 THE reader has not forgotten the two guests at the tapis-franc 
 who were watched so closely by the third individual who had 
 come into the cabaret. We have said that one of these fellows, 
 who had on a Greek cap, and concealed his left hand with much 
 care, asked the ogress if the Schoolmaster and Gros-Boiteux 
 had not arrived. 
 
 During the story of the Goualeuse, which they could not over- 
 hear, they had been constantly talking in a very low tone, throw- 
 ing occasional hurried glances at the door. He who wore the 
 Greek cap said to his comrade, "The Gros-Boiteux does not 
 * show,' nor the Schoolmaster."
 
 28 THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. 
 
 " Perhaps the Skeleton has ' done for him,' and made off 
 with the ' swag.' " 
 
 " A precious * go ' that would be for us, who ' laid the plant,' 
 and look out for our ' smacks,' " replied the other. 
 
 The newcomer, who observed the two men, was seated too 
 far off to hear a word they said, but, after having cautiously 
 consulted a small paper concealed at the bottom of his cap, he 
 appeared satisfied with his remarks, rose from the table, and 
 said to the ogress, who was sleeping at the bar, with her feet on 
 the stove, and her great cat on her knees, 
 
 " I say, Mother Ponisse, I shall soon be back again ; take care 
 of my pitcher and my plate; I don't want any one to make free 
 with them." 
 
 " Make yourself easy, my fine fellow," said Mother Ponisse ; 
 " if your plate and pitcher are empty, no one will touch them." 
 
 The newcomer laughed loudly at the joke of the ogress, and 
 then slipped out, so that his departure was unnoticed. At the 
 moment when this man retired, and before the door could be 
 shut, Eodolph saw the charcoal-dealer, whose black face and tall 
 form we have already alluded to, and he had just time to mani- 
 fest to him, by an impatient gesture, how much he disliked his 
 watchful attendance; but the charcoal-man did not appear to 
 heed this in the least, and still kept hanging about the tapis- 
 franc. The countenance of the Goualeuse became still more 
 saddened; with her back to the wall, her head drooping on her 
 bosom, her full blue eyes gazing mechanically about her, the un- 
 fortunate being seemed bowed down with the weight of her op- 
 pressive thoughts. Two or three times, having met Eodolph's 
 fixed look, she turned away, unable to account to herself for 
 the singular impression which the unknown had caused her. 
 Weighed down and abashed at his presence, she almost regretted 
 having made so candid a narrative to him of her unhappy life. 
 The Chourineur, on the contrary, was quite in high spirits; he 
 had devoured the whole harlequin without the least assistance; 
 the wine and brandy had made him very communicative; the 
 fact of his having found his master, as he called him, had been 
 forgotten in the generous conduct of Rodolph ; and he also de- 
 tected so decided a physical superiority, that his humiliation had 
 given way to a sentiment of admiration, mingled with fear and 
 respect. This absence of rancor, and the savage pride with 
 which he boasted of never having robbed, proved that the Chouri- 
 neur was not as yet thoroughly hardened. This had not escaped 
 the sagacity of Eodolph, and he awaited the man's recital with 
 curiosity.
 
 THE CnOUPJNEUKS HISTORY. 9 
 
 " Now, my boy," said he, " we are listening." 
 
 The Chourineur emptied his glass, and thus began: 
 
 " You, my poor girl, were at last taken to by the Chouette, 
 whom the devil confound ! You^ never had a shelter until the 
 moment when you were imprisoned as a vagabond. I can never 
 recollect having slept in what is called a bed before I was nine- 
 teen years of age, a happy age ! and then I became a trooper." 
 
 " What, you have served then, Chourineur ? " said Rodolph. 
 
 " Three years ; but you'll hear all about it : the stones of the 
 Louvre, the lime-kilns of Clichy, and the quarries of Montrouge, 
 these were the hotels of my youth. Then I had my house in 
 Paris and in the country. Who but I " 
 
 " And what was your trade ? " 
 
 " Faith, master, I have a foggy recollection of having strolled 
 about in my childhood with an old rag-picker, who almost 
 thumped me to death: and it must be true; for I have never 
 since met one of these old Cupids, with a wicker-work quiver, 
 without a longing to pitch into him, a proof that one of them 
 must have thumped me when I was a child. My first employ- 
 ment was to help the knackers to cut the horses' throats at Mont- 
 faugon. I was about ten or twelve. When I began to slash 
 (chouriner) these poor old beasts, it had quite an impression on 
 me. At the month's end I thought no more about it ; on the con- 
 trary, I began to like my trade. No one had his knife so sharp- 
 ened and keen-edged as mine; and that made me rejoice in 
 using it. When I had cut the animals' throats, they gave me for 
 my trouble a piece of the thigh of some animal that had died of 
 disease; for those that they slaughter are sold to the 'cag- 
 mag' shops near the School of Medicine, who convert it into 
 beef, mutton, veal, or game, according to the taste of the pur- 
 chasers. However, when I got to my morsel of horse's flesh, I 
 was as happy as a king ! I went with it into the lime-kiln like 
 a wolf to his lair, and then, with the leave of the lime-burners, 
 I made a glorious fry on the ashes. When the burners were not 
 at work, I picked up some dry wood at Eomainville, set light to 
 it, and broiled my steak under the walls of the bone-house. The 
 meat certainly was bloody, and almost raw, but that made a 
 change." 
 
 "And your name? what did they call you?" asked Rodolph. 
 
 " I had hair much more flaxen than now, and the blood was 
 always in my eyes, and so they called me the 'Albino/ The 
 Albinos are the white rabbits amongst men ; they have red eyes," 
 added the Chourineur, in a grave tone, and, as it were, with a 
 physiological parenthesis.
 
 30 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " And your relations ? your family ? " 
 
 "My relations? oh! they lodge at the same number as the 
 Goualeuse's. Place of my birth? why, the first corner of no- 
 matter-what street, either on the right or left-hand side of the 
 way, and either going up or coming down the kennel." 
 
 " Then you have cursed your father and mother for having 
 abandoned you?" 
 
 " Why, that would not have set my leg if I had broken it ! 
 No matter; though it's true they played me a scurvy trick in 
 bringing me into the world. But I should not have complained 
 if they had made me as beggars ought to be made ; that is to say, 
 without the sense of cold, hunger, or thirst. Beggars who don't 
 like thieving would find it greatly to their advantage." 
 
 " You were cold, thirsty, hungry, Chour incur, and yet you 
 did not steal?" 
 
 " No ; and yet I was horribly wretched. It's a fact, that I 
 have often gone with an empty bread-basket (fasted) for two 
 days at a time : that was more than my share ; but I never stole." 
 
 " For fear of a jail ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the Chourineur, shrugging his shoulders, and 
 laughing loudly, " I should then not have stolen bread, for fear 
 of getting my allowance, eh? An honest man, I was famishing; 
 a thief, I should have been supported in prison, and right well, 
 too ! But I did not steal, because because why, because the 
 idea of stealing never came across me ; so that's all about it ! " 
 
 This reply, noble as it was in itself, but of the rectitude of 
 which the Chourineur himself had no idea, perfectly astonished 
 Eodolph. He felt that the poor fellow who had remained honest 
 in the midst of the most cruel privations was to be respected 
 twofold, since the punishment of the crime became a certain 
 resource for him. Rodolph. held out his hand to this ill-used 
 savage of civilization, whom misery had been unable wholly to 
 corrupt. The Chourineur looked at his host with astonishment 
 almost with respect ; he hardly dared to touch the hand tend- 
 ered to him. He felt impressed with some vague idea that there 
 was a wide abyss between Rodolph and himself. 
 
 " 'Tis well," said Rodolph to him, " you have heart and honor." 
 
 "Heart? honor? what, I? Come, now, don't chaff me," he 
 replied, with surprise. 
 
 " To suffer misery and hunger rather than steal, is to have 
 heart and honor," said Rodolph, gravely. 
 
 " Well, it may be," said the Chourineur, as if thinking, " it 
 may be so." 
 
 "Does it astonish you?"
 
 THE CHOURINEUR'S HISTORY. 31 
 
 "It really does; for people don't usually say such things to 
 me; they generally treat me as they would a mangy dog. It's 
 odd, though, the effect what you say has on me. Heart ! honor ! " 
 he repeated, with an air which was actually pensive. 
 
 "Well, what ails you?" 
 
 " I'faith, I don't know," replied the Chourineur, in a tone of 
 emotion; "but these words, do you see, they quite make my 
 heart beat; and I feel more flattered than if any one told me 
 I was a 'better man' than either the Skeleton or the School- 
 master. I never felt anything like it. Be sure, though, that 
 these words, and the blows of the fist at the end of my tussle, 
 you did lay 'em on like a good 'un, not alluding to what you 
 pay for the supper, and the words you have said, in a word," 
 he exclaimed bluntly, as if he could not find language to ex- 
 press his thoughts, "make sure that in life or death you may 
 depend on the Chourinenr." 
 
 Eodolph, unwilling to betray his emotion, replied in a tone as 
 calm as he could assume, " How long did you go on as an 
 amateur knacker ? " 
 
 " Why, at first, I was quite sick of cutting up old worn-out 
 horses, who could not even kick; but when I was about sixteen, 
 and my voice began to get rough, it became a passion a taste 
 a relish a rage with me to cut and slash. I did not care 
 for anything but that; not even eating and drinking. You 
 should have seen me in the middle of my work ! Except an old 
 pair of woolen trousers, I was quite naked. When, with my 
 large and well-whetted knife in my hand, I had about me fifteen 
 or twenty horses waiting their turn, by Jupiter! when I began 
 to slaughter them, I don't know what possessed me I was like 
 a Fury. My ears had singing in them, and I saw everything 
 red all was red ; and I slashed and slashed and slashed, until 
 my knife fell from my hands ! Thunder ! what happiness ! Had 
 I had millions, I could have paid them to have enjoyed my 
 trade ! " 
 
 " It is that which has given you the habit of stabbing," said 
 Eodolph. 
 
 " Very likely ; but when I was turned of sixteen, the passion 
 became so strong, that when I once began slashing I became 
 mad ; I spoiled my work ; yes, I spoiled the skins ; because I 
 slashed and cut them across and across; for I was so furious 
 that I could not see clearly. At last they turned me out of the 
 yard. I wanted employment with the butchers, for I have al- 
 ways liked that sort of business. Well, they quite looked down 
 upon me ; they despised me as a shoemaker does a cobbler. Then
 
 32 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 I had to seek my bread elsewhere, and I didn't find it very 
 readily; and this was the time when my bread-basket was so 
 often empty. At length I got employment in the quarries at 
 Montrouge; but, at the end of two years, I was tired of going 
 always round like a squirrel in his cage, and drawing stone for 
 twenty sous a-day. I was tall and strong, and so I enlisted in 
 a regiment. They asked my name, my age, and my papers. 
 My name? the Albino. My age? look at my beard. My 
 papers? here's the certificate of the master-qua rryman. As I 
 was just the fellow for a grenadier, they took me/' 
 
 " With your strength, courage, and taste for chopping and 
 slashing, you ought, in war-time, to have been made an officer." 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! what do you say ? What ! to cut up 
 English or Prussians ! why, that would have been better than to 
 cut up old horses ; but, worse luck, there was no war, but a great 
 deal of discipline. An apprentice tries to hit his master a 
 thump ; well, if he be the weaker, why, he gets the worst of it ; 
 if he be the stronger, he has the best of it; he is turned out of 
 doors, perhaps put into the cage and that is all. In the army 
 it is quite a different thing. One day our sergeant had bullied 
 me a good deal, to make me more attentive, he was right, for 
 1 was very slow ; I did not like a poke he gave me, and I kicked 
 at him he pushed me again, I returned his poke; he collared 
 me, and I gave him a punch of the head. They fell on me, and 
 then my blood was up in my eyes, and I was enraged in a mo- 
 ment. I had my knife in my hand I belonged to the cookery 
 and I ' went it my hardest/ I cut, slashed slashed, chopped, 
 as if I was in the slaughter-house. I made ' cold meat ' of the 
 sergeant, wounded two soldiers it was a real shambles : I gave 
 the three eleven wounds yes, eleven. Blood flowed, flowed 
 everywhere; blood, as though we were in the bone-house I 
 swam in it " 
 
 The brigand lowered his head with a somber, sullen air, and 
 was silent. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Chourineur ? " asked Eodolph, 
 with interest. 
 
 " Nothing," he replied, abruptly ; and then, with an air of 
 brutish carelessness, he added, " At length they handcuffed me, 
 and brought me before the * big wigs/ and I was cast for death." 
 
 " You escaped, however ? " 
 
 " True ; but I had fifteen years at the galleys instead of being 
 e scragged/ I forgot to tell you that whilst in the regiment I 
 had saved two of my comrades from drowning in the Marne, 
 when we were quartered at Milan. At another time, you will
 
 THE cuo UPJNE uiya msTon r. 33 
 
 laugh, and say T am amphibious either in fire or water when 
 saving men or women, at another time, being in garrison at 
 Eouen, all the wooden houses in one quarter were on fire, and 
 burning like so many matches. I am the lad for a fire, and 
 so I went to the place in an instant. They told me that there 
 was an old woman who was bed-ridden, and could not escape 
 from her room, which was already in flames. I went towards it, 
 and, by Jove ! how it did burn ! it reminded me of the lime- 
 kilns in my happy days. However, I saved the old woman, al- 
 though I had the very soles of my feet scorched. Thanks to my 
 having done these things, and the cunning of my advocate, my 
 sentence was changed, and, instead of being * scragged,' I was 
 only sent to the hulks for fifteen years. When I found that my 
 life would be spared, and I was to go to the galleys, I would 
 have jumped upon the babbling fool, and twisted his neck, at 
 the moment when he came to wish me joy, and to tell me he had 
 saved my life, and be hanged to him ! only they prevented me." 
 " Were you sorry, then, to have your sentence commuted ? " 
 " Yes ; for those who sport with the knife, the headsman's steel 
 is the proper fate ; for those who steal, the ' darbies ' to their 
 heels; each his proper punishment. But to force you to live 
 amongst galley-slaves, when you have a right to be guillotined 
 out of hand, is infamous; and, besides, my life, when I first 
 went to the Bagne, was rather queer: one don't kill a man, and 
 soon forget it, you must know." 
 
 "You feel some remorse, then, Chourineur?" 
 " Remorse ? no ; for I have served my time," said the savage ; 
 " but at first, a night did not pass but I saw like a nightmare 
 the sergeant and soldiers whom I had slashed and slaughtered; 
 that is, they were not alone," added the brigand, in a voice of 
 terror : " these were in tens, and dozens, and hundreds, and 
 thousands, each waiting his turn, in a kind of slaughter-house, 
 like the horses whose throats I used to cut at Montfaugon, await- 
 ing each his turn. Then, then, I saw red, and began to cut and 
 slash away on these men as I used formerly to do on the horses. 
 The more, however, I chopped down the soldiers, the faster the 
 ranks filled up with others ; and as they died, they looked at one 
 with an air so gentle so gentle, that I cursed myself for killing 
 'em : but I couldn't help it. That was not all. I never had a 
 brother ; and yet it seemed as if every one of those whom I killed 
 was my brother, and I loved all of them. At last, when I could 
 bear it no longer, I used to wake covered all over with sweat, 
 as cold as melting snow." 
 
 " That was a horrid dream, Chourineur ! "
 
 3i THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. 
 
 " It was ; yes. That dream, do you see, was enough to drive 
 one mad or foolish; so, twice, I tried to kill myself: once by 
 swallowing verdigris, and another time by trying to choke my- 
 self with my chain; but, confound it, I am as strong as a bull. 
 The verdigris only made me thirsty; and as for the twist of the 
 chain round my neck, why, that only gave me a natural cravat 
 of a blue color. Afterwards, the desire of life came back to me, 
 my nightmare ceased to torment me, and I did as others did." 
 
 " At the Bagne, you were in a good school for learning how to 
 thieve?" 
 
 " Yes, but it was not to my taste. The other ' prigs ' bullied 
 me; but I soon silenced them with a few thumps of my chain. 
 It was in this way I first knew the Schoolmaster; and I must 
 pay him the compliment due to his blows, he paid me off as 
 you did some little time ago." 
 
 " He is, then, a criminal who has served his time ? " 
 
 " He was sentenced for life, but escaped." 
 
 " Escaped, and not denounced ? " 
 
 " I'm not the man to denounce him. Besides, it would seem 
 as if I were afraid of him." 
 
 " But how is it that the police do not detect him ? Have they 
 not got his description ? " 
 
 " His description ? Oh ! yes, yes ; but it is long since he has 
 scraped out from his phiz what Nature had placed there: now, 
 none but the ' baker who puts the condemned in his oven ' (the 
 devil) could recognize him (the Schoolmaster)." 
 
 " What has he done to himself ? " 
 
 " He began by destroying his nose, which was an ell long : he 
 ate it off with vitriol." 
 
 " You jest." 
 
 " If he comes in this evening, you'll see. He had a nose like a 
 parrot, and now it is as flat as in a death's head ; to say nothing 
 of his lips, which are as thick as your fist, and his face, which is 
 as wrinkled as the waistcoat of a rag-picker." 
 
 " And so he is not recognized ? " 
 
 "It is six months since he escaped from Rochefort, and the 
 ' traps ' have met him a hundred times without knowing him." 
 
 "Why was he at the Bagne?" 
 
 " For having been a forger, thief, and assassin. He is called 
 the Schoolmaster because he wrote a splendid hand, and has had 
 a good education." 
 
 " And is he much feared ? " 
 
 " He will not be any longer, when you have given him such a 
 licking as you gave me. Oh ! by Jove, I am anxious to see it ! "
 
 WE CUOUUINEUK8 HISTORY. 35 
 
 " What does he do for a living? " 
 
 " He is associated with an old woman as bad as himself, and as 
 deep as the ' old one ; ' but she is never seen, though he has told 
 the ogress that some day or other he would bring his ' mot ' 
 (woman) with him." 
 
 " And this woman helps him in his robberies ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in his murders too. They say he brags of having 
 already, with her assistance, * done for ' two or three persons ; 
 and, amongst others, three weeks ago, a cattle-dealer on the road 
 to Poissy, whom they also robbed/' 
 
 " He will be taken sooner or later." 
 
 " They must be very cunning, as well as powerful, to do that, 
 for he always has under his blouse a brace of loaded pistols and 
 a dagger. He says that chariot (the executioner) waits for him, 
 and he can only lose his head once, and so he will kill all he can 
 kill to try and escape. Oh ! he makes no mystery of it ; and as he 
 is twice as strong as you and I, they will have a tough job who 
 take him/' 
 
 " What did you do, Chourineur, when you left the Bagne ? " 
 
 " I offered myself to the master-lighterman of the Quai St.- 
 Paul, and I get my livelihood there." 
 
 " But as you have never been a ' prig/ why do you live in the 
 Cite?" 
 
 " Why, where else can I live ? Who likes to be seen with a 
 discharged criminal? I should be tired of always being alone, 
 for I like company, and here I am with my equals. I have a 
 bit of a row sometimes, and they fear me like fire in the Cite; 
 but the police have nothing to say to me, except now and then for 
 a * shindy,' for which they give me, perhaps, twenty-four hours 
 at the watch-house, and there's an end of that/' 
 
 " What do you earn a day ? " 
 
 " Thirty-five sous for taking in the river foot-baths, up to the 
 stomach from twelve to fifteen hours a day, summer and winter; 
 but let me be just, and tell truth ; so if, through having my toes 
 in the water, I get the grenouille,* I am allowed to break my 
 arms in breaking up old vessels, and unloading timber on my 
 back. I begin as a beast of burden, and end like a fish's tail. 
 When I lose my strength entirely, I shall take a rake and a 
 wicker-basket, like the old rag-picker whom I see in the recollec- 
 tions of my childhood." 
 
 " And yet you are not unhappy." 
 
 " There are worse than I am ; and without my dreams of the 
 sergeant and soldiers with their throats cut for I have the 
 
 * A disease of the skin to which all who work in the water are liable.
 
 36 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 dream still sometimes I could quietly wait for the moment 
 when I should drop down dead at the corner of some dunghill, 
 like that at which I was born; but the dream the dream by 
 heaven and earth! I don't like even to think of that," said the 
 Chourineur, and he emptied his pipe at a corner of the table. 
 
 The Goualeuse had hardly listened to the Chourineur; she 
 seemed wholly absorbed in a deep and melancholy reverie. 
 Eodolph himself was pensive. A tragic incident occurred, which 
 brought these three personages to a recollection of the spot in 
 which they were. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 THE ARREST. 
 
 THE man who had gone out for a moment, after having re- 
 quested the ogress to look after his jug and plate, soon returned, 
 accompanied by a tall, brawny man, to whom he said, " It was 
 a chance to meet in this way, old fellow ! Come in, and let us 
 have a glass together." 
 
 The Chourineur said, in a low voice, to Eodolph and the Goua- 
 leuse, pointing to the newcomer, " We shall have a row ; he's 
 a 'trap.' Look out for squalls." 
 
 The two ruffians, one of whom, with the Greek skull-cap pulled 
 over his brows, had inquired several times for the Schoolmaster 
 and the Gros-Boiteux, exchanged rapid glances of the eye, and, 
 rising suddenly from the table, went towards the door; but the 
 two police-officers, uttering a peculiar note, seized them. A fierce 
 struggle ensued. The door of the tavern opened, and all the 
 policemen dashed into the room, whilst, outside, were seen the 
 muskets of the gens-d'armes. Taking advantage of the tumult, 
 the charcoal-seller, of whom we have spoken, advanced to the 
 threshold of the tapis-franc, and, meeting the eye of Eodolph, 
 he put to his lips the forefinger of his right hand. Eodolph, 
 with a gesture as rapid as it was imperious, desired him to go, 
 and then turned his attention to the scene before him. The 
 man with the Greek skull-cap shrieked with rage, and, half ex- 
 tended on a table, struggled so desperately, that three men could 
 scarcely hold him. His companion, enfeebled, dejected, with 
 livid aspect, and pale lips, his lower jaw fallen, and shaking con- 
 vulsively, made no resistance, but held out his hands to be en- 
 clasped by the handcuffs. The ogress, seated at her bar, and used
 
 THE ARREST. 37 
 
 to such scenes, remained motionless, with her hands in the 
 pockets of her apron. 
 
 "What have these fellows done, my dear Monsieur Narcisse 
 Borel ? " inquired she of one of the policemen whom she knew. 
 
 "Killed an old woman yesterday in the Rue St.-Christophe, 
 and robbed her chamber. Before she died, the poor old thing 
 said that she had bitten one of her murderers in the hand. We 
 had our eyes on these two scoundrels; and my comrade, having 
 come to make sure of his men, why, we have made free to take 
 them." 
 
 " How lucky they paid me beforehand for their pint ! " said the 
 ogress. " Won't you take a drain o' nothin' short, M. Narcisse ? 
 Just a ' go ' of ' Eatifi' of the Column/ " 
 
 " Thanks, Mother Ponisse, but I must make sure of my game ; 
 one fellow shows fight still." 
 
 The assassin in the Greek cap was furious with rage, and when 
 they tried to get him into a hackney-coach which was waiting 
 in the street, he resisted so stoutly that they were obliged to 
 carry him. His accomplice, seized with a nervous tremor, could 
 hardly support himself, and his blue lips trembled as though he 
 were speaking. They threw him, helpless and unresisting, into 
 the vehicle. Before he left the tapis-franc, the head officer 
 looked attentively at the other guests assembled, and said to 
 the Chourineur, in a tone almost kind, 
 
 " What, you here, you bad lot ? Why, it is a long time since 
 we heard anything of you. What, no more rows? Are you 
 growing steady ? " 
 
 " Steady as a stone figure. Why, you know that now I never 
 break a head, even if I am begged to do so ! " 
 
 " Oh, I don't think that would cost you much trouble, strong 
 as you are." 
 
 " Yet here is my master," said the Chourineur, laying his 
 hand on Rodolph's shoulder. 
 
 " Stay, I do not know him," said the agent de police, looking 
 steadfastly at Rodolph. 
 
 "And I do not think we shall form an acquaintance now," 
 replied he. 
 
 " I hope not, for your sake, my fine fellow," said the agent ; 
 then turning to the ogress, " Good night, Mother Ponisse ; your 
 tapis-franc is a regular mouse-trap; this is the third assassin I 
 have taken here." 
 
 " I hope it won't be the last, Monsieur Narcisse ; it is quite at 
 your service," said the ogress, making a very insinuating nod 
 with her head.
 
 38 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 After the departure of the police, the young vagabond with 
 the haggard visage, who was smoking and drinking brandy, 
 refilled his pipe, and said in a hoarse voice to the Chouri- 
 neur, 
 
 " Didn't you twig the cove in the Greek cap ? he's Boulotte's 
 man. When I saw the traps walk in, I says to myself, says I, 
 there's something up; and then, too, I saw him keep his hand 
 always under the table." 
 
 "It's lucky for the Schoolmaster and the Gros-Boiteux that 
 they were not here," said the ogress ; " Greek cap asked twice for 
 him, and said they had business together; but I never turn 
 'nose' (informer) 'on any customer. If they take them, very 
 well everyone to his trade; but I never sell my friends. Oh, 
 talk of the old gentleman, and you see his horns," added the hag, 
 as at the moment a man and woman entered the cabaret ; " here 
 they are the Schoolmaster and his companion. Well, he was 
 right not to show her, for I never see such an ugly creetur in my 
 born days. She ought to be very much obliged to him for 
 having taken up with such a face." 
 
 At the name of the Schoolmaster a sort of shudder seemed to 
 circulate amongst the guests of the tapis-franc. Kodolph, him- 
 self, in spite of his natural intrepidity, could not wholly subdue 
 a slight emotion at the sight of this redoubtable ruffian, whom 
 he contemplated for some seconds with a mixed feeling of 
 curiosity and horror. The Chourineur had spoken truth when 
 he said that the Schoolmaster was frightfully mutilated. Noth- 
 ing can be imagined more horrible than the countenance of this 
 man. His face was furrowed in all directions with deep, livid 
 cicatrices; the corrosive action of the vitriol had puffed out his 
 lips; the cartilages of his nose were divided, and two misshapen 
 holes supplied the loss of nostrils. His gray eyes were bright, 
 small, circular, and sparkled savagely; his forehead, as flat as a 
 tiger's, was half hidden beneath a fur cap, with long yellow hair, 
 looking like the crest of a monster. 
 
 The Schoolmaster was not more than five feet four or five ; his 
 head, which was disproportionately large, was buried between 
 two shoulders, broad, powerful, and fleshy, displaying themselves 
 even under the loose folds of his coarse cotton blouse; he had 
 long muscular arms, hands short, thick, and hairy to the very 
 fingers' end, with legs somewhat bowed, whose enormous calves 
 betokened his vast strength. This man presented, in fact, the 
 exaggeration of what there is of short, thickset, and condensed, 
 in the type of the Hercules Farnese. As to the expression of 
 ferocity which suffused this hideous mask, and the restless, wild,
 
 THE ARREST. 39 
 
 and glaring look, more like a wild beast than a human being, it 
 is impossible to describe them. 
 
 The woman who accompanied the Schoolmaster was old, and 
 rather neatly dressed in a brown gown, with a plaid shawl, of 
 red and black check, and a white bonnet. Rodolph saw her 
 profile, and her green eye, hooked nose, skinny lips, peaked chin, 
 and countenance at once wicked and cunning, reminded him 
 involuntarily of La Chouette, that horrible old wretch who had 
 made poor Fleur-de-Marie her victim. He was just on the point 
 of saying this to the girl, when he saw her suddenly turn pale 
 with fright, whilst looking at the hideous companion of the 
 Schoolmaster, and seizing the arm of Eodolph with a trembling 
 hand, the Goualeuse said, in a low voice, 
 
 "Oh, the Chouette! the Chouette ! the one-eyed woman!" 
 
 At this moment the Schoolmaster, after having exchanged a 
 few words in an undertone with Barbillon, came slowly towards 
 the table where Rodolph, the Goualeuse, and the Chourineur, 
 were sitting, and addressing himself to Fleur-de-Marie, in a 
 hoarse voice, said, 
 
 " Ah, my pretty, fair miss, you must quit these two muffs, and 
 come with me." 
 
 The Goualeuse made no reply, but clung to Rodolph, her teeth 
 chattering with fright. 
 
 " And I shall not be jealous of my man, my little fourline " 
 (a pet word for assassin), added the Chouette, laughing loudly. 
 She had not yet recognized in Goualeuse * Pegriotte/ her old 
 victim. 
 
 " Well, my little white face, dost hear me ? " said the monster, 
 advancing. " If thou dost not come, I'll poke your eye out, and 
 make you a match for the Chouette. And thou with the mus- 
 tache," he said to Rodolph, " if thou dost not stand from between 
 me and the wench, I'll crack thy crown." 
 
 "Defend me! oh, defend me!" cried Fleur-de-Marie to 
 Rodolph, clasping her hands. Then, reflecting that she was 
 about to expose him to great danger, she added, in a low voice, 
 " Xo, no, do not move, Mister Rodolph ; if he comes nearer, I 
 will cry out for help, and for fear of the disturbance, which may 
 call in'the police, the ogress will take my part." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my child," said Rodolph, looking calmly 
 at the Schoolmaster ; " you are beside me don't stir ; and as this 
 ill-looking scoundrel makes you as well as myself feel uncom- 
 fortable, I will kick him out." 
 
 "Thou?" said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 "I!" said Rodolph. And, in spite of the efforts of the
 
 40 THE MYSTERIES Of PARIS. 
 
 Goualeuse, he rose from the table. Despite his hardihood, the 
 Schoolmaster retreated a step, so threatening were the looks, so 
 eommanding the deportment, of Rodolph. There are peculiar 
 glances of the eye which are irresistible, and certain celebrated 
 duelists are said to owe their bloody triumphs to this fascinating 
 glance, which unmans, paralyzes, and destroys their adversaries. 
 The Schoolmaster trembled, retreated a step, and, for once, dis- 
 trustful of his giant strength, felt under his blouse for his long 
 cut-and-thrust knife. A murder would have stained the tapis- 
 franc, no doubt, if the Chouette, taking the Schoolmaster by the 
 arm, had not screamed out, 
 
 " A minute, a minute, fourline let me say a word ! you shall 
 walk into these two muffs all the same, presently." 
 
 The Schoolmaster looked at her with astonishment. For some 
 minutes she had been looking at Fleur-de-Marie with fixed and 
 increasing attention, as if trying to refresh her memory. At 
 length no doubt remained, and she recognized the Goualeuse. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " she cried, clasping her hands in astonish- 
 ment. " It is Pegriotte, who stole my barley-sugar. But where 
 do you come from ? Is it the devil who sends you back ? " and 
 she shook her clenched hand at the young girl. " You won't 
 come into my clutch again, eh? But be easy; if I do not pull 
 out your teeth, I will have out of your eyes every tear in your 
 body. Come, no airs and graces. You don't know what I mean. 
 Why, I have found out the people who had the care of you before 
 you were handed over to me. The Schoolmaster saw at the Pre 
 (the galleys) the man who brought you to my crib when you 
 were a brat, and he has proofs that the people who had you first 
 were ' gentry coves'" (rich people). 
 
 " My parents ! do you know them ? " cried Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 " Never mind whether I know them or not, you shall know 
 nothing about it. The secret is mine and my fourline's, and I 
 will tear out his tongue rather than he shall blab it. What ! it 
 makes you snivel, does it, Pegriotte ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Goualeuse, with a bitterness of accent ; " now 
 I do not care ever to know my parents." 
 
 Whilst La Chouette was speaking, the Schoolmaster had 
 resumed his assurance, for, looking at Rodolph, he could not 
 believe that a young man of slight and graceful make could for 
 a moment cope with him, and, confident in his brutal force, he 
 approached the defender of Goualeuse, and said to the Chouette, 
 in an imperious voice, 
 
 " Hold your jaw ! I'll tackle with this swell, and then the fair 
 lady may think me more to her fancy than he is."
 
 THE ARREST. 41 
 
 With one bound Rodolph leaped on the table. 
 
 " Take care of my plates ! " shouted the ogress. 
 
 The Schoolmaster stood on his guard, his two hands in front, 
 his chest advanced, firmly planted on his legs, and arched, as it 
 were, on his brawny legs, which were like balusters of stone. At 
 the moment when Rodolph was springing at him, the door of 
 the tapis-franc opened with violence, and the charcoal-man, of 
 whom we have before spoken, and who was upwards of six feet 
 high, dashed into the apartment, pushed the Schoolmaster on 
 one side rudely, and coming up to Rodolph, said, in German, in 
 his ear, 
 
 " Monseigneur, the countess and her brother they are at the 
 end of the street." 
 
 At these words Rodolph made an impatient and angry gesture, 
 threw a louis d'or on the bar of the ogress, and made for the 
 door in haste. The Schoolmaster attempted to arrest Rodolph's 
 progress, but he, turning to him, gave him two or three rapid 
 blows with his fists over the nose and eyes, and with such potent 
 effect, that the beast staggered with very giddiness, and fell 
 heavily against a table, which alone prevented his prostration on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Vive la Charte! those are my blows I know them," cried 
 the Chourineur; "two or three more lessons like that, and I 
 shall know all about it." 
 
 Restored to himself after a few moments, the Schoolmaster 
 darted off in pursuit of Rodolph, but he had disappeared with 
 the charcoal-man in the dark labyrinth of the streets of the 
 Cite, and the brigand found it useless to follow. 
 
 At the moment when the Schoolmaster had returned, foam- 
 ing with rage, two persons, approaching from the opposite side 
 to that by which Rodolph had disappeared, entered into the 
 tapis-franc, hastily, and out of breath, as if they had been run- 
 ning far and fast. Their first impulse was to look round the 
 room. 
 
 " How unfortunate ! " said one of them ; " he has gone, 
 another opportunity lost." 
 
 The two newcomers spoke in English. The Goualeuse, 
 horror-struck at meeting with the Chouette, and dreading the 
 threats of the Schoolmaster, took advantage of the tumult and 
 confusion caused by the arrival of the two fresh guests in the 
 tains-franc, and, quietly gliding out by the half-opened door, 
 left the cabaret.
 
 42 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THOMAS SEYTON AND THE COUNTESS SARAH. 
 
 THE two persons who had just entered the tapis-franc were 
 quite of another class from those who ordinarily frequented it. 
 One, tall and erect, had hair almost white, black eyebrows and 
 whiskers, a long and tanned face, with a stiff, formal air. His 
 long frock-coat was buttoned up to the throat, d la militaire. 
 We shall call this individual Thomas Seyton. His companion 
 was young, pale, and handsome, and appeared about thirty-one 
 or two years of age. His hair, eyebrows, and eyes, were of a 
 deep black, which showed off the more fully the pure whiteness 
 of his face. By his step, the smallness of his stature, and the 
 delicacy of his features, it was easy to detect a woman in male 
 habiliments. This female was the Countess Sarah Macgregor. 
 We will hereafter inform our readers of the motives and events 
 which had brought the countess and her brother into this cabaret 
 of the Cite. 
 
 " Call for something to drink, Thomas, and ask the people 
 here about him; perhaps they may give us some information," 
 said Sarah, still speaking English. 
 
 The man with white hair and black eyebrows sat down at a 
 table, whilst Sarah was wiping her forehead, and said to the 
 ogress, in excellent French, " Madame, let us have something to 
 drink, if you please." 
 
 The entrance of these two persons into the tapis-franc had 
 excited universal attention. Their dress, their manners, all 
 announced that they never frequented low drinking-shops, whilst, 
 by their restless looks and disturbed countenances, it might be 
 judged that some very powerful motives had led them hither. 
 The Chourineur, the Schoolmaster, and the Chouette, viewed 
 them with increasing curiosity. 
 
 Startled by the appearance of such strange customers, the 
 ogress shared in the general surprise. Thomas Seyton, a second 
 time, and with an impatient tone, said, " We have called for 
 something to drink, ma'am, pray let us have it." 
 
 Mother Ponisse, flattered by their courtesy of manner, left her 
 bar, and, coming towards her new guests, leaned her arms on 
 their table, and said, " Will you have a pint of wine in measure 
 or a bottle?" 
 
 " A bottle of wine, glasses, and some water."
 
 THOMAS SEYTON AND THE COUNTESS SARAH. 43 
 
 The ogress brought the supplies demanded, and Thomas Sey- 
 ton threw her a five-franc piece, and refused the change which 
 she offered to him. 
 
 " Keep it, my good woman, for yourself ; and perhaps you 
 will take a glass with us ? " 
 
 " You're uncommon purlite, sir," looking at the countess's 
 brother with as much surprise as gratitude. 
 
 " But tell me, now," said he, " we had appointed to meet a 
 friend in a cabaret in this street, and have, perhaps, mistaken 
 the house in coming here." 
 
 " This is the ' White Rabbit ' ; at your service, sir." 
 
 " That's right enough, then," said Thomas, making a sign to 
 Sarah ; " yes, it was at the ( White Rabbit ' that he was to give 
 us the meeting." 
 
 " There are not two ' White Rabbits ' in this street," said the 
 ogress, with a toss of her head. " But what sort of a person was 
 your friend ? " 
 
 " Tall, slim, and with hair and mustaches of light chestnut," 
 said Seyton. 
 
 " Exactly, exactly ; that's the man who has just gone out. A 
 charcoal-man, very tall and stout, came in and said a few words 
 to him, and they left together." 
 
 " The very man we want to meet," said Tom. 
 
 " Were they alone here ? " inquired Sarah. 
 
 " Why, the charcoal-man only came in for one moment ; but 
 your comrade supped here with the Chourineur and Goualeuse ; " 
 and, with a nod of her head, the ogress pointed out the individual 
 of the party who was left still in the cabaret. 
 
 Thomas and Sarah turned towards the Chourineur. After 
 contemplating him for a few minutes, Sarah said, in English, 
 to her companion, " Do you know this man? " 
 
 " No ; Karl lost all trace of Rodolph at the entrance of these 
 obscure streets. Seeing Murphy disguised as a charcoal-seller, 
 keeping watch about this cabaret, and constantly peeping through 
 the windows, he was afraid that something wrong was going 
 on, and so came to warn us. Murphy, no doubt, recognized 
 him." 
 
 During this conversation, held in a very low tone, and in a 
 foreign tongue, the Schoolmaster said to the Chouette, looking 
 at Tom and Sarah, "The swell has shelled out a lull to the 
 ogress. It is just twelve, rains and blows like the devil. When 
 they leave the crib we will be on their lay, and draw the flat of 
 his blunt. As his mot is with him, he'll hold his jaw." 
 
 If Tom and Sarah had heard this foul language, they would
 
 44 THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. 
 
 not have understood it, and would not have detected the plot 
 against them. 
 
 "Be quiet, fourline" answered the Chouette; "if the cull 
 sings out for the traps, I have my vitriol in my pocket, and will 
 break the phial in his patter-box. Nothing like a drink to keep 
 children from crying," she added. "Tell me, darling, sha'n't 
 we lay hands on Pegriotte the first time we meet with her? 
 And only let me once get her to our place, and I'll rub her chops 
 with my vitriol, and then my lady will no longer be proud of 
 her fine skin." 
 
 " Well said, Chouette ; I shall make you my wife some day 
 or other," said the Schoolmaster ; " yoti have no equal for skill 
 and courage. On that night with the cattle-dealer, I had an 
 opportunity of judging of you; and I said, ' Here's the wife for 
 me, she works better than a man.' " 
 
 " And you said right, fourline; if the Skeleton had had a 
 woman like me at his elbow, he would not have been nabbed with 
 his gulley in the dead man's weasand." 
 
 " He's done up, and now he will not leave the stone jug, 
 except to kiss the headsman's daughter, and be a head shorter." 
 
 " What strange language these people talk ! " said Sarah, who 
 had involuntarily heard the last few words of the conversation 
 between the Schoolmaster and the Chouette. Then she added, 
 pointing to the Chourineur, " If we ask this man some questions 
 about Eodolph, perhaps he may be able to answer them." 
 
 " We can but try," replied Thomas, who said to the Chouri- 
 neur, " Comrade, we expected to find in this cabaret a friend of 
 ours; he supped with you, I find. Perhaps, as you know him, 
 you will tell us which way he has gone? " 
 
 " I know him, because he gave me a precious good hiding two 
 hours ago, to prevent me from beating Goualeuse." 
 
 " And have you never seen him before ? " 
 
 " Never ; we met by chance in the alley which leads to Bras 
 Eouge's house." 
 
 " Hostess, another bottle of the best," said Thomas Seyton. 
 
 Sarah and he had hardly moistened their lips, and their glasses 
 were still full; but Mother Ponisse, doubtless anxious to pay 
 proper respect to her own cellar, had frequently filled and 
 emptied hers. 
 
 " And put it on the table where that gentleman sits, if he will 
 permit," added Thomas, who, with Sarah, seated themselves 
 beside the Chourineur, who was as much astonished as flattered 
 by such politeness. 
 
 The Schoolmaster and the Chouette were talking over their
 
 THOMAS 8EYTON AND THE COUNTESS SARAH. 45 
 
 own dark plans in low tones and flash language. The bottle 
 being brought, and Sarah and her brother seated with the 
 Chourineur and the ogress, who had considered a second invita- 
 tion as superfluous, the conversation was resumed. 
 
 "You told us, my good fellow, that you met our comrade 
 Rodolph in the house where Bras Rouge lives?" inquired 
 Thomas Seyton as he hob and nobbed with the Chourineur. 
 
 " Yes, my good fellow/' replied he, as he emptied his glass at 
 a gulp. 
 
 " What a singular name is Bras Rouge ! What is this Bras 
 Rouge?" 
 
 "II pastique la maltouze" (smuggles), said the Chourineur, 
 in a careless tone, and then added, " This is jolly good wine, 
 Mother Ponisse ! " 
 
 " If you think so, do not spare it, my fine fellow," said Seyton, 
 and he filled the Chourineur^s glass as he spoke. 
 
 " Your health, mate," said he, " and the health of your little 
 friend, who but mum. ' If my aunt was a man, she'd be my 
 uncle,' as the proverb says. Ah ! you sly rogue, I'm up to you ? " 
 
 Sarah colored slightly as her brother continued, " I did not 
 quite understand what you meant about Bras Rouge. Rodolph 
 came from his house, no doubt ? " 
 
 " I told you that Bras Rouge pastique la maltouze." 
 
 Thomas regarded the Chourineur with an air of surprise. 
 
 " What do you mean by pastique la mal What do you 
 
 call it?" 
 
 " Pastiquer la maltouze. He smuggles, I suppose you would 
 call it ; but it seems you can't patter flash ? " 
 
 " My fine fellow, I don't understand one word you say." 
 
 " I see you can't talk slang like M. Rodolph." 
 
 "Slang?" said Thomas Seyton, looking at Sarah with an 
 astonished air. 
 
 " Ah ! you are yokels; but comrade Rodolph is an out-and-out 
 pal, he is. Though only a fan-painter, yet he is as downy in 
 flash as I am myself. Well, since you can't speak this very 'fine 
 language, I tell you, in plain French, that Bra's Rouge is a 
 smuggler, and, besides that, has a small tavern in the Champs 
 Elysees. I say, without breaking faith, that he is a smuggler, 
 for he makes no secret of it, but owns it under the very nose of 
 the custom-house officers. Find him out, though, if you can; 
 Bras Rouge is a deep one." 
 
 " What could Rodolph want at the house of this man ? " asked 
 Sarah. 
 
 "Really, sir, or madam, which you please, I know nothing
 
 46 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 about anything, as true as I drink this glass of wine. I was 
 chaffing to-night with the Goualeuse, who thought I was going 
 to beat her, and she ran up Bras Rouge's alley, and I after her : 
 it was as dark as the devil. Instead of hitting Goualeuse, how- 
 ever, I stumbled on Master Eodolph, who soon gave me better 
 than I sent. Such thumps ! and especially those infernal thwacks 
 with his fist at last. My eyes ! how hot and heavy they did fall ! 
 But he's promised to teach me, and to " 
 
 "And Bras Eouge, what sort of a person is he?" asked Tom. 
 " What goods does he sell ? " 
 
 " Bras Rouge ? oh, by the Holy ! he sells everything he is for- 
 bidden to sell, and does everything which it is forbidden to do. 
 That's his line, ain't it, Mother Ponisse ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he's a boy with more than one string to his bow," 
 answered the ogress. " He is, besides, principal occupier of a 
 certain house in the Rue du Temple, a rum sort of a house, to 
 be sure ; but mum," added she, fearing to have revealed too much. 
 
 "And what is the address of Bras Rouge in that street?" 
 asked Seyton of the Chourineur. 
 
 " No. 13, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps we may learn something there," said Seyton, in a 
 low voice, to his sister. " I will send Karl thither to-morrow." 
 
 " As you know M. Rodolph," said the Chourineur, " you may 
 boast the acquaintance of a stout friend and a good fellow. If 
 it had not been for the charcoal-man, he would have doubled up 
 the Schoolmaster, who is there in the corner with the Chouette. 
 By the Lord ! I can hardly contain myself, when I see that old 
 
 hag, and know how she behaved to the Goualeuse But 
 
 patience, a blow delayed is not a blow lost, as the saying is." 
 
 The Hotel de Ville clock struck midnight; the lamp of the 
 tavern only shed a dim and flickering light. Except the Chouri- 
 neur and his two companions, the Schoolmaster and the 
 " Screech-owl," all the guests of the tapis-franc had retired one 
 after the other. 
 
 The Schoolmaster said, in an undertone, to the Chouette, " If 
 we go and hide in the alley opposite, we shall see the swells come 
 out, and know which road they take. If they turn to the left, 
 we can double upon them at the turning of the Rue St.-Eloi ; if 
 to the right, we will wait for them by the ruins close to the tripe- 
 market. There's a large hole close by, and I have a capital idea." 
 
 The Schoolmaster and the Chouette then went towards the 
 door. 
 
 " You won't, then, take a drain of nothin' to-night ? " said the
 
 " TOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFK" tf 
 
 " No, Mother Ponisse, we only came in to take shelter from 
 the rain," said the Schoolmaster, as he and the Chouette went 
 out. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE." 
 
 THE noise which was made by the shutting of the door aroused 
 Tom and Sarah from their reverie, and they rose, and, having 
 thanked the Chourineur for the information he had given them, 
 the fellow went out, the wind blowing very strongly, and the 
 rain falling in torrents. The Schoolmaster and the Chouette, 
 hidden in an alley opposite the tapis-franc, saw the Chourineur 
 go down the street, in the direction of the street in which the 
 house in ruins was situated. His steps, which were somewhat 
 irregular, in consequence of the frequent libations of the even- 
 ing, were soon unheard amidst the whistling of the storm and 
 the sheets of rain which dashed against the walls. Sarah and 
 Tom left the tavern in spite of the tempest, and took a contrary 
 direction to the Chourineur. 
 
 " They're done for," said the Schoolmaster, in a low key, to 
 the Chouette; "out with your vitriol, and mind your eye!" 
 
 " Let us take off our shoes, and then they won't hear us as 
 we follow," suggested the Chouette. 
 
 " You are right always right ; let us tread like cats, my old 
 darling." 
 
 The two monsters took off their shoes, and moved stealthily 
 along, keeping in the shadows of the houses. By means of this 
 stratagem they followed so closely, that, although within a few 
 steps of Sarah and Tom, they did not hear them. 
 
 " Fortunately our hackney-coach is at the end of the street ; 
 the rain falls in torrents. Are you not cold, Sarah ? " 
 
 " Perhaps we shall gleam something from this smuggler this 
 Bras Eouge," said Sarah, in a thoughtful tone, and not replying 
 to her brother's inquiry. 
 
 He suddenly stopped, and said, " I have taken a wrong turn- 
 ing ; I ought to have gone to the right when I left the tavern ; 
 we must pass by a house in ruins to reach the fiacre. We must 
 turn back." 
 
 The Schoolmaster and the Chouette, who followed on the 
 heels of their intended victims, retreated into the dark porch of 
 a house close at hand, so that they might not be perceived by
 
 48 TUB MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Tom and Sarah, who, in passing, almost touched them with their 
 elbows. 
 
 " I am glad they have gone that way," said the Schoolmaster, 
 " for, if the cove resists, I have my own idea." 
 
 Sarah and her brother, having again passed by the tapis-franc, 
 arrived close to the dilapidated house, which was partly in ruins, 
 and its opened cellars formed a kind of gulf, along which the 
 street ran in that direction. In an instant, the Schoolmaster, 
 with a leap resembling in strength and agility the spring of a 
 tiger, seized Seyton with one hand by the throat, and exclaimed, 
 " Your money, or I will fling you into this hole ! " 
 
 Then the brigand, pushing Seyton backwards, shoved him off 
 his balance, and with one hand held him suspended over the 
 mouth of the deep excavation; whilst, with his other hand, he 
 grasped the arm of Sarah, as if in a vice. Before Tom could 
 make the slightest struggle, the Chouette had emptied his pockets 
 with singular dexterity. Sarah did not utter a cry, nor try to 
 resist : she only said, in a calm tone, " Give up your purse, 
 brother ; " and then accosting the robber, " We will make no 
 noise, do not do us any injury." 
 
 The Chouette, having carefully searched the pockets of the 
 two victims of this ambush, said to Sarah, " Let's see your hands, 
 if you've got any rings. No," said the old brute, grumblingly, 
 " no, not one ring. What a shame ! " 
 
 Tom Seyton did not lose his presence of mind during this 
 scene, rapidly and unexpectedly as it had occurred. 
 
 " Will you strike a bargain ? My pocket-book contains papers 
 quite useless to you ; return it to me, and to-morrow I will give 
 you twenty-five louis d'or," said Tom to the Schoolmaster, whose 
 hand relaxed something of its fierce grip. 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! to lay a trap to catch us," replied the thief. " Be 
 off, without looking behind you, and be thankful that you have 
 escaped so well." 
 
 " One moment," said the Chouette ; " if he behaves well, he 
 shall have his pocket-book. There is a way." Then, addressing 
 Thomas Seyton, " You know the Plain of St.-Denis ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Do you know where St.-Ouen is ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Opposite St.-Ouen, at the end of the road of La Revolte, the 
 plain is wide and open. Across the fields, one may see a long 
 way. Come there to-morrow, quite alone, with your money in 
 your hand ; you will find me and the pocket-book ready. Hand 
 me the cash, and I will hand you the pocket-book."
 
 " TOUR MONEY OR TOUR LIFE." 49 
 
 " But he'll trap you, Chouette." 
 
 " Oh, no, he won't ; I'm up to him or any of his dodges. We 
 can see a long way off. I have only one eye, but that is a piercer ; 
 and, if the cove comes with a companion, he won't find anybody ; 
 I shall have mizzled." 
 
 A sudden idea seemed to strike Sarah, and she said to the 
 brigand, " Would you like to gain some money ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did you see, in the cabaret we have just left for I know you 
 again the man whom the charcoal-man came to seek ? " 
 
 " A dandy with mustaches ? Yes, I would have stuck it into 
 the fellow, but he did not give me time. He stunned me with 
 two blows of his fists, and upset me on the table for the first 
 time that any man ever did so. Curses on him ! but I will be 
 revenged." 
 
 " He is the man I mean," said Sarah. 
 
 " He ? " cried the Schoolmaster ; " a thousand francs, and I'll 
 kill him." 
 
 " Wretch ! I do not seek his life," replied Sarah to the School- 
 master. 
 
 "What, then, would you have?" 
 
 " Come to-morrow to the Plain of St.-Denis ; you will there 
 find my companion," she replied ; " you will see that he is alone, 
 and he will tell you what to do. I will not give you one thou- 
 sand, but two thousand, francs, if you succeed." 
 
 " Fourline," said the Chouette, in a low tone, to the School- 
 master, " there's blunt to be had ; these are a swell lot, who want 
 to be revenged on an enemy, and that enemy is the beggar that 
 you wish to floor. Let's go and meet him. I would go, if I 
 were you. Fire and smoke! old boy, it will pay for looking 
 after." 
 
 "Well, my wife shall be there," said the Schoolmaster; "you 
 will tell her what you want, and I shall see " 
 
 " Be it so ; to-morrow at one." 
 
 " At one o'clock. 
 
 " In the Plain of St.-Denis? " 
 
 " In the Plain of St.-Denis." 
 
 " Between St.-Ouen and the road of La Eevolte, at the end 
 of the road ? " 
 
 " Agreed." 
 
 " I will bring your pocket-book." 
 
 " And you shall have the five hundred francs I promised you, 
 and we will agree in the other matter, if you are reasonable."
 
 50 TRti MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Now, you go to the right, and we to the left hand. Do not 
 follow us, or else ' : 
 
 The Schoolmaster and the Chouette hurried off, whilst Tom 
 and the Countess went in the other direction, towards Notre 
 Dame. 
 
 A concealed witness had been present at this transaction; it 
 was the Chourineur, who had entered the cellars of the house 
 to get shelter from the rain. The proposal which Sarah made 
 to the brigand respecting Kodolph deeply interested the Chouri- 
 neur, who, alarmed for the perils which appeared about to beset 
 his new friend, regretted that he could not warn him of them. 
 Perhaps his detestation of the Schoolmas'ter and the Chouette 
 might have something to do with this feeling. 
 
 The Chourineur resolved to inform Rodolph of the danger 
 which threatened him; but how? He had forgotten the address 
 of the self-styled fan-painter. Perhaps Eodolph would never 
 again come to the iapis-franc, and then how could he warn him? 
 Whilst he was conning all this over in his mind, the Chourineur 
 had mechanically followed Tom and Sarah, and saw them get 
 into a coach, which awaited them near Notre Dame. 
 
 The fiacre started. The Chourineur got up behind, and at 
 one o'clock it stopped on the Boulevard de 1'Observatoire, and 
 Thomas and Sarah went down a narrow entrance, which was 
 close at hand. The night was pitch dark, and the Chourineur, 
 that he might know the next day the place where he then was, 
 drew from his pocket his clasp-knife, and cut a deep notch in 
 one of the trees at the corner of the entrance, and then returned 
 to his resting-place, which was at a considerable distance. 
 
 For the first time for a very long while, the Chourineur en- 
 joyed in his den a comfortable sleep, which was not once inter- 
 rupted by the horrible vision of the " Sergeant's slaughter- 
 house" as, in his coarse language, he styled it. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 ON the day after the evening on which the various events we 
 have described had passed, a bright autumnal sun shone from a 
 pure sky; the darkness of the night had wholly disappeared. 
 Although always shaded by the height of the houses, the dis- 
 reputable neighborhood into which the reader has followed us 
 seemed less horrible when viewed in the light of open day.
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 51 
 
 Whether Rodolph no longer feared meeting with the two per- 
 sons whom he had evaded the over-night, or did not care whether 
 he faced them or not, about eleven o'clock in the morning he 
 entered the Hue aux Feves, and directed his steps toward the 
 tavern of the ogress. 
 
 Rodolph was still in a workman's dress; but there was a 
 decided neatness in his costume. His new blouse, open on his 
 chest, showed a red woolen shirt, closed by several silver buttons ; 
 whilst the collar of another shirt, of white cotton, fell over a 
 black silk cravat, loosely tied round his neck. From under his 
 sky-blue velvet cap, with a bright leather peak, several locks of 
 chestnut hair were seen; and his boots, cleaned very brightly, 
 and replacing the heavy iron shoes of the previous evening, 
 showed off to advantage a well-formed foot, which seemed all 
 the smaller from appearing out of a loose pantaloon of olive 
 velveteen. The costume was well calculated to display the ele- 
 gant shape and carriage of Rodolph, which combined so much 
 grace, suppleness, and power. The ogress was airing herself at 
 her door when Rodolph presented himself. 
 
 " Your servant, young man ; you have come, no doubt, for 
 your change of the twenty francs/' she said, with some show of 
 respect, not venturing to forget that the conqueror of the Chouri- 
 neur had handed her a louis d'or the previous evening. " There 
 is seventeen francs ten sous coming to you; but that's not all. 
 There was somebody here asking after you last night, a tall 
 gent, well dressed, and with him a young woman in men's 
 clothes. They drank my best wine along with the Chourineur." 
 
 " Oh ! with the Chourineur, did they ? And what could they 
 have to say to him?" 
 
 " When I say they drank, I make a mistake ; they only just 
 Dipped a drain or so, and " 
 
 " But what did they say to the Chourineur? " 
 
 " Oh ! they talked of all manner of things of Bras Rouge, 
 and the rain, and fine weather." 
 
 " Do they know Bras Rouge ? " 
 
 " Not by no means : the Chourineur told 'em all about him, 
 and as how as you " 
 
 " Well, well, that is not what I want to know." 
 
 " You want your change." 
 
 " Yes, and I want to take Goualeuse to pass the day in the 
 country." 
 
 " Oh ! that's impossible." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why ? because she may never come back again. Her things
 
 52 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 belongs to me, not including as she owes me a matter of ninety 
 francs as a balance for her board and lodging, for the six weeks 
 as she has lodged with me ; and, if I didn't know her to be as 
 honest a girl as is, I should never let her go out of sight/' 
 
 " Goualeuse owes you ninety francs ? " 
 
 " Ninety francs ten sous ; but what's that to you, my lad ? 
 Are you a-going to come ' my lord,' and pay it for her ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Eodolph, throwing five louis on the ogress's bar; 
 " and what's your price for the clothes she wears ? " 
 
 The old hag, amazed, looked at the louis one after the other, 
 with an air of much doubt and mistrust. 
 
 " What ! do you think I have given you bad money ? Send 
 and get change for one of them; but make haste about it. I 
 say, again, how much for the garments the poor girl is 
 wearing ? " 
 
 The ogress, divided between her desire to make a good harvest, 
 her surprise to see a workman with so much money, the fear of 
 being cheated, and the hopes of still greater gain, was silent for 
 an instant, and then replied, " Oh, them things is well worth a 
 hundred francs." 
 
 " What ! those rags ? Come, now, you shall keep the change 
 from yesterday, and I'll give you another louis, and no more. 
 If I give you all I have, I shall cheat the poor, who ought to get 
 some alms out of me." 
 
 " Well, then, my fine fellow, I'll keep my things, and Goua- 
 leuse sha'n't go out. I have a right to sell my things for what 
 I choose." 
 
 <e May Lucifer one day fry you as you deserve ! Here's your 
 money; go and look for Goualeuse." 
 
 The ogress pocketed the gold, thinking that the workman had 
 committed a robbery, or received a legacy, and then said, with a 
 nasty leer, " Well, indeed ! why not go upstairs, and find Goua- 
 leuse yourself? she'll be very glad to see you, for, on my life, 
 she was much smitten with you yesterday." 
 
 " Do you go and fetch her, and tell her I will take her into 
 the country ; that's all you need say ; not a word about my having 
 paid you her debt." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing ; it's no matter to me ; I would rather that she 
 still believed herself in my clutch " 
 
 "Will, you hold your tongue, and do as I bid you?" 
 
 " Oh ! what a cross creetur you are ! I pity anybody who is
 
 THE WALK. 53 
 
 tinder you. Well, I'm going, I'm going;" and the ogress went 
 upstairs. 
 
 After a few minutes she came down again. 
 
 " Goualeuse would not believe me, and really turned quite 
 crimson when she knew you were here; and, when I told her 
 that I would give her leave to pass the day in the country, I 
 thought she would have gone crazy, for the first time in her 
 life she was inclined to throw her arms about my neck." 
 
 " That was her delight at leaving you." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie entered at this moment, dressed as she was the 
 over-night, with her gown of brown stuff, her little orange shawl 
 tied behind her, and her handkerchief of red checks over her 
 head, leaving only two thick bands of light hair visible. She 
 blushed when she saw Eodolph, and looked down with a confused 
 air. 
 
 " Would you like to pass the day in the country with me, my 
 lass ? " asked Rodolph. 
 
 "Very much, indeed, Monsieur Eodolph," said Goualeuse, 
 " since madame gives me leave." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you may go, my little duck, because you're sitch a 
 good gal. Come and kiss me afore you go." 
 
 And the old beldam offered her bloated lips to Fleur-de-Marie. 
 The poor girl, overcoming her disgust, bent her forehead to the 
 ogress, but Eodolph, giving a sudden push with his elbow, shoved 
 the hag back on her seat, took Fleur-de-Marie's arm, and 
 left the tapis-franc, amidst the loud maledictions of Mother 
 Ponisse. 
 
 " Mind, M. Eodolph/ 5 said Goualeuse ; " the ogress will, per- 
 haps, throw something at you she is very spiteful." 
 
 " Oh, don't heed her, my girl. But what's the matter with 
 you ? you seem embarrassed, sad. Are you sorry for having come 
 out with me?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; but but you give me your arm ! " 
 
 "Well, and what of that?" 
 
 " You are a workman, and someone may tell your master that 
 they met you with me, and harm may come of it ; masters do not 
 like their workmen to be unsteady." And Goualeuse gently 
 removed her arm from that of Eodolph, adding, " Go on by 
 yourself; I will follow you to the barrier; when we are once in 
 the fields, I can walk with you." 
 
 " Do not be uneasy," said Eodolph, touched by the poor girl's 
 consideration, and taking her arm again ; " my master does not 
 live in this quarter, and we shall find a coach on the Quai aux 
 Fleurs."
 
 54 , THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " As you please, M. Eodolph ; I only said so that you might 
 not get into trouble." 
 
 " I am sure of that, and thank you very much. But tell me, 
 is it all the same to you what part of the country we go into ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite so, M. Eodolph, so that it be the country. It is 
 so fine and it is so nice to breathe the open air! Do you know, 
 that I have not been farther than the flower-market for these six 
 weeks? And now, if the ogress allows me to leave the Cite, she 
 must have great confidence in me." 
 
 " And, when you came here, was it to buy flowers ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, I had no money ; I only came to look at them, and 
 breathe their beautiful smell. During the half -hour which the 
 ogress allowed me to pass on the quay on market-days, I was so 
 happy that I forgot everything else/' 
 
 " And on returning to the ogress, and those filthy streets ? " 
 
 " Oh, why, then I returned more sad than when I set out; but 
 I wiped my eyes, that I might not be beaten for crying. Yet, at 
 the market, what made me envious, oh ! so envious, was to see 
 neat, clean, little workwomen, who were going away so gaily 
 with a beautiful pot of flowers in their hands." 
 
 " I am sure that, if you had had but a few flowers in your own 
 window, they would have kept you company." 
 
 " What you say is quite true, M. Eodolph. Only imagine, one 
 day, on her birthday, the ogress, knowing my taste, gave me a 
 little rose-tree. If you only knew how happy it made me I was 
 never tired of looking at it, my own rose-tree ! I counted its 
 leaves, its flowers ; but the air of the Cite is bad, and it began to 
 
 wither in two days. Then But you'll laugh at me, M. 
 
 Eodolph?" 
 
 " No, no ; go on." 
 
 " Well, then, I asked the ogress to let me go out, and take my 
 rose-tree for a walk, as I would have taken a child out. Well, 
 then, I carried it to the Quai, thinking that to be with other 
 flowers in the fresh and balmy air would do it good. I bathed 
 its poor fading leaves in the clear waters of the fountain, and 
 then, to dry it, I placed it for a full quarter of an hour in the 
 sun. Dear little rose-tree! it never saw the sun in the Cite any 
 more than I did, for in our street it never descends lower than 
 the roof. At last I went back again, and, I assure you, M. 
 Eodolph, that, thanks to these walks, my rose-tree lived at least 
 ten days longer than it would have done, had I not taken such 
 pains with it." 
 
 " ISTo doubt of it. But, when it died, what a loss it must have 
 been to you ! "
 
 THE WALK. 55 
 
 " I cried heartily, for it grieved me very, very much : and you 
 see, M. Rodolph for you know one loves flowers, although one 
 hasn't any of one's own you see, I felt grateful to it, the dear 
 rose-tree ! for blooming so kindly for me, although I was so " 
 
 Goualeuse bent her head, and blushed deeply. 
 
 " Unhappy child ! with this feeling of your own position, you 
 must often " 
 
 " Have desired to end it, you mean, sir ? " said Goualeuse, 
 interrupting her companion. "Yes, yes, more than once. A 
 month ago I looked over the parapet at the Seine; but then, 
 when I looked at the flowers, and the sun, then I said, ' The 
 river will be always there; I am but sixteen and a half who 
 knows ? " 
 
 " When you said ' who knows/ you had hope ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And what did you hope ?" 
 
 " To find some charitable soul who would get me work, so that 
 I might be enabled to leave the ogress ; and this hope comforted 
 me. Then I said to myself, I am very wretched, but I have 
 never injured anybody, and if I had anyone to advise me I 
 should not be as I am. This lightened my sorrow a little, though 
 it had greatly increased at the loss of my rose-tree," added 
 Goualeuse, with a sigh. 
 
 " Always so very sad." 
 
 "Yes; but look, here it is." 
 
 And Goualeuse took from her pocket a little bundle of wood 
 trimmed very carefully, and tied with a rose-colored bow. 
 
 "What! have you kept it?" 
 
 " I have, indeed ; it is all I possess in the world." 
 
 " What ! have you nothing else? " 
 
 Nothing." 
 
 "This coral necklace?" 
 
 " Belongs to the ogress." 
 
 " And you have not a piece of ribbon, a cap, or handkerchief? " 
 
 "N"o, nothing nothing but the dead branches of my poor 
 rose-tree ; and that is why I love it so." 
 
 When Rodolph and Goualeuse had reached the Quai aux 
 Fleurs, a coach was waiting there, into which Rodolph handed 
 Goualeuse. He got in himself, saying to the driver, 
 
 "To Saint-Denis; I will tell you presently which road to 
 take." 
 
 The coach went on. The sun was bright, and the sky cloud- 
 less, whilst the air, fresh and crisp, circulated freely through the 
 open windows.
 
 56 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Here is a woman's cloak ! " said Goualeuse, remarking that 
 she had seated herself on the garment without having at first 
 noticed it. 
 
 " Yes, it is for you, my child ; I brought it with me for fear 
 you should be cold/' 
 
 Little accustomed to such attention, the poor girl looked at 
 Eodolph with surprise. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! Monsieur Eodolph, how kind you are; I am 
 really ashamed " 
 
 " Because I am kind ? " 
 
 " No ; but you do not speak as you did yesterday ; you appear 
 quite another person." 
 
 " Tell me, then, Fleur-de-Marie, which do you like best the 
 Eodolph of yesterday, or the Eodolph of to-day ? " 
 
 " I like you better now ; yet yesterday I seemed to be more 
 your equal." Then, as if correcting herself, and fearing to have 
 annoyed Eodolph, she said to him, " When I say your equal, 
 Monsieur Eodolph, I do not mean that I can ever be that." 
 
 " One thing in you astonishes me very much, Fleur-de-Marie." 
 
 " And what is that, M. Eodolph? " 
 
 " You appear to have forgotten that the Chouette said to you 
 yesterday that she knew the persons who had brought you 
 up." 
 
 " Oh ! I have not forgotten it ; I thought of it all night, and I 
 cried bitterly ; but I am sure it is not true ; she invented this tale 
 to make me unhappy." 
 
 " Yet the Chouette may know more than you think. If it 
 were so, should you not be delighted to be restored to your 
 parents ? " 
 
 " Alas ! sir, if my parents never loved me, what should I gain 
 
 by discovering them? They would only see me and But 
 
 if they did ever love me, what shame I should bring on them ! 
 perhaps I should kill them ! " 
 
 "If your parents ever loved you, Fleur-de-Marie, they will 
 pity, pardon, and still love you. If they have abandoned you, 
 then, when they see the frightful destiny to which they have 
 brought you, their shame and remorse will avenge you." 
 
 " What is the good of vengeance? " 
 
 " You are right ; let us talk no more on the subject." 
 
 At this moment the carriage reached Saint-Ouen, where the 
 road divides to Saint-Denis and the Eevolte. In spite of the 
 monotony of the landscape, Fleur-de-Marie was so delighted at 
 seeing the fields, as she called them, that, forgetting the sad 
 thoughts which the recollection of the Chouette had awakened
 
 THE WALK. 5tf 
 
 in her, her lovely countenance grew radiant with delight. She 
 leaned out of the window, clasping her hands, and crying, 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph, how happy I am ! Grass ! Fields ! May 
 I get out ? it is so fine ! I should so like to run in the 
 meadows." 
 
 " Let us run, then, my child. Coachman, stop." 
 
 " What ! you, too ! will you run, M. Rodolph? " 
 
 "I'm having a holiday." 
 
 " Oh ! what pleasure ! " 
 
 And Rodolph and Goualeuse, taking each other's hand, ran as 
 fast as they could over a long piece of latter-grass, just mowed. 
 It would be impossible to describe the leaps and exclamations of 
 joy, the intense delight, of Fleur-de-Marie. Poor lamb ! so long 
 a prisoner, she inspired the free air with indescribable pleasure. 
 She ran, returned, stopped, and then raced off again with re- 
 newed happiness. At the sight of the daisies and buttercups 
 Goualeuse could not restrain her transport, she did not leave 
 one flower which she could gather. After having run about in 
 this way for some time she became rather tired, for she had lost 
 ttte habit of exercise, and stopped to take breath, sitting down 
 on the trunk of a fallen tree which was lying at the edge of a 
 deep ditch. 
 
 The clear and white complexion of Fleur-de-Marie, generally 
 rather pale, was now heightened by the brightest color. Her 
 large blue eyes sparkled brightly, her vermilion lips, partly 
 opened to recover her breath, displayed two rows of liquid pearls ; 
 her bosom throbbed under her worn-out little orange shawl, and 
 she placed one of her hands upon her heart, as if to restrain it's 
 quickened pulsation, whilst with the other hand she proffered to 
 Rodolph the bouquet of field flowers which she had just gathered. 
 Nothing could be more charming than the combination of in- 
 nocence and pure joy which beamed on her expressive counte- 
 nance. When Fleur-de-Marie could speak, she said to Rodolph, 
 with an accent of supreme happiness and of gratitude, almost 
 amounting to piety, 
 
 " How good is the great God to give us so fine a day ! " 
 
 A tear came into Rodolph's eye when he heard this poor, for- 
 saken, despised, lost creature utter a cry of happiness and deep 
 gratitude to the Creator, because she enjoyed a ray of sunshine 
 and the sight of a green field. He was roused from his reverie 
 by an unexpected occurrence.
 
 58 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 WE have said that Goualeuse was sitting on the trunk of a 
 fallen tree, at the edge of a deep ditch. Suddenly a man, 
 springing up from the bottom of this hollow, shook the rubbish 
 from him, under which he had concealed himself, and burst into 
 a loud fit of laughter. Goualeuse turned round, screaming with 
 alarm. It was the Chourineur. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, my girl," said the Chourineur, when he 
 saw her extreme fear, and that she had sought protection from 
 her companion. " Ah ! Master Rodolph, here's a curious meet- 
 ing, which I am sure neither you nor I expected." Then he 
 added, in a serious tone, " Listen, master. People may say 
 what they like, but there is something in the air, there, up 
 there, above our heads, very wonderful ; which seems to say to a 
 man, ' Go where I send you/ See how you two have been sent 
 here. It is devilish wonderful ! " 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " said Rodolph, greatly surprised. 
 
 " I was on the look-out in a matter of yours, master ; but, 
 thunder and lightning! what a high joke that you should come 
 at this particular moment into this very neighborhood of my 
 country-house ! There's something in all this decidedly there 
 is something." 
 
 " But again I ask you, what are you doing there ? " 
 
 " All in good time, I'll tell you ; only let me first look about 
 me for a moment." 
 
 The Chourineur then ran towards the coach, which was some 
 distance oif, looked this way and that way over the plain with a 
 keen and rapid glance, and then rejoined Rodolph, running 
 quickly. 
 
 " Will you explain to me the meaning of all this ? " 
 
 "Patience, patience, good master; one word more. What's 
 o'clock?" 
 
 " Half-past twelve," said Rodolph, looking at his watch. 
 
 "All right; we have time, then. The Chouette will not be 
 here for the next half-hour." 
 
 " The Chouette ! " cried Rodolph and the girl both at once. 
 
 "Yes, the Chouette; in two words, master, I'll tell you all. 
 Yesterday, after you had left the tapis-franc, there came "
 
 THE SURPRISE. 59 
 
 " A tall man with a woman in man's attire, who asked for me ; 
 I know all about that, but, then " 
 
 " Then they paid for my liquor, and wanted to draw me about 
 you. I had nothing to tell them, because you had communicated 
 nothing to me, except those fisticuffs which settled me. All I 
 know is, that I learned something then which I shall not easily 
 forget. But we are friends for life and death, Master Rodolph, 
 though the devil burn me if I know why. I feel for you the 
 regard which the bull-dog feels for his master. It was after you 
 told me that I had ' heart and honor'; but that's nothing, so 
 there's an end of it. It is no use trying to account for it; so it 
 is, and so let it be, if it's any good to you." 
 
 " Many thanks, my man ; but go on." 
 
 " The tall man and the little lady in man's clothes, finding 
 that they could get nothing out of me, left the ogress's, and so 
 did I ; they going towards the Palais de Justice, and I to Notre 
 Dame. On reaching the end of the street I found it was raining 
 pitchforks, points downwards a complete deluge. There was 
 an old house in ruins close at hand, and I said to myself, if this 
 shower is to last all night, I shall sleep as well here as in my 
 own crib. So I rolled myself into a sort of cave, where I was 
 high and dry; my bed was an old beam, and my pillow a heap of 
 lath and plaster, and there I slept like a king." 
 
 " Well, well, go on." 
 
 " We had drunk together, Master Rodolph, I had drunk, too, 
 with the tall man and the little woman dressed in man's clothes, 
 so you may believe my head was rather heavy, and, besides, noth- 
 ing sends me off to sleep like a good fall of rain. I began, then, 
 to snooze, but I had not been long asleep, I think, when, aroused 
 by a noise, I sat up and listened. I heard the Schoolmaster, 
 who was talking in a friendly tone with somebody. I soon made 
 out that he was parleying with the tall man who came into the 
 tapis-franc with the little woman dressed in man's clothes." 
 
 " They in conference with the Schoolmaster and the Chou- 
 ette ? " said Rodolph, with amazement. 
 
 " With the Schoolmaster and the Chouette ; and they agreed to 
 meet again on the morrow." 
 
 " That's to-day ! " said Rodolph. 
 
 " At one o'clock." 
 " This very moment ! " 
 
 "Where the road branches off to Saint-Denis and La Re- 
 volte." 
 
 " This very spot ! " 
 
 " Just as you say, Master Rodolph, on this very spot/'
 
 60 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "The Schoolmaster? oh, pray be on your guard, Monsieur 
 Rodolph ! " exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my child, he won't come ; it's only the 
 Chouette." 
 
 " How could the man, who, with the female in disguise, sought 
 me at the tapis-franc, come into contact with these two 
 wretches ? " said Eodolph. 
 
 " Pf aith I don't know, and I think I only awoke at the end of 
 the affair, for the tall man was talking of getting back his 
 pocket-book, which the Chouette was to bring here in exchange 
 for five hundred francs. I should say that the Schoolmaster 
 had begun by robbing him, and that it 'was after that that they 
 began to parley, and to come to friendly terms." 
 
 " It is very strange." 
 
 "It makes me quite frightened on your account, Monsieur 
 Rodolph," said Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 " Master Rodolph is no chicken, girl ; but, as you say, there 
 may be something working against him, and so I am here." 
 
 " Go on, my good fellow." 
 
 "The tall man and the little woman have promised two 
 thousand francs to the Schoolmaster to do to you I don't know 
 what. The Chouette is to be here directly to return the pocket- 
 book, and to know what is required from them, which she is to 
 tell the Schoolmaster, who will undertake it." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie started. Rodolph smiled disdainfully. 
 
 * Two thousand francs to do something to you, Master Ro- 
 dolpji; that makes me think that when I see a notice of a dog 
 that has been lost (I don't mean to make a comparison), and 
 the offer of a hundred francs reward for his recovery, I say to 
 myself, ' Animal, if you were lost, no one would give a hundred 
 farthings to find you.' Two thousand francs to do something to 
 you ! Who are you, then ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you by and by." 
 
 " That's enough, master. When I heard this proposal, I said 
 to myself, I must find out where these two dons live who want 
 to set the Schoolmaster on the haunches of M. Rodolph ; it may 
 be serviceable. So, when they had gone away, I got out of my 
 hiding-place, and followed them quietly. I saw the tall man and 
 little woman get into a coach near Notre Dame, and I got up 
 behind, and we went on until we reached the Boulevard de 
 1'Observatoire. It was as dark as the mouth of an oven, and I 
 could not distinguish anything, so I cut a notch in a tree, that 
 I might find out the place in the morning." 
 
 Well thought of, my good fellow."
 
 THE SURPRISE. 61 
 
 " This morning I went there, and about ten yards from the 
 tree I saw a narrow entrance, closed by a gate. In the mud there 
 were little and large footsteps, and at the end of the entrance 
 a small garden-gate, where the traces ended; so the roost- 
 ing-place of the tall man and the little woman must be 
 there." 
 
 " Thanks, my worthy friend, you have done me a most essen- 
 tial piece of service, without knowing it." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Master Kodolph, but I believed I was 
 serving you, and that was the reason I did as I did." 
 
 " I know it, my fine fellow, and I wish I could recompense 
 your service more properly than by thanks; but, unfortunately, 
 i am only a poor devil of a workman, although you say they 
 offer two thousand francs for something to be done against me. 
 I will explain that to you." 
 
 " Yes, if you like, but not unless. Somebody threatens you 
 with something, and I will come across them if I can; the rest 
 is your affair." 
 
 " I know what they want. Listen to me. I have a secret for 
 cutting fans in ivory by a mechanical process, but this secret 
 does not belong to me alone. I am awaiting my comrade to go 
 to work, and, no doubt, it is the model of the machine, which I 
 have at home, that they are desirous of getting from me at any 
 price, for there is a great deal of money to be made by the 
 discovery." 
 
 " The tall man and the little woman, then, are " 
 
 " Workpeople with whom I have been associated, and to whom 
 I have refused my secret." 
 
 This explanation appeared satisfactory to the Chourineur, 
 whose apprehension was not the clearest in the world, and he 
 replied, 
 
 "Now I understand it all. The beggars! you see they have 
 not the courage to do their dirty tricks themselves. But to come 
 to the end of my story. I said to myself, this morning, I know 
 the rendezvous of the Chouette and the tall man ; I will go there 
 and wait for them ; I have good legs, and my employer will 
 wait for me. I came here, found this hole, and, taking an arm- 
 ful of stuff from the dunghill yonder, I hid myself here up to 
 my nose, and waited for the Chouette. But, lo and behold ! you 
 came into the field, and poor Goualeuse came and sat down on 
 the very edge of my park, and then I determined to have a bit 
 of fun, and, jumping out of my lair, I called out like a man on 
 fire." 
 
 " And now what do you propose to do ? "
 
 62 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " To wait for the Chouette, who is sure to come first ; to try 
 and overhear what she and the tall man talk about, for that 
 may be useful for you to know. There is nothing in the field 
 but this trunk of a tree, and from here you may see all over the 
 plain ; it is as if it was made on purpose to sit down upon. The 
 rendezvous of the Chouette is only four steps off at the cross 
 road, and I will lay a bet they come and sit here when they 
 arrive. If I cannot hear anything, then, as soon as they separate, 
 I will follow the Chouette, who is sure to stay last, and I'll pay 
 her the old grudge I owe her for the Goualeuse's tooth ; and I'll 
 twist her neck until she tells me the name of the parents of the 
 poor girl, for she says she knows them-. What do you think of 
 my idea, Master Eodolph ? " 
 
 " I like it very well, my lad ; but there is one part which you 
 must alter." 
 
 " Oh ! Chourineur, do not get yourself into any quarrel on 
 my account. If you beat the Chouette, then the School- 
 master " 
 
 " Say no more, my lass. The Chouette shall not go scot free 
 for me. Confound it ! why, for the very reason that the School- 
 master will defend her, I will double her dose." 
 
 " Listen, my man, to me ; I have a better plan for avenging 
 the Chouette's brutalities to Goualeuse, which I will tell you 
 hereafter. Now," said Rodolph, moving a few paces from 
 Goualeuse, and speaking low " now, will you render me a real 
 service?" 
 
 " Name it, Master Eodolph." 
 
 " The Chouette does not know you ? " 
 
 " I saw her yesterday for the first time at the tapis-franc." 
 
 " This is what you must do. Hide yourself first ; but, when 
 you see her come close to you, get out of this hole " 
 
 "And twist her neck?" 
 
 " No, defer that for a time. To-day, only prevent her from 
 speaking to the tall man. He, seeing some one with her, will 
 not approach; and if he does, do not leave her alone for a 
 moment. He cannot make his proposal before you." 
 
 "If the man thinks me curious, I know what to do; he is 
 neither the Schoolmaster nor Master Eodolph. I will follow 
 the Chouette like her shadow, and the man shall not say a word 
 that I do not overhear. He will then be off, and after that I 
 will have one little turn with the Chouette. I must have it; it 
 will be such a sweet drop for me." 
 
 " Not yet ; the one-eyed hag does not know whether you are 
 a thief or not?"
 
 THE SURPRISE. 63 
 
 "No, not unless the Schoolmaster has talked of me to her, 
 and told her that I did not do business in that line." 
 
 " If he have, you must appear to have altered your ideas on 
 that subject." 
 
 "IB 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ten thousand thunders ! Mr. Eodolph, what do you mean ? 
 indeed truly I don't like it; it does not suit me to play such 
 a farce as that." 
 
 " You shall only do what you please ; but you will not find 
 that I shall suggest any infamous plan to you. The tall man, 
 once driven away, you must try and talk over the Chouette. As 
 she will be very savage at having missed the good haul she 
 expected, you must try and smooth her down by telling her that 
 you know of a capital bit of business which may be done, and 
 that you are then waiting for your comrade, and that, if the 
 Schoolmaster will join you, there is a lump of money to be 
 made." 
 
 Well, well." 
 
 " After waiting with her for an hour, you may say, ' My mate 
 does not come, and so the job must be put off ' ; and then you 
 may make an appointment with the Chouette and the School- 
 master for to-morrow, at an early hour. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " And this evening, at ten o'clock, meet me at the corner of 
 the Champs Elysees, and the Allee des Veuves, and I will tell 
 you more." 
 
 " If it is a trap, look out ! the Schoolmaster is a scoundrel. 
 You have beaten him, and, no doubt, he will kill you if he can." 
 
 " Have no fear." 
 
 " By Jove ! it is a rum start; but do as you like with me. I 
 do not hesitate, for something tells me that there is a rod in 
 pickle for the Schoolmaster and the Chouette. One word, 
 though, if you please, M. Eodolph." 
 
 " Say it." 
 
 " I do not think you are the man to lay a trap, and set the 
 police on the Schoolmaster. He is an arrant blackguard, who 
 deserves a hundred deaths; but to have them arrested, that I 
 will not have a hand in." 
 
 " Nor I, my boy ; but I have a score to wipe off with him and 
 the Chouette, because they are in a plot with others against 
 me ; but we two will baffle them completely, if you will lend me 
 your assistance."
 
 64 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Of course I will ; and, if that is to be the game, I am your 
 man. But, quick, quick," cried the Chourineur, " down there I 
 see the head of the Chouette. I know it is her bonnet. Go, go, 
 and I will drop into my hole." 
 
 " To-night, then, at ten o'clock." 
 
 "At the corner of the Champs Elysees and the Alice des 
 Veuves: all right." 
 
 Fleur-de-l&arie had not heard a word of the latter part of the 
 conversation between the Chourineur and Eodolph, and now 
 entered again into the coach with her traveling companion. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 FOR some time after this conversation with the Chourineur, 
 Eodolph remained preoccupied and pensive, while Fleur-de- 
 Marie, too timid to break the silence, continued to gaze on him 
 with saddened earnestness. At length Eodolph looked up, and, 
 meeting her mournful look, smiled kindly on her, and said, 
 " What are you thinking of, my child ? I fear our rencounter with 
 the Chourineur has made you uncomfortable, and we were so 
 merry, too." 
 
 " Oh ! no, M. Eodolph, indeed, I do not mind it at all ; nay, I 
 even believe the meeting with the Chourineur may be useful 
 to you." 
 
 " Did not this man pass amongst the inhabitants of the tapis- 
 franc as possessing some good points among his many bad 
 ones?" 
 
 " Indeed, I know not, M. Eodolph ; for although, previously 
 to the scene of yesterday, I had frequently seen him, I had 
 scarcely ever spoken to him. I always looked upon him as bad 
 as all the rest." 
 
 " Well, well, do not let us talk any more about him, my pretty 
 Fleur-de-Marie. I should be sorry, indeed, to make you sad, I 
 who brought you out purposely that you might spend a happy 
 day." 
 
 " Oh ! I am happy. It is so very long since I have been out 
 of Paris." 
 
 " Not since your grand doings with Eigolette." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, M. Eodolph ; but that was in the spring. Yet,
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 65 
 
 though it is now autumn, I enjoy it quite as much. How beauti- 
 fully the sun shines! only look at the gold-colored clouds out 
 there there, I mean; and then that hill, with its pretty white 
 houses half hid among the trees, and the leaves still so green, 
 though we are in the middle of the month of October. Do not 
 you think it is wonderful, M. Rodolph, they should so well pre- 
 serve their verdure? In Paris, all the leaves wither so soon. 
 Look ! look at those pigeons ! how many there are ! and how high 
 they fly ! Now, they are settling on that old mill. One is never 
 tired in the open fields of looking at all these amusing sights." 
 
 " It is, indeed, a pleasure to behold the delight you seem to 
 take in all these trifling matters, Meur-de-Marie; though they, 
 in reality, constitute the charm of a landscape." 
 
 And Rodolph was right; for the countenance of his com- 
 panion, while gazing upon the fair calm scene before her, was 
 lit up with an expression of the purest joy. 
 
 " See ! " she exclaimed, after intently watching the different 
 objects that unfolded themselves to her eager look, " see how 
 beautifully the clear white smoke rises from those cottages, and 
 ascends to the very clouds themselves; and there are some men 
 plowing the land. What a capital plow they have got, drawn 
 by those two fine gray horses. Oh ! if I were a man, how I should 
 like to be a husbandman, to go out in the fields, and drive one's 
 own plow; and then, when you look to see the blue skies, and 
 the green shiny leaves of the neighboring forests, such a day 
 as to-day, for instance, when you feel half inclined to weep, 
 without knowing why, and begin singing old and melancholy 
 songs, like Genevieve de Brabant. Do you know * Genevieve de 
 Brabant/ M. Rodolph ? " 
 
 " No, my child ; but I hope you will have the kindness to sing 
 it to me before the day is over. You know our time is all our 
 own." 
 
 At these words, which reminded the poor Goualeuse that her 
 newly tasted happiness was fast fleeting away, and that, at the 
 close of this, the brightest day that had ever shone on her 
 existence, she must return to all the horrors of a corrupt city, 
 her feelings broke through all restraint, she hid her face in her 
 hands and burst into tears. Much surprised at her emotion, 
 Rodolph kindly inquired its cause. 
 
 " What ails you, Fleur-de-Marie ? What fresh grief have you 
 found?" 
 
 "Nothing nothing indeed, M. Rodolph," replied the girl, 
 drying her eyes and trying to smile. "Pray forgive me for 
 being so sad, and please not to notice it. I assure you I have
 
 66 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 nothing at all to grieve about it is only a fancy ; and now I am 
 going to be quite gay you will see." 
 
 " And you were as gay as could be a few minutes ago." 
 
 " Yes, I know I was ; and it was my thinking how soon " 
 
 answered Fleur-de-Marie naively, and raising her large, tearful 
 blue eyes, with touching candor, to his face. 
 
 The look, the words, fully enlightened Rodolph as to the cause 
 of her distress, and, wishing to dissipate it, he said smilingly, 
 
 " I would lay a wager you are regretting your poor rose-tree, 
 and are crying because you could not bring it out walking with 
 you, as you used to do." 
 
 La Goualeuse fell into the good-natured scheme for regaining 
 her cheerfulness, and by degrees the clouds of sadness cleared 
 away from her fair young face; and once again she appeared 
 absorbed in the pleasure of the moment, without allowing her- 
 self to recollect the future that would succeed it. The vehicle 
 had by this time almost arrived at Saint Denis, and the tall 
 spires of the cathedral were visible. 
 
 " Oh, what a fine steeple ! " exclaimed La Goualeuse. 
 
 " It is that of the splendid church of Saint Denis : would you 
 like to see it ? we can easily stop our carriage." 
 
 Poor Fleur-de-Marie cast down her eyes. " From the hour I 
 went to live with the ogress," said she in a low tone, while deep 
 blushes dyed her cheek, " I never once entered a church I 
 durst not. When in prison, on the contrary, I used to delight in 
 helping to sing the mass; and, against the Fete-Dieu, oh! I 
 made such lovely bouquets for the altar." 
 
 " But God is merciful and good ; why, then, fear to pray to 
 Him, or to enter His holy church ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, Monsieur Eodolph. I have offended God deeply 
 enough : let me not add impiety and sacrilege to my sins." 
 
 After a moment's silence, Rodolph again renewed the con- 
 versation, and, kindly taking the hand of La Goualeuse, said, 
 " Fleur-de-Marie, tell me honestly, have you ever known what 
 it is to love?" 
 
 " Never, Monsieur Rodolph." 
 
 " And how do you account for this? " 
 
 "You saw the kind of persons who frequented the tapis- 
 franc. And then, to love, the object should be good and 
 virtuous " 
 
 "Why do you think so?" 
 
 " Oh ! because one's lover, or husband, would be all in all to 
 us, and we should seek no greater happiness than in devoting 
 our life to him. But, Monsieur Rodolph, if you please, we will
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 67 
 
 talk of something else, for the tears will come into my eyes." 
 
 " Willingly, Fleur-de-Marie : let us change the conversation. 
 And now tell me, why do you look so beseechingly at me with 
 those large, tearful eyes? Have I done anything to displease 
 you?" 
 
 " On the contrary, 'tis the excess of your goodness that makes 
 me weep: indeed, I could almost fancy that you had brought 
 me out solely for my individual pleasure and enjoyment, with- 
 out thinking of yourself. Not content with your generous de- 
 fense of me yesterday, you have to-day procured for me happiness 
 such as I never hoped to enjoy." 
 
 " You are, then, truly and entirely happy ? " 
 
 " Never, never shall I forget to-day." 
 
 " Happiness does not often attend us on earth," said Eodolph^ 
 sighing. 
 
 " Alas, no ! Seldom, perhaps never." 
 
 " For my own part, to make up for a want of reality in its 
 possession, I often amuse myself with pictures of what I would 
 have if I could, saying to myself, This is how and where I 
 should like to live this is the sort of income I should like to 
 enjoy. Have you never, my little Fleur-de-Marie, amused your- 
 self with building similar ' castles in the air ' ? " 
 
 " Yes, formerly, when I was in prison, before I went to live 
 with the ogress then I used to do nothing all day but dance, 
 sing, and build these faery dreams ; but I very seldom do so now. 
 Tell me, Monsieur Eodolph, if you could have any wish you 
 liked, what should you most desire ? " 
 
 " Oh, I should like to be rich, with plenty of servants and 
 carriages; to possess a splendid hotel, and to mix in the first 
 circles of fashion ; to be able to obtain any amusement I pleased, 
 and to go to the theaters and opera whenever I chose." 
 
 " Well, then, you would be more unreasonable than I should. 
 Now I will tell you exactly what would satisfy me in every 
 respect: first of all, sufficient money to clear myself with the 
 ogress, and to keep me till I could obtain work for my future 
 support; then a pretty, little, nice, clean room, all to myself, 
 from the window of which I could see the trees while I sat at 
 my work." 
 
 " Plenty of flowers in your casement, of course ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! And, if it could be managed, to live in the 
 country always. And that, I think, is all I should want." 
 
 "Let me see: a little room, and work enough to maintain 
 you those are positive necessaries; but, when one is merely 
 wishing, there is no harm in adding a few superfluities: should
 
 68 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 you not like such nice things as carriages, diamonds, and rich 
 clothes?" 
 
 " Not at all ! All I wish for is my free and undisturbed 
 liberty a country life, and the certainty of not dying in an 
 hospital. Oh, that idea is dreadful ! Above all things, I would 
 desire the certainty of its never being my fate. Oh ! Monsieur 
 Rodolph, that dread often comes across me and fills me with 
 terror." 
 
 " Alas ! poor folks, such as we are, should not shrink from 
 such things." 
 
 " "Pis not the dying in a charitable institution I dread, or the 
 poverty that would send me into it, but the thoughts of what 
 they do to your lifeless remains." 
 
 " What do they do that shocks you so much ? " 
 
 " Is it possible, Monsieur Rodolph, you have never been told 
 what will become of you if you die in one of those places ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I have not : do you tell me." 
 
 " Well, then, I knew a youn? girl who had been a sort of com- 
 panion to me when I was in prison; she afterwards died in an 
 hospital, and what do you think? her body was given to the 
 surgeons for dissection ! " murmured the shuddering Fleur-de- 
 Marie. 
 
 " That is, indeed, a frightful idea ! And do these miserable 
 anticipations often trouble you, my poor girl ? " 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur Rodolph, it surprises you that, after my un- 
 happy life, I can feel any concern as to what becomes of my 
 miserable remains! God knows, the feeling which makes me 
 shrink from such an outrage to modesty is all my wretched fate 
 has left me!" 
 
 The mournful tone in which these words were uttered, and the 
 bitter feelings they contained, went to the heart of Rodolph; 
 but his companion, quickly perceiving his air of deep dejection, 
 and blaming herself for having caused it, said timidly, 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph, I feel that I am behaving very ill and 
 ungratefully towards you, who so kindly brought me out to 
 amuse me and give me pleasure; in return for which I only 
 keep talking to you about all the dull and gloomy things I can 
 think of! I wonder how I can do so! to be able even to 
 recollect my misery, when all around me smiles and looks so gay ! 
 I cannot tell how it is, words seem to rise from my lips in spite 
 of myself; and, though I feel happier to-day than I ever did 
 before in my life, my eyes are continually filling with tears ! 
 You are not angry with me, are you, Monsieur Rodolph? See, 
 too, my sadness is going away as suddenly as it came. There
 
 CASTLES IN THE ATR. 69 
 
 now, it is all gone, and shall not return to vex you any more, I 
 am determined. Look, Monsieur Kodolph, just look at my eyes 
 they do not show that I have been crying, do they ? " 
 
 And here Fleur-de-Marie, having repeatedly closed her eyes 
 to get rid of the rebellious tears that would gather there, opened 
 them full upon Bodolph, with a look of most enchanting candor 
 and sweetness. 
 
 " Put no restraint on yourself, I beseech you, Fleur-de-Marie ; 
 be gay, if you really feel so; or sad, if sadness most suits your 
 present state of mind. I have my own hours of gloom and 
 melancholy, and my sufferings would be much increased were I 
 compelled to feign a lightness of heart I did not really possess." 
 
 " Can it be possible, Monsieur Kodolph, that you are ever 
 sad?" 
 
 " Quite possible, my child, and true. Alas ! the prospect 
 before me is but little brighter than your own. I, like you, am 
 without friends or parents; what would become of me if I were 
 to fall ill and be unable to earn my daily bread, for I need 
 scarcely tell you I live but from day to day, and spend my money 
 quite as fast as I obtain it ? " 
 
 " Oh, but that is wrong, Monsieur Eodolph very, very 
 wrong ! " said La Goualeuse, in a tone of such deep and grave 
 remonstrance as made him smile. " You should always lay by 
 something. Look at me : why, all my troubles and misfortunes 
 have happened because I did not save my money more carefully. 
 If once a person can get a hundred francs beforehand, he need 
 never fear falling into any one's power: generally, a difficulty 
 about money puts very evil thoughts into our head." 
 
 " All that is very wise and very sensible, my frugal little 
 friend ; but a hundred francs ! that is a large sum how could 
 a man like myself ever amass so much ? " 
 
 " Why, M. Eodolph, it is really very easy, if you will but con- 
 sider a little. First of all, I think you said you could earn five 
 francs a day ? " 
 
 " Yes, so I can, when I choose to work." 
 
 " Ah ! but you should work, constantly and regularly ; and 
 yours is such a pretty trade. To paint fans ! how nice such work 
 must be mere amusement, quite a recreation ! I cannot think 
 why you should ever be tired or dull. Indeed, Monsieur 
 Eodolph, I must tell you plainly I do not pity you at all : and, 
 besides, really you talk like a mere child when you say you can- 
 not save money out of such large earnings," added La Goualeuse, 
 in a sweet but, for her, severe tone. "Why, a workman may 
 live well upon three francs a day; there remain forty-sous: at
 
 IQ THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 the end of a month, if you manage prudently, you will have 
 saved sixty francs. Think of that! There's a sum! sixty 
 francs in one month ! " 
 
 " Oh ! but one likes to show off sometimes, and to indulge in a 
 little idleness." 
 
 " There now, M. Kodolph, I declare you make me quite angry 
 to hear you talk so childishly! Pray let me advise you to be 
 wiser." 
 
 " Come, then, my sage little monitress, I will be a good boy, 
 and listen to all your careful advice. And your idea of saving, 
 too, is a remarkably good one: I never thought of it before." 
 
 " Eeally ! " exclaimed the poor girl, clapping her hands with 
 joy. " Oh, if you knew how delighted I am to hear you say so ! 
 Then you will begin from to-day to lay by the forty sous we 
 were talking about, will you ? Will you, indeed ? " 
 
 "I give you my honor that, from this very hour, I will re- 
 solve to follow up your most excellent plan, and save forty 
 sous out of each day's pay." 
 
 " Are you quite, quite sure you will ? " 
 
 " Nay, have I not promised you that I will ? " 
 
 " You will see how proud and happy you will be with your 
 
 first savings ; and that is not all Ah, if you would promise 
 
 not to be angry ! " 
 
 " Do I look as though I could be so unkind, Fleur-de-Marie, 
 as to find fault with anything you said ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed, that you do not : only I hardly know whether 
 I ought " 
 
 "You ought to tell me everything you think or feel, Fleur- 
 de-Marie." 
 
 " Well, then, I was wondering how you, who, it is easily seen, 
 are above your condition, can frequent such low cabarets as 
 that kept by the ogress." 
 
 "Had I not done so, I should not have had the pleasure of 
 wandering in the fields with you to-day, my dear Fieur-de- 
 Marie." 
 
 "That is, indeed, true, M. Rodolph; but, still, it does not 
 alter my first opinion. ISTo, much as I enjoy to-day's treat, I 
 would cheerfully give up all thoughts of ever passing such an- 
 other if I thought it could in any way injure you." 
 
 " Injure me ! Far from it ! Think of the excellent advice you 
 have been giving me." 
 
 " Which you have promised me to follow ? " 
 
 "I have; and I pledge my word of honor to save hencefor- 
 ward at least forty sous a day." Thus speaking, Eodolph called
 
 CASTLES IN THE ATR. fl 
 
 out to the driver of their vehicle, who was passing the village 
 of Sarcelles, " take the first road to the right cross Villiers to 
 Bel turn to the left then keep along quite straight." 
 
 " Now/' said Rodolph, turning to his companion, " that I am 
 a good boy, and promised to do all you tell me, let us go back 
 to our diversion of building castles in the air: that does not 
 run away with much money. You will not object to such a 
 method of amusing myself, will you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, build as many as you like they are very cheaply 
 raised, and very easily knocked down when you are tired of them. 
 Now, then, you begin." 
 
 " Well, then No ! Fleur-de-Marie, you shall build up 
 
 yours first." 
 
 " I wonder if you could guess what I should choose, if wishing 
 were all, M. Rodolph." 
 
 "Let us try. Suppose that this road I say this road, be- 
 cause we happen to be on it " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; of course : this road is as good as any other." 
 
 " Well, then, I say, I suppose that this road lead's to a delight- 
 ful little village, at a considerable distance from the high 
 road ' 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that makes it so much more still and quiet ! " 
 
 " It is built facing the south, and half surrounded by 
 trees " 
 
 " And close by flows a gentle river." 
 
 " Exactly ! a clear, gently flowing river. At the end of this 
 village stands a pretty farm, with a nice orchard on one side 
 of it, and a garden, filled with flowers, on the other 
 
 " That farm shall be called my farm, to which we will pretend 
 we are now going." 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "And where we know we shall get some delicious milk to 
 drink after our journey ! " 
 
 " Milk, indeed ! Excellent cream, and newly laid eggs, if you 
 please." 
 
 " And where we would be glad to stay all our lives ! " 
 
 " All our lives ! Quite right go on." 
 
 " And then we should go and see all the cows ! " 
 
 " To be sure we should." 
 
 "And afterwards visit the dairy?" 
 
 " Visit the dairy ! Yes." 
 
 " Then the pigeon-house ? " 
 
 Yes, so we should." 
 
 " Oh, how very, very nice, only to think of such things ! "
 
 72 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " But let me finish the description of the farm " 
 
 " Yes, pray do ! I quite forgot that." 
 
 " Well, then, the ground-floor contains two rooms; one a large 
 kitchen for the farm servants, and the other for the owner of the 
 place." 
 
 " Make that room have green blinds, M. Rodolph do, pray : 
 they are so cool, and look so pretty ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes green blinds to the windows. I quite agree with 
 you they do look uncommonly pretty, and set off a place so 
 well ! Of course, the person tenanting this farm is your aunt." 
 
 " Of course she is my aunt, and a very good, sensible, kind 
 woman, M. Rodolph, is she not ? " 
 
 " Particularly so, and loves you like her own child." 
 
 " Dear, good aunt ! Oh, how delightful to have some one to 
 love us I" 
 
 " And you return the tender affection she bears you ? " 
 
 " Oh, with all my heart ! " exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, clasping 
 her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven with an expression 
 impossible to describe. " And I should help her to work to 
 attend to the family linen to keep everything neat and clean 
 to store up the summer fruits against winter Oh, she should 
 never have to complain that I was idle, I promise ! First of all, 
 in the morning " 
 
 " Wait a bit, Fleur-de-Marie : you are in too great a hurry. 
 I want to finish describing the house to you: never mind your 
 aunt just yet." 
 
 " Ah, ha, Mr. Painter ! all this is taken from some pretty 
 landscape you have been painting on a fan. Now I know what 
 makes you so expert at describing it ! " said La Goualeuse, 
 laughing merrily at her own little jest. 
 
 "You little chatterer, be quiet! will you?" 
 
 "Yes, I am a chatterer, indeed, to interrupt you so often, 
 Monsieur Rodolph ; but pray go on, and I will not speak again 
 till you have finished painting this dear farm." 
 
 " Your room is on the first floor " 
 
 "My room! how charming! Oh, go on go on, please, M. 
 Rodolph, and describe all about it to me ! " And the delighted 
 girl opened her large laughing eyes, and pressed more closely 
 against Rodolph, as if she expected to see the picture in his hand. 
 
 " Your chamber has two windows looking out upon the flower- 
 garden, and a small meadow, watered by the river we mentioned. 
 On the opposite bank of the stream rises a small hill, planted 
 with fine old chestnut-trees; and from amongst them peeps out 
 the village church "
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 73 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful how very beautiful, M. Kodolph ! It 
 makes one quite long to be there." 
 
 " Three or four fine cows are grazing in the meadow, which is 
 only separated from the garden by a hedge of honeysuckle " 
 
 " And from my windows I can see the cows ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " And one among them ought to be my favorite, you know, M. 
 Eodolph; and I ought to put a little bell round its neck, and 
 use it to feed out of my hands ! " 
 
 " Of course she would come when you called her. Let me 
 see, what name shall we give her? Suppose we say, MUSETTE. 
 Do you like that? She shall be very young and gentle, and 
 entirely white." 
 
 " Oh, what a pretty name ! Musette! Ah ! Musette, Musette, 
 I shall be always feeding you and patting you to make you know 
 me.'* 
 
 " Now we will finish the inside of your apartment, Fleur-de- 
 Marie. The curtains and furniture are green, like the blinds; 
 and outside the window grow an enormous rose-tree and honey- 
 suckle, which entirely cover this side of the farm, and so sur- 
 round your casements, that you have only to stretch out your 
 hand to gather a large bunch of roses and honeysuckle wet with 
 the early morning dew." 
 
 " Ah, M. Rodolph, what a good painter you are ! " 
 
 " Now this is the way you will pass your day " 
 
 " Yes, yes, let us see how I shall employ myself all day." 
 
 " Early in the morning your good aunt wakes you with a 
 tender kiss; she brings with her a bowl of new milk, just warm, 
 which she prays you to drink, as she fancies you are delicate 
 about the lungs, poor dear child ! Well, you do as she wishes 
 you ; then rise, and take a walk round the farm ; pay a visit to 
 Musette, the poultry, your pets the pigeons, the flowers in the 
 garden, till nine o'clock, when your writing-master arrives " 
 
 "My writing-master?" 
 
 " Why, you know, unless you learned such necessary things 
 as reading, writing, and accounts, you would not be able to assist 
 your aunt to keep her books relative to the produce of the farm." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ! How very stupid of me not to recollect that 
 T must learn to write well, if I wished to help my aunt ! " cried 
 the young girl, so thoroughly absorbed in the picture of this 
 peaceful life as to believe for the moment in its reality. 
 
 " After your lesson is concluded, you will occupy yourself in 
 household matters, or embroider some pretty little article of 
 dress for yourself; then you will practise your writing for an
 
 74: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 hour or two, and, then when that is done, join your aunt in her 
 round of visits to the different operations of the farm : in the 
 summer, to see how the reapers get on in the hayfield ; in harvest- 
 time, to observe the reapers, and afterwards to enjoy the delight 
 with which the gleaners pick up the scattered ears of grain : by 
 this time you will have almost tired yourself, and gathering a 
 large handful of wild herbs, carefully selected by you as the 
 known favorites of your dear Musette, you turn your steps 
 homewards " 
 
 " But we go back through the meadow, dear Monsieur Rodolph, 
 do we not ? " inquired La Goualeuse, as earnestly as though 
 every syllable her ears drank in was to be, effectually brought to 
 pass. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, by all means ; and there happens, fortunately, to be 
 a nice little bridge, by which the river separating the farm- 
 land from the meadow may be crossed. By the time you reach 
 home, upon my word, it is seven o'clock; and, as the evenings 
 begin to be a little chill, a bright, cheerful fire is blazing in the 
 large farm kitchen: you go in there for a few minutes, just to 
 warm yourself and to speak a few kind words to the honest 
 laborers, who are enjoying a hearty meal after the day's toil is 
 over. Then you sit down to dinner with your aunt; sometimes 
 the cure, or a neighboring farmer, is invited to share the meal. 
 After dinner you read or work, while your aunt and her guest 
 have a friendly game at piquet. At ten o'clock she dismisses 
 you, with a kiss and a blessing, to your chamber: you retire to 
 your room; offer prayers and thanksgivings to the Great Author 
 of all your happiness ; then sleep soundly till morning, when the 
 same routine begins again." 
 
 " Oh ! Monsieur Rodolph, one might lead such a life as that 
 for a hundred years, without ever knowing one moment's 
 weariness." 
 
 " But that is not all. There are Sundays and fete-days to be 
 thought of." 
 
 " Yes; and how should we pass those? " 
 
 " Why, you would put on your holiday dress, with one of those 
 pretty little caps a la paysanne, which all admit you look so very 
 nicely in, and accompany your aunt in her large old-fashioned 
 chaise, driven by James the farm-servant, to hear mass in the 
 village church; after which, during summer, your kind relative 
 would take you to the different fetes given in the adjoining 
 parishes. You, so gentle, so modest and good-looking, so ten- 
 derly beloved by your aunt, and so well spoken of by the cure 
 for all the virtues and qualifications which make a good wife,
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 75 
 
 will have no scarcity of offers for your hand in the dance 
 indeed, all the principal young farmers will be anxious to secure 
 you as a partner, by way of opening an acquaintance which shall 
 last for life. By degrees you begin to remark one more than the 
 others ; you perceive his deep desire to attract your undivided 
 attention, and so " And here Rodolph, struck by the con- 
 tinued silence of La Goualeuse, looked up at her. Alas ! the poor 
 girl was endeavoring, though fruitlessly, to choke the deep sobs 
 which almost suffocated her. For a brief period, carried away 
 by the words of Kodolph, the bright future presented to her 
 mental vision had effaced the horrible present: but too quickly 
 did the hideous picture return, and sweep away forever the dear 
 delight of believing so sweet, so calm an existence, could ever 
 be hers. 
 
 " Fleur-de-Marie," asked Eodolph, in a kind and affectionate 
 tone, " why is this ? why these tears ? " 
 
 " Ah ! M. Rodolph, you have unintentionally caused me much 
 pain. Foolish girl that I was, I had listened to you till I quite 
 fancied this paradise were a true picture." 
 
 " And so it is, my dear child ! This paradise, as you call it, is 
 no fiction." 
 
 " Stop, coachman ! " 
 
 " Now look ! see ! observe where we are ! " 
 
 As the carriage stopped, La Goualeuse, at Rodolph's bidding, 
 mechanically raised her head they were on the summit of a 
 little hill : what was her surprise, her astonishment, at the scene 
 which revealed itself to her gaze! The pretty village, built 
 facing the south the farm, the meadow, the beautiful cows, the 
 little winding river, the chestnut grove, the church in the dis- 
 tance ! the whole picture, so vividly painted, was before her 
 eyes. Nothing was wanting even the milk-white heifer, Mu- 
 sette, her future pet, was peacefully grazing as she had been 
 described. The rich coloring of an October sun gilded the 
 charming landscape, while the variegated tint of the chestnut- 
 leaves, slightly tinged by the auttimnal breezes, stood out in bold 
 relief against the clear blue of the surrounding sky. 
 
 "Well, my little Fleur-de-Marie, what do you say to this? 
 Am I a good painter, or not ? " 
 
 La Goualeuse looked at him with a surprise in which a degree 
 of uneasiness was mingled; all she saw and heard appeared to 
 her to partake largely of the supernatural. 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph," she at length exclaimed, with a be- 
 wildered look, " how can this be ? Indeed, indeed, I feel afraid 
 to look at it it is so exactly alike. I cannot believe it is any-
 
 76 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 thing but a dream you have conjured up, and which will quickly 
 pass away. Speak to me ! pray do ; and tell me what to believe." 
 
 " Calm yourself, my dear child ! Nothing is more simple or 
 true than what you behold here. The good woman who owns 
 this farm was my nurse, and brought me up here : intending to 
 give myself a treat, I sent to her early this morning to say I was 
 coming to see her. You see I painted after nature." 
 
 "You are quite right, M. Rodolph," sighed La Goualeuse. 
 " There is, indeed, nothing but what is quite natural in all this." 
 
 The farm to which Rodolph had conducted Fleur-de-Marie 
 was situated at the outer extremity of the village of Bouqueval 
 a small, isolated, and unknown hamlet, entirely surrounded by 
 its own lands, and about two leagues' distance from Ecouen : the 
 vehicle, following the directions of Rodolph, rapidly descended 
 the hill, and entered a long avenue bordered with apple and 
 cherry-trees, while the wheels rolled noiselessly over the short 
 fine grass with which the unfrequented road was overgrown. 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie, whose utmost efforts were unavailing to shake 
 off the painful sensations she experienced, remained so silent 
 and mournful that Rodolph reproached himself with having, by 
 his well-intentioned surprise, been the cause of it. In a few 
 moments more, the carriage, passing by the large entrance to the 
 farm, entered a thick avenue of elm-trees, and stopped before a 
 little rustic porch, half hidden by the luxuriant branches of the 
 vine which clustered round it. 
 
 "Now, Fleur-de-Marie, here we are. Are you pleased with 
 what you see ? " 
 
 " Indeed I am, M. Rodolph. But how shall I venture before 
 the good person you mentioned as living here ? Pray do not let 
 her see me I cannot venture to approach her." 
 
 "And why, my child?" 
 
 " True, M. Rodolph ; I forget she does not know me, and will 
 not guess how unworthy I am." And poor Fleur-de-Marie tried 
 to suppress the deep sigh that would accompany her words. 
 
 The arrival of Rodolph had, no doubt, been watched for ; the 
 driver had scarcely opened the carriage-door when a prepossess- 
 ing female, of middle age, dressed in the style of wealthy land- 
 holders about Paris, and whose countenance, though melancholy, 
 was also gentle and benevolent in its expression, appeared in the 
 porch, and with respectful eagerness advanced to meet Rodolph. 
 
 Poor Goualeuse felt her cheeks flush and her heart beat as 
 she timidly descended from the vehicle. 
 
 "Good day, good day, Madame Georges," said Rodolph, ad- 
 vancing towards the individual so addressed, "you see I am
 
 CASTLES IN TUB AIR. 77 
 
 punctual." Then turning to the driver, and putting money into 
 his hand, he said, " Here, my friend, there is no further occasion 
 to detain you; you may return to Paris as soon as you please." 
 
 The coachman, a little, short, square-built man, with his hat 
 over his eyes, and his countenance almost entirely concealed by 
 the high collar of his driving-coat, pocketed the money without a 
 word, remounted his seat, gave his horses the whip, and disap- 
 peared down the aUce verte by which he had entered. 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie sprung to the side of Rodolph, and with an 
 air of unfeigned alarm, almost amounting to distress, said, in a 
 tone so low as not to be overheard by Madame Georges, 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph ! Monsieur Rodolph ! pray do not be 
 angry, but why have you sent away the carriage? Will it not 
 return to fetch us away ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; I have quite done with the man, and there- 
 fore dismissed him." 
 
 " But the ogress ! " 
 
 " What of her ? Why do you mention her name ? " 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! because I must return to her this evening ; in- 
 deed, indeed, I must, or or she will consider me a thief. The 
 very clothes I have on are hers, and, besides, I owe her " 
 
 " Make yourself quite easy, my dear child ; it is my part to 
 ask your forgiveness, not you mine." 
 
 " My forgiveness ! Oh ! for what can you require me to pardon 
 you ? " 
 
 " For not having sooner told you that you no longer owe the 
 ogress anything; that it rests only with yourself to decide 
 whether you will henceforward make this quiet spot your home, 
 and cast off the garments you now wear for others my kind 
 friend, Madame Georges, will furnish you with. She is much 
 about your height, and can supply you with everything you 
 require. She is all impatience to commence her part of * aunt/ 
 I can assure you." 
 
 Poor Fleur-de-Marie seemed utterly unable to comprehend the 
 meaning of all she saw and heard, and gazed with wondering and 
 perplexed looks from one companion to the other, as though 
 fearing to trust either her eyes or ears. 
 
 " Do I understand you rightly ? " she cried at length, half 
 breathless with emotion, " Not go back to Paris? Remain here? 
 And this lady will permit me to stay with her? Oh! it cannot 
 be possible; I dare not hope it; that would, indeed, be to realize 
 our ' castles in the air.' " 
 
 " Dear Fleur-de-Marie, your wishes are realized your dream 
 a true one."
 
 78 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " No, no, you must be jesting ; that would be too much happi- 
 ness to expect, or even dare to hope for." 
 
 " Nay, Fleur-de-Marie, we should never find fault with an 
 over-supply of happiness/' 
 
 " Ah, M. Bodolph, for pity's sake deceive me not ; you cannot 
 believe the misery I should experience were you to tell me all 
 this happiness was but a jest." 
 
 " My child, listen to me," said Bodolph, with a tone and 
 manner which, although still affectionate, was mingled with a 
 dignified accent and manner Fleur-de-Marie had never previously 
 remarked in him. " I repeat that, if you please, you may from 
 this very hour lead here, with Madame Qeorges, that peaceful 
 life whose description but a short time since so much delighted 
 you. Though the kind lady with whom you will reside be not 
 your aunt, she will feel for you the most lively and affectionate 
 interest, and with the personages about the farm you will pass 
 as being really and truly her niece, and this innocent deception 
 will render your residence here more agreeable and advantageous. 
 Once more I repeat to you, Fleur-de-Marie, you may now at 
 your own pleasure realize the dream of our journey. As soon 
 as you have assumed your village dress," said Eodolph, smilingly, 
 "we will take you to see that milk-white heifer, Musette, who 
 is to be your favorite henceforward, and who is only waiting for 
 the pretty collar you designed to ornament her with ; then we will 
 go and introduce ourselves to your pets, the pigeons, afterwards 
 visit the dairy, and so go on till we have been all over the farm. 
 1 mean to keep my promise in every respect, I assure you." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie pressed her hands together with earnest 
 gratitude, surprise, joy, and the deepest thankfulness, mingled 
 with respect, lit up her beautiful countenance, while, with eyes 
 streaming with tears, she exclaimed, 
 
 " M. Eodolph, you are, you must be, one of those beneficent 
 angels sent by the Almighty to do good upon earth, and to 
 rescue poor fallen creatures, like myself, from shame and 
 misery." 
 
 " My poor girl," replied Eodolph, with a smile of deep sadness 
 and ineffable kindness, "though still young, I have already 
 deeply suffered. I lost a dear child, who, if living, would now 
 be about your age. Let that explain my deep sympathy with 
 all who suffer, and for yourself particularly, Fleur-de-Marie, 
 or, rather Marie only. Now, go with Madame Georges, who will 
 show you the pretty chamber, with its clustering roses and honey- 
 suckle to form your morning bouquets. Yes, Marie, hencefor- 
 ward let that name, simple and sweet as yourself, be your only
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPH. 79 
 
 appellation. Before my departure we will have some talk 
 together, and then I shall quit you, most happy in the knowledge 
 of your full contentment." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie, without one word of reply, gracefully bent 
 her knee, and, before Rodolph could prevent her, gently and 
 respectfully raised his hand to her lips; then rising with an air 
 of modest submission, followed Madame Georges, who eyed her 
 with a profound interest, out of the room. 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 MURPHY AND EODOLPH. 
 
 UPON quitting the house, Rodolph bent his steps towards the 
 farmyard, where he found the individual who, the preceding 
 evening, disguised as a charcoal-man, had warned him of the 
 arrival of Tom and Sarah. Murphy, which was the name of this 
 personage, was about fifty years of age; his head, nearly bald, 
 was still ornamented with a fringe of light brown hair at each 
 side, which the hand of time had here and there slightly tinged 
 with gray; his face was broad, open, and ruddy, and free from 
 all appearance of hair, except very short whiskers, of a reddish 
 color, only reaching as low as the tip of the ear, from which it 
 diverged, and stretched itself in a gentle curve across his 
 rubicund cheeks. Spite of his years and embonpoint, Murphy 
 was active and athletic; his countenance, though somewhat 
 phlegmatic, was expressive of great resolution and kindliness of 
 nature; he wore a white neck-handkerchief, a deep waistcoat, 
 and a long black coat, with very wide skirts ; his breeches, of an 
 olive-green color, corresponded in material with the gaiters 
 which protected his sturdy legs, without reaching entirely to the 
 knee, but allowing the strings belonging to his upper garment 
 to display themselves in long unstudied bows ; in fact, the dress 
 and whole iournure of Murphy exactly accorded with the idea 
 of what in England is styled a " gentleman farmer." Now, the 
 personage we are describing, though an English squire, was no 
 farmer. At the moment of Rodolph's appearance in the yard, 
 Murphy was in the act of depositing, in the pocket of a small 
 traveling caleche, a pair of small pistols he had just been 
 carefully cleaning. 
 
 " What the devil are you going to do with those pistols ? " 
 inquired Rodolph.
 
 80 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " That is my business, my lord," replied Murphy, descending 
 the carriage steps; "attend to your affairs, and I will mind 
 mine." 
 
 " At what o'clock have you ordered the horses ? " 
 
 " According to your directions at nightfall." 
 
 " You got here this morning, I suppose? " 
 
 " I did, at eight o'clock. Madame Georges has had ample time 
 to make all the preparations you desired." 
 
 " What has gone wrong, Murphy ? you seem completely out of 
 humor. Have I done anything to offend you ? " 
 
 " Can you not, my lord, accomplish your self-imposed task 
 without incurring so much personal risk ? " 
 
 " Surely, in order to lull all suspicion in the minds of the 
 persons I seek to understand and fully appreciate, I cannot do 
 better than, for a time, to adopt their garb, their language, and 
 their customs." 
 
 " But all this did not prevent you, my lord, last night (in that 
 abominable place where we went to unkennel Bras Rouge, in 
 hopes of getting out of him some particulars relative to that 
 unhappy son of Madame Georges), from being angry, and ready 
 to quarrel with me, because I wished to aid in your tussle with 
 the rascal you encountered in that horrid cut-throat alley." 
 
 " I suppose, then, Murphy, you do not think I am capable of 
 defending myself, and you either doubt my courage or the 
 strength of my arm ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, you have given me too many reasons to form 
 a contrary opinion of both. Thank God ! Flatman, the Bertrand 
 of Germany, perfected you in the knowledge of fencing; Tom 
 Cribb taught you to box ; Lacour, of Paris, accomplished you in 
 single-stick, wrestling, and slang, so as to render you fully pro- 
 vided for your venturesome excursions. You are bold as a lion, 
 with muscles like iron, and, though so slight in form, I should 
 have no more chance with you than a dray-horse would against 
 a racer, were they to compete with each other. No mistake 
 about that." 
 
 "Then what are you afraid of?" 
 
 "Why, I maintain, my lord, that it is not the right thing for 
 you to throw yourself in the way of all these blackguards. I 
 ido not say that because of the nuisance it is to a highly re- 
 spectable individual of my acquaintance to blacken his face with 
 charcoal, and make himself look like a devil. No, God knows, 
 spite of my age, my figure, and my gravity, I would disguise my- 
 self as a rope-dancer, if, by so doing, I could serve vou. But I 
 still stick to what I say, and "
 
 MURPUT AND RODOLPII. 81 
 
 " Oli ! I know all you would say, my excellent old fellow, and 
 that when once you have taken an idea into your thick skull, the 
 very devil himself could no more drive it out of you than he 
 could, by all his arts, remove the fidelity and devotion implanted 
 in your brave and valiant heart/' 
 
 " Come, come, my lord, now you begin to flatter me, I suspect 
 you are up to some fresh mischief." 
 
 "Think no such thing, Murphy; give yourself no uneasiness, 
 but leave all to me/' 
 
 " My lord, I cannot be easy ; there is some new folly in hand, 
 and I am sure of it." 
 
 " My good friend, you mean well ; but you are choosing a very 
 ill hour for your lectures ; forbear, I beg." 
 
 " And why, my lord, can you not listen to me now, as well as 
 any other time ? " 
 
 " Because you are interfering with one of my short-lived mo- 
 ments of pride and happiness. I am HERE, in this dear spot ! " 
 
 " Where you have done so much good. I know it. Your 
 ' model farm' as you term it, built by you to instruct, to en- 
 courage, and to reward deserving laborers, has been of incal- 
 culable service to this part of the country. Ordinary men think 
 but of improving their cattle; you, more wisely and benevolently, 
 have directed your exertions for the bettering your fellow-creat- 
 ures. Nothing can be better; and when you placed Madame 
 Georges at the head of the establishment, you acted with the 
 utmost wisdom and provident good sense. What a woman she 
 is ! No, she is an angel ! so good, so firm, so noble, and up- 
 right ! I am not easily moved, my lord, as you know ; but often 
 have I felt my eyes grow moist, as her many trials and mis- 
 fortunes rise to my recollection. But about your new protegee, 
 however, my lord ; if you please, we will not say much on that 
 subject. ' The least said is soonest mended/ as the old proverb 
 has it." 
 
 "Why not, Murphy?" 
 
 " My lord, you will do what you think proper." 
 
 " I do what is just," said Rodolph, with an air of impatience. 
 
 " What is just, according to your own interpretation." 
 
 "What is 'just before God and my own conscience," replied 
 Rodolph, in a severe tone. 
 
 " Well, my lord, this is a point on which we cannot agree, and 
 therefore let us speak no more about it." 
 
 " I desire you will continue to talk about it ! " cried Rodolph, 
 imperiously. 
 
 " I have never been so circumstanced that your royal highness
 
 82 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 should have to bid me hold my tongue, and I hope I shall not 
 now be ordered to speak when I should be silent/' said Murphy, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Mr. Murphy ! " said Eodolph, with a tone of increased irrita- 
 tion. 
 
 " My lord ! " 
 
 " You know, sir, how greatly I detest anything like conceal- 
 ment." 
 
 " Your royal highness will excuse me, but it suits me to have 
 certain concealments," said Murphy bluntly. 
 
 " If I descend to familiarity with you, sir, it is on condition 
 that you, at least, act with entire frankness towards me." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the extreme hauteur which marked 
 the countenance of Eodolph as he uttered these words. 
 
 " I am fifty years of age, I am a gentleman, and your royal 
 highness should not address me in such a tone." 
 
 " Be silent ! " 
 
 " My lord ! " 
 
 "Be silent! I say." 
 
 "Your royal highness does wrong in compelling a man of 
 honor and feeling to recall the services he has rendered to you," 
 said the squire, in a calm tone. 
 
 " Have I not repaid those services in a thousand ways ? " 
 
 It should be stated that Eodolph had not attached to these 
 bitter words the humiliating sense which could place Murphy in 
 the light of a mercenary; but such, unfortunately, was the 
 esquire's interpretation of them. He became purple with shame, 
 lifted his two clenched hands to his forehead with an expression 
 of deep grief and indignation, and then, in a moment, as by a 
 sudden revulsion of feeling, throwing his eyes on Eodolph, whose 
 noble countenance was convulsed by the violence of extreme dis- 
 dain, he said, in a faltering voice, and stifling a sigh of the 
 tenderest pity, "My lord, be yourself; you surpass the bounds 
 of reason." 
 
 These words impelled Eodolph to the very height of irritation ; 
 his glance had even a savage glare in it ; his lips were blanched ; 
 and, advancing towards Murphy with a threatening aspect, he 
 exclaimed, " Dare you ? " 
 
 Murphy retreated, and said, in a quick tone, and as if in spite 
 of himself, "My lord, my lord, REMEMBER THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 OF JANUARY ! " 
 
 These words produced a magical effect on Eodolph. His 
 countenance, contracted by anger, now expanded. He looked at 
 Murphy steadfastly, bowed his head, and then, after a moment's
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPH. 83 
 
 silence, murmured, in faltering accents, " Ah ! sir, you are now 
 cruel, indeed. I had thought that my repentance my deep 
 remorse and yet it is you you " 
 
 Rodolph could not finish, his voice was stifled; he sunk, sub- 
 dued, on a stone bench, and concealed his countenance with both 
 his hands. 
 
 " My lord," said Murphy, in deep distress, " my good lord, 
 forgive me ! Forgive your old and faithful Murphy. It was 
 only when driven to an extremity, and fearing, alas ! not for 
 myself, but for you, the consequences of your passion, that I 
 uttered those words. I said them in spite of myself, and with 
 sorrow. My lord, I was wrong to be so sensitive. Mon Dieu! 
 who can know your character, your feelings, if I do not, I, 
 who have never 'left you from your childhood ! Pray, oh ! pray 
 say that you forgive me for having called to your recollection 
 that sad, sad day. Alas! what expiations have you not 
 ma de " 
 
 Rodolph raised his head, he was very pale, and said to his 
 companion, in a gentle and saddened voice. " Enough, enough, 
 my old friend; I thank you for having, by one word, checked 
 my headlong passion. I make no apologies to you for the severe 
 things I have said ; you know well that ' it is a long way from the 
 heart to the lips' as the good people at home say. I was wrong; 
 let us say no more on the subject." 
 
 " Alas ! now we shall be out of spirits for a long time, as if 
 I were not sufficiently unhappy ! I only wish to see you roused 
 from your low spirits, and yet I add to them by my foolish 
 tenaciousness. Good Heaven ! what's the use of being an honest 
 man, and having gray hairs, if it does not enable us to endure 
 reproaches which we do not deserve ? " 
 
 " Be it so, be it so ; we were both in the wrong, my good old 
 friend," said Rodolph, mildly; "let us forget it, and return 
 to our former conversation. You approved entirely of my es- 
 tablishment of this farm, and the deep interest I have always felt 
 in Madame Georges. You will allow, won't you, that she had 
 merited it by her excellent qualities, her misfortunes, even if 
 she did not belong to the family of Harville, a family to which 
 my father had vowed eternal gratitude." 
 
 " I have always approved of the sentiments which your lord- 
 ship has entertained for Madame Georges." 
 
 " But you are astonished at the interest I take in this poor 
 girl, are you not?" 
 
 " Pray, pray, my lord, I was wrong; I was wrong." 
 
 " No, I can imagine that appearances have deceived you ; but,
 
 84: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 as you know my life all my life, and as you aid me always with 
 as much fidelity as courage in my self-inflicted expiation, it is 
 my duty, or, if you like the phrase better, my gratitude, to con- 
 vince you that I am not acting from a frivolous impulse." 
 
 " Of that I am sure, my lord." 
 
 " You know my ideas on the subject of the good which a man 
 ought to do who has the knowledge, the will, and the power. 
 To succor unhappy, but deserving, fellow-creatures is well; to 
 seek after those who are struggling against misfortune with 
 energy and honor, and to aid them, sometimes without their 
 knowledge, to prevent, in right time, misery and temptation, 
 is better; to reinstate such perfectly in their own estimation, 
 to lead back to honesty those who have preserved in purity some 
 generous and ennobling sentiments in the midst of the con- 
 tempt that withers them, the misery that eats into them, the 
 corruption that encircles them, and, for that end, to brave, in 
 person, this misery, this corruption, this contagion, is better 
 still; to pursue, with unalterable hatred, with implacable venge- 
 ance, vice, infamy, and crime, whether they be trampling in 
 the mud, or be clothed in purple and fine linen, that is justice; 
 but to give aid inconsiderately to well-merited degradation, to 
 prostitute and lavish charity and commiseration, by bestowing 
 help on unworthy and undeserving objects, is most infamous; 
 it is impiety very sacrilege ! it is to doubt the existence of the 
 Almighty; and so, he who acts thus ought to be made to under- 
 stand." 
 
 "My lord, I pray you do not think that I would for a 
 moment assert that you have bestowed your benefits unworth- 
 ily." 
 
 " One word more, my old friend. You know well that the 
 child whose death I daily deplore, that that daughter whom 
 I should have loved the more, as her unworthy mother, Sarah, 
 had shown herself so utterly indifferent about her, would now 
 have been sixteen years of age, like this unhappy girl. You 
 know, too, that I cannot prevent the deep, and almost painful, 
 sympathy I feel for young girls of that age." 
 
 " True, my lord ; and I ought so to have interpreted the in- 
 terest you evince for your protegee. Besides, to succor the un- 
 fortunate is to honor God." 
 
 " It is, my friend, when the objects deserve it ; and thus noth- 
 ing is more worthy of compassion and respect than a woman 
 like Madame Georges, who, brought up by a pious and good 
 mother in the strict observance of all her duties, has never failed 
 never! and has, moreover, courageously borne herself in the
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPH. g5 
 
 midst of the most severe trials. But is it not to honor God in 
 the most acceptable way, to raise from the dust one of those 
 beings of the finest mold, whom He has been pleased to endow 
 richly ? Does not she deserve compassion and respect yes, 
 respect, who, unhappy girl! abandoned to her own instinct, 
 who, tortured, imprisoned, degraded, sullied, has yet preserved, 
 in holiness and pureness of heart, those noble germs of good first 
 implanted by the Almighty? If you had but seen, poor child! 
 how, at the first word of interest expressed for her the first 
 mark of kindness and right feeling the most charming natural 
 impulses, the purest tastes, the most refined thoughts, the most 
 poetic ideas, developed themselves abundantly in her ingenuous 
 mind, even as, in the early spring, a thousand wild flowers lift 
 up their heads at the first rays of the sun. In a conversation of 
 about an hour with Fleur-de-Marie, I have discovered treasures 
 of goodness, worth, prudence yes, prudence, old Murphy. A 
 smile came to my lips, and a tear in my eye, when, in her gentle 
 and sensible prattle, she urged on me the necessity of saving 
 forty sous a-day, that I might be beyond want or evil tempta- 
 tions. Poor little creature ! she said all this with so serious and 
 persuasive a tone. She seemed so delighted to give me good 
 advice, and experienced so extreme a pleasure in hearing me 
 promise to follow it ! I was moved even to tears, and you it 
 affects you, my old friend." 
 
 " It does, my lord ; the idea of making you lay by forty sous 
 a day, thinking you a workman, instead of urging you. to spend 
 money on her; that does touch me." 
 
 " Hush ! here are Madame Georges and Marie. Get all ready 
 for our departure ; we must be in Paris in good time." 
 
 Thanks to the care of Madame Georges, Fleur-de-Marie was 
 no longer like her former self. A pretty peasant's cap, and two 
 thick braids of light brown hair, encircled her charming face. 
 A large handkerchief of white muslin crossed her bosom, and 
 disappeared under the high fold of a small shot taffetas apron, 
 whose blue and red shades appeared to advantage over a dark 
 nun's dress, which seemed expressly made for her. The young 
 girl's countenance was calm and composed. Certain feelings of 
 delight produce in the mind an unspeakable sadness a holy 
 melancholy. Eodolph was not surprised at the gravity of Fleur- 
 de-Marie, he had expected it. Had she been merry and talkative, 
 she would not have retained so high a place in his good opinion. 
 In the serious and resigned countenance of Madame Georges 
 might easily be traced the indelible marks of long-suffering ; but 
 she looked at Fleur-de-Marie with a tenderness and compassion
 
 86 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 quite maternal, so much gentleness and sweetness did this poor 
 girl evince. 
 
 " Here is my child, who has come to thank you for your good- 
 ness, M. Rodolph," said Madame Georges, presenting Goualeuse 
 to Rodolph. 
 
 At the words, " my child," Goualeuse turned her large eyes 
 slowly towards her protectress, and contemplated her for some 
 moments with a look of unutterable gratitude. 
 
 "Thanks for Marie, my dear Madame Georges; she deserves 
 this kind interest, and always will deserve it." 
 
 " M. Rodolph," said Goualeuse, with a trembling voice, " you 
 understand, I know, I feel that you do, that I cannot find any- 
 thing to say to you." 
 
 " Your emotion tells me all, my child." 
 
 " Oh ! she feels deeply the good fortune that has come to her 
 so providentially," said Madame Georges, deeply affected ; " her 
 first impulse on entering my room was to prostrate herself be- 
 fore my crucifix." 
 
 " Because now, thanks to you, M. Rodolph, I dare to pray," 
 said Goualeuse. 
 
 Murphy turned away hastily ; his pretensions to firmness would 
 not allow of any one seeing to what extent the simple words of 
 Goualeuse had touched him. 
 
 Rodolph said to her, " My child, I wish to have some conver- 
 sation with Madame Georges. My friend Murphy will lead 
 you over the farm, and introduce you to your future proteges. 
 We will join you presently. Well, Murphy, Murphy, don't you 
 hear me ? " 
 
 The worthy gentleman turned his back, and pretended to blow 
 his nose with a very loud noise, then put his handkerchief in his 
 pocket, pulled his hat over his eyes, and, turning half round, 
 offered his arm to Marie, managing so skilfully, that neither 
 Rodolph nor Madame Georges could see his face. Taking the 
 arm of Marie, he walked away with her towards the farm-build- 
 ings, and so quickly, that, to keep up with him, Goualeuse was 
 obliged to run, as in her infant days she ran beside the Chouette. 
 
 " Well, Madame Georges, what do you think of Marie ? " in- 
 quired Rodolph. 
 
 " M. Rodolph, I have told you : she had scarcely entered my 
 room, when, seeing the crucifix, she fell on her knees before it. 
 It is impossible for me to tell you, to describe the spontaneous 
 and naturally religious feeling that evidently dictated this. I 
 saw in an instant that hers was no degraded soul. And then, 
 M. Rodolph, the expression of her gratitude to you had nothing
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPH. g7 
 
 exaggerated in it ; but it is not the less sincere. And I have an- 
 other proof of how natural and potent is this religious instinct 
 in her. I said to her, ' You must have been much astonished, 
 and very happy, when M. Rodolph told you that you were to re- 
 main here for the future? What an effect it must have had on 
 you ! ' ' Yes, oh ! yes/ was her reply ; ' when M. Kodolph told me 
 so, I cannot describe what passed within me ; but I felt that kind 
 of holy happiness which I experience in going into a church. 
 
 When I could go there/ she added, ' for you know, Madame ' 
 
 ' I know, my child, for I shall always call you my child (I could 
 not let her go on when I saw her cover her face for shame), I 
 know that you have suffered deeply; but God blesses those who 
 love and fear Him, those who have been unhappy, and those 
 who repent/ " 
 
 " Then, my good Madame Georges, I am doubly happy at what 
 I have done. This poor girl will greatly interest you, her dis- 
 position is so excellent, her instincts so right." 
 
 " What has besides affected me, M. Eodolph, is that she has not 
 allowed one single question to escape her about you, although 
 her curiosity must be so much excited. Struck with a reserve 
 so full of delicacy, I wished to know what she felt. I said to 
 her, * You must be very curious to know who your mysterious 
 benefactor is?' 'Know him!' she replied, with delightful sim- 
 plicity: 'he is my benefactor/" 
 
 "Then you will love her. Excellent woman! she will find 
 some interest in your heart." 
 
 " Yes, I shall occupy my heart with her as I should with him," 
 said Madame Georges, in a broken voice. 
 
 Kodolph took her hand. 
 
 " Do not be discouraged ; come, come, if our search has been 
 unsuccessful so far, yet one day, perhaps * 
 
 Madame Georges shook her head sorrowfully, and said, 
 in bitter accents, "My poor son would be now twenty years 
 old ! " 
 
 " Say he is that age " 
 
 " God hear you, and grant it, M. Kodolph." 
 
 "He will hear, I fully believe. Yesterday I went, (but in 
 vain) to find a certain fellow called Bras Rouge, who might, 
 perhaps, have given me some information about your son. Com- 
 ing away from this Bras Rouge's abode, after a struggle in which 
 I was engaged, I met with this unfortunate girl " 
 
 " Alas ! but your kind endeavor in my behalf has thrown in 
 your way another unfortunate being, M. Rodolph." 
 
 "You have no intelligence from Rochfort?"
 
 88 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " None," said Madame Georges, shuddering, and in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " So much the better ! We can no longer doubt but that the 
 monster met his death in the attempt to escape from the " 
 
 Eodolph hesitated to pronounce the horrible word. 
 
 " From the Bagne? Oh, say it! the Bagne! " exclaimed the 
 wretched woman with horror, and almost frantic as she spoke. 
 " The father of my child ! Ah ! if the unhappy boy still lives 
 if, like me, he has not changed his name oh, shame ! shame ! 
 And yet it may be nothing: his father has, perhaps, carried out 
 his horrid threat ! What has he done with my boy ? Why did 
 he tear him from me ? " 
 
 " That mystery I cannot fathom," said Eodolph, with a 
 pensive air. " What could induce the wretch to carry off your 
 son fifteen years ago, and when he was trying to escape into a 
 foreign land? A child of that age could only embarrass his 
 flight." 
 
 "Alas, M. Eodolph! when my husband" (the poor woman 
 shuddered as she pronounced the word) " was arrested on the 
 frontier and thrown into prison, where I was allowed to visit 
 him, he said to me these horrible words : " I took away the brat 
 because you were fond of him, and it will be a means of com- 
 pelling you to send me money, which may or may not be of serv- 
 ice to him that's my affair. Whether he lives or dies it is no 
 matter to you; but if he lives, he will be in good hands: you 
 shall drink as deep of the shame of the son as you have of the 
 disgrace of the father ! ' Alas ! a month afterwards my husband 
 was condemned to the galleys for life; and since then all my 
 entreaties, my prayers and letters, have been in vain. I have 
 never been able to learn the fate of my boy. Ah, M. Eodolph ! 
 where is my child at this moment? These frightful words are 
 always ringing in my ears, ' You shall drink as deep of 
 the shame of the son as you have of the disgrace of the 
 father!'" 
 
 " This atrocity is most inexplicable : why should he demoralize 
 the unhappy child? why carry him off?" 
 
 " I have told you, M. Eodolph to compel me to send him 
 money : although he had nearly ruined me, yet I had still some 
 small resources, but they at length were exhausted also. In spite 
 of his wickedness, I could not believe but that he would employ, 
 at least, a portion of this money in the bringing-up of this 
 unhappy child." 
 
 " And your son had no sign, no mark, by which he could be 
 recognized ? "
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPIL 89 
 
 " No other than that of which I have spoken to you, M. 
 Rodolph a small Saint-Esprit, sculptured in lapis lazuli, tied 
 round his neck by a chain of silver: a sacred relic, blessed by 
 the holy father." 
 
 " Courage, courage ; God is all-powerful." 
 
 " Providence placed me in your path, M. Rodolph." 
 
 "Too late, Madame Georges; too late. I might have saved 
 you many years of sorrow." 
 
 '* Ah, M. Rodolph, how kind you have been to me ! " 
 
 " In what way ? I bought this farm ; in time of your pros- 
 perity you were not idle, and now you have become my manager 
 here, where thanks to your excellent superintendence, intelli- 
 gence, and activity this establishment produces me " 
 
 " Produces you, my lord ? " said Madame Georgen, interrupt- 
 ing Rodolph ; " why, all the returns are employed, not only in 
 ameliorating the condition of the laborers, who consider the oc- 
 cupation on this model farm as a great favor, but, moreover, to 
 succor all the needy in the district; through the mediation of 
 our good Abbe Laporte " 
 
 " Ah, the dear abbe ! " said Rodolph, desirous of escaping the 
 praise of Madame Georges; "have you had the kindness to in- 
 form him of my arrival? I wish to recommend my protegee to 
 him. He has had my letter?" 
 
 " Mr. Murphy gave it to him when he came this morning." 
 
 " In that letter I told our good cure, in a few words, the his- 
 tory of this poor girl. I was not sure that I should be able to 
 come to-day myself, and if not, then Murphy would have con- 
 ducted Marie " 
 
 A laborer of the farm interrupted this conversation, which had 
 been carried on in the garden. 
 
 " Madame, M. le Cure is waiting for you." 
 
 " Are the post horses arrived, my lad ? " inquired Rodolph. 
 
 " Yes, M. Rodolph ; and they are putting to." And the man 
 left the garden. 
 
 Madame Georges, the cure and the inhabitants of the farm, 
 only knew Fleur-de-Marie's protector as M. Rodolph. Murphy's 
 discretion was faultless; and although when in private he was 
 very precise in ' my-lording ' Rodolph, yet before strangers he 
 was very careful not to address him otherwise than as Monsieur 
 Rodolpli. 
 
 " I forgot to mention, my dear Madame Georges," said Ro- 
 dolph, when he returned to the house, " that Marie has, I fear, 
 very weak lungs privations and misery have tried her health. 
 This morning early I was struck with the pallor of her coun-
 
 90 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 tenance, although her cheeks were of a deep rose color ; her eyes, 
 too, seem to me to have a brilliancy which betokens a feverish 
 system. Great care must be taken of her." 
 
 " Eely on me, M. Eodolph ; but, thank God ! there is nothing 
 serious to apprehend. At her age, in the country, with pure 
 air, rest, and quiet, she will soon be quite restored." 
 
 " I hope so ; but I will not trust to your country doctors. I 
 will desire Murphy to bring here my medical man a negro 
 a very skilful person, who will tell you the best regimen to 
 pursue. You must send me news of Marie very often. Some 
 time hence, when she shall be better, and more at ease, we will 
 talk about her future life; perhaps it would be best that she al- 
 ways remained with you, if you were pleased with her." 
 
 "I should like it greatly, M. Rodolph; she would supply the 
 place of the child I have lost, and must forever bewail." 
 
 " Let us still hope for you and for her." 
 
 At the moment when Rodolph and Madame Georges ap- 
 proached the farm, Murphy and Marie also entered. The worthy 
 gentleman let go the arm of Goualeuse, and said to Rodolph in 
 a low voice, and with an air of some confusion, 
 
 " This girl has bewitched me ; I really do not know which in- 
 terests me most, she or Madame Georges. I was a brute a 
 beast!" 
 
 "I knew, old Murphy, that you would do justice to my 
 protegee" said Rodolph, smiling, and shaking hands with the 
 squire. 
 
 Madame Georges, leaning on Marie's arm, entered with her 
 into a small room on the ground-floor, where the Abbe Laporte 
 was waiting. Murphy went away, to see all ready for their de- 
 parture. Madame Georges, Marie, Rodolph, and the Cure, re- 
 mained together. 
 
 Plain, but very comfortable, this small apartment was fitted 
 up with green hangings, like the rest of the house, as had been 
 exactly described to Goualeuse by Rodolph. A thick carpet cov- 
 ered the floor, a good fire burnt in the grate, and two large nose- 
 gays of daisies of all colors, placed in two crystal vases, shed their 
 agreeable odor throughout the room. Through the windows, 
 with their green blinds, which were half opened, was to be seen 
 the meadow, the little stream, and, beyond it, the bank planted 
 with chestnut-trees. 
 
 The Abbe Laporte, who was seated near the fireplace, was up- 
 wards of eighty years of age, and had, ever since the last days 
 of the Revolution, done duty in this small parish. Nothing can 
 be imagined more venerable than his aged, withered, and some-
 
 MURPHY AND RODOLPH. 91 
 
 what melancholy countenance, shaded by long white locks, which 
 fell on the collar of his black cassock, which was pieced in more 
 places than one: the abbe liked better, as they said, to clothe 
 one or two poor children in good warm broadcloth, than faire le 
 muguet; that is, to wear his cassocks less than two or three 
 years. The good abbe was so old, so very old, that his hands 
 trembled continually, and when he occasionally lifted them up, 
 when speaking, it might have been supposed that he was giving 
 a benediction. 
 
 " Monsieur 1'Abbe," said Bodolph, respectfully, "Madame 
 Georges has undertaken the guardianship of this young girl, 
 for whom I also beg your kindness." 
 
 " She is entitled to it, sir, like all who come to us. The mercy 
 of God is inexhaustible, my dear child, and He has evinced it in 
 not abandoning you in most severe trials. I know all." And 
 he took the hand of Marie in his own withered and trembling 
 palms. " The generous man who has saved you has realized the 
 words of Holy Writ, ' The Lord is near to all those who call 
 upon Him : He will fulfil the desire of those who fear Him : He 
 will hear their cries, and He will save them/ Now deserve his 
 bounty by your conduct, and you will always find one ready to 
 encourage and sustain you in the good path on which you have 
 entered. You will have in Madame Georalfe a constant example, 
 in me a careful adviser. The Lord will Jlnisn His work." 
 
 " And I will pray to Him for those who have had compassion 
 on me and have led me to Him, father," said La Goualeuse, 
 throwing herself on her knees before the priest. Her emotion 
 overcame her: her sobs almost choked her. Madame Georges, 
 Eodolph, and the abbe, were all deeply affected. 
 
 " Rise, my dear child," said the cure ; " you will soon deserve 
 absolution from those serious faults of which you have rather 
 been the victim than the cruwinal : for, in the words of the 
 prophet, ' The Lord raises up an those who are ready to fall, and 
 elevates those who are oppressed.' " 
 
 Murphy, at this moment, opened the door. 
 
 "Monsieur Eodolph," he said, "the horses are ready." 
 
 "Adieu, father! adieu, Madame Georges! I commend your 
 child to your care our child, I should say. Farewell, Marie; 
 I will soon come and see you again." 
 
 The venerable pastor, leaning on the arms of Madame Georges 
 and La Goualeuse, who supported his tottering steps, left the 
 room to see Eodolph depart. 
 
 The last rays of the sun shed their light on this interesting 
 yet sad group :
 
 92 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. ' 
 
 An old priest, the symbol of charity, pardon, and everlasting 
 hope ; 
 
 A female, overwhelmed by every grief that can distress a wife 
 and mother; 
 
 A young girl, hardly out of her infancy, and but recently 
 thrown into an abyss of vice through misery and the close contact 
 with crime. 
 
 Rodolph got into the carriage, Murphy took his place by his 
 side, and the horses set off at speed. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 
 
 THE day after he had confided the Goualeuse to the care of 
 Madame Georges, Rodolph, still dressed as a mechanic, was, at 
 noon precisely, at the door of a cabaret with the sign of the 
 Panier-Fleuri, not far from the barrier of Bercy. 
 
 The evening before, at ten o'clock, the Chourineur was punc- 
 tual to the appointment which Rodolph had fixed with him. 
 The result of this naft-ative will inform our readers of the par- 
 ticulars of the meeting^ It was twelve o'clock, and the rain fell 
 in torrents; the Seine, swollen by perpetual falls of rain, had 
 risen very high, and overflowed a part of the quay. Rodolph 
 looked from time to time, with a gesture of impatience, towards 
 the barrier, and at last observed a man and woman, who were 
 coming towards him under the shelter of an umbrella, and whom 
 he recognized as the Chouette and the Schoolmaster. 
 
 These two individuals were completely metamorphosed: the 
 ruffian had laid aside his ragged varments and his air of brutal 
 ferocity. He wore a long frock-cfbt of green cloth, and a round 
 hat ; whilst his shirt and cravat were remarkable for their white- 
 ness. But for the hideousness of his features and the fierce 
 glance of his eyes, always restless and suspicious, this fellow 
 might have been taken, by his quiet and steady step, for an 
 honest citizen. 
 
 The Chouette was also in her Sunday costume, wearing a large 
 shawl of fine wool, with a large pattern, and held in her hand 
 a capacious basket. 
 
 The rain having ceased for the moment, Rodolph, overcoming 
 a sensation of disgust, went to meet the frightful pair. For the 
 slang of the tapis-franc the Schoolmaster now substituted a style
 
 TUB RENDEZVOUS. 93 
 
 almost polished, and which betokened a cultivated mind, in 
 strange contrast with his real character and crimes. When 
 Rodolph approached, the brigand made him a polite bow, and 
 the Chouette curtsied respectfully. 
 
 " Sir, your humble servant," said the Schoolmaster. " I am 
 delighted to pay my respects to you delighted or, rather, to 
 renew our acquaintance; for the night before last you paid me 
 two blows of the fist which were enough to have felled a 
 rhinoceros. But not a word of that now ; it was a joke on your 
 part, I am sure merely done in jest. Let us not say another 
 word about it, for serious business brings us now together. I 
 saw the Chourineur yesterday, about eleven o'clock, at the 
 tapis-franc, and appointed to meet him here to-day, in case 
 he chose to join us to be our fellow-laborer; but it seems that 
 he most decidedly refuses." 
 
 " You, then, accept the proposal ? " 
 
 " Your name, sir, if you will be so good ? " 
 
 " Rodolph." 
 
 "M. Rodolph, we will go into the Panier-Fleuri neither 
 myself nor Madame has breakfasted and we will talk over our 
 little matters whilst we are taking a crust." 
 
 " Most willingly." 
 
 " We can talk as we go on. You and the Chourineur certainly 
 do owe some satisfaction to my wife; and myself you have 
 caused us to lose more than two thousand francs. Chouette had 
 a meeting near Saint-Ouen with the tall gentleman in mourning, 
 who came to ask for you at the tapis-franc. He offered us two 
 thousand francs to do something to you. The Chourineur has 
 told me all about this. But, Finette," said the fellow, " go and 
 select a room at the Panier-Fleuri, and order breakfast some 
 cutlets, a piece of veal, a salad, and a couple of bottles of vin de 
 beaune the best quality, and we will join you there." 
 
 The Chouette, who had ndl taken her eye off Rodolph for a 
 moment, went off after exchanging looks with the Schoolmaster, 
 who then said: 
 
 " I say, M. Rodolph, that the Chourineur has edified me on the 
 subject of the two thousand francs/* 7 
 
 " What do you mean by edified you ? " 
 
 " You are right the language is a little too refined for you. 
 I would say, that the Chourineur nearly told me all that the 
 tall gentleman in mourning, with his two thousand francs, 
 required." 
 
 Good." 
 
 " Not so good, young man ; for the Chourineur, having yester-
 
 94: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 day morning met the Chouette, near Saint-Ouen, did not leave 
 her for one moment, when the tall gentleman in mourning came 
 up, so that he could not approach and converse with her. You, 
 then, ought to put us in the way of regaining our two thousand 
 francs." 
 
 " Nothing easier : but let us * hark back/ I had proposed a 
 glorious job to the Chourineur, which he at first accepted, but 
 afterwards refused to go on with." 
 
 " He always has very peculiar ideas." 
 
 " But whilst he refused he observed to me " 
 
 " He made you observe " 
 
 "Oh, didble! you are very grand with your grammar." 
 
 " It is my profession, as a schoolmaster." 
 
 " He made me, then, observe, that if he would not go on this 
 ' lay/ he did not desire to discourage any other person, and that 
 you would willingly lend a hand in the affair." 
 
 " May I, without impertinence, ask why you appointed a 
 meeting with the Chourineur at Saint-Ouen yesterday, which 
 gave him the advantage of meeting the Chouette? He was too 
 much puzzled at my question to give me a clear answer." 
 
 Rodolph bit his lips imperceptibly, and replied, shrugging his 
 shoulders, 
 
 " Very likely ; for I only told him half my plan, you must 
 know, not knowing if he had made up his mind." 
 
 " That was very proper." 
 
 " The more so as I had two strings to my bow." 
 
 " You are a careful man. You met the Chourineur, then, at 
 Saint-Ouen, for " 
 
 Rodolph, after a moment's hesitation, had the good luck to 
 think of a story which would account for the want of address 
 which the Chourineur had displayed, and said: 
 
 " Why, this it is. The attempt I propose is a famous one, 
 because the person in question it in the country: all my fear 
 was that he should return to Paris. To make sure, I went to 
 Pierrefitte, where his country-house is situated, and there I 
 learned that he would not be back again until the day after 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, but to return to my question : why did you appoint to 
 meet the Chourineur at Saint-Ouen ? " 
 
 " Why, you are not so bright as I took you for. How far is it 
 from Pierrefitte to Saint-Ouen ? " 
 
 "About a league." 
 
 " And from Saint-Ouen to Paris ? " 
 
 "As much."
 
 THE RENDEZ VO US. 95 
 
 " Well, if I had jpt found any one at Pierrefitte that is, if 
 there had been an empty house there why, there also would have 
 been a good job: not so good as in Paris, but still well worth 
 having. I went back to the Chourineur, who was waiting for 
 me at Saint-Ouen. We should have returned then to Pierrefitte, 
 by a cross-path which I know, and " 
 
 " I understand. If, on the contrary, the job was to be done in 
 Paris ?" 
 
 "We should have gained the barrier de FEtoile by the road 
 of the Kivolte, and thence to the Alice des Veuves " 
 
 " Is but a step : this is plain enough. At Saint-Ouen you were 
 well placed for either operation that was clear; and now I 
 can understand why the Chourineur was at Saint-Ouen. So the 
 house in the Allee des Veuves will be uninhabited until the day 
 after to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Uninhabited, except the porter." 
 
 " I see. And is it a profitable job ? " 
 
 " Sixty thousand francs in gold in the proprietor's cabinet." 
 
 " And you know all the ways ? " 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 " Silence here we are not a word before the vulgar. I do 
 not know if you feel as I do, but the morning air has given me an 
 appetite." 
 
 The Chouette was awaiting them at the door. 
 
 " This way this way," she said. " I have ordered our break- 
 fast." 
 
 Rodolph wished the brigand to pass in first, for certain 
 reasons; but the Schoolmaster insisted on showing so much 
 politeness, that Rodolph entered before him. Before he sat 
 down, the Schoolmaster tapped lightly against each of the 
 divisions of the wainscot, that he might ascertain their thickness 
 and power of transmitting sounds. 
 
 " We need not be afraid to speak out," said he ; " the division 
 is not thin. We shall have our breakfast soon, and shall not 
 be disturbed in our conversation." 
 
 A waiter brought in the breakfast, and before he shut the 
 door Rodolph saw the charcoal-man, Murphy, seated with great 
 composure at a table in a room close at hand. 
 
 The room in which the scene took place that we are describing 
 was long and narrow, lighted by one window, which looked into 
 the street, and was opposite to the door. The Chouette turned 
 her back to this window, whilst the Schoolmaster was at one 
 side of the table, and Rodolph on the other. 
 
 When the servant left the room, the brigand got up, took
 
 96 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 his plate, and seated himself beside Rodolph and between him 
 and the door. 
 
 " We can talk better," he said, " and need not talk so loud." 
 
 " And then you can prevent me from going out,"" replied 
 Rodolph, calmly. 
 
 The Schoolmaster gave a nod in the affirmative, and then, 
 half drawing out of the pocket of his frock-coat a stiletto, round 
 and as thick as a goose's quill, with a handle of wood which 
 disappeared in the grasp of his hairy fingers, said : 
 
 "You see that?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Advice to amateurs ! " And bringing his shaggy brows 
 together, by a frown which made his wide and fiat forehead 
 closely resemble a tiger's, he made a significant gesture. 
 
 " And you may believe me," added the Chouette, " I have 
 made the tool sharp." 
 
 Rodolph, with perfect coolness, put his hand under his blouse, 
 and took out a double-barreled pistol, which he showed to the 
 Schoolmaster, and then put into his pocket. 
 
 " All right ; and now we understand each other : but do not 
 misunderstand me I am only alluding to an impossibility. If 
 they try to arrest me, and you have laid any trap for me, I will 
 make ' cold meat ' of you." 
 
 And he gave a fierce look at Rodolph. 
 
 " And I will spring upon him and help you, fourline," cried 
 the Chouette. 
 
 Rodolph made no reply, but shrugged his shoulders, and, 
 pouring out a glass of wine, tossed it off. His coolness deceived 
 the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " I only put you on your guard." 
 
 " Well, then, put up your * larding-pin ' into your pocket : you 
 have no chicken to lard now. I am an old cock, and know my 
 game as well as most," said Rodolph. " But, to our business." 
 
 " Yes, let us talk of business : but do not speak against my 
 ' larding-pin ;' it makes no noise, and does not disturb any- 
 body." 
 
 " And does its work as should be : doesn't it, fourline ? " added 
 the old beldam. 
 
 " By the way," said Rodolph to the Chouette, " do you really 
 know the Goualeuse's parents ? " 
 
 " My man has in his pocket two letters about it, but she shall 
 never see them the little slut ! I would rather tear her eyes 
 out with my own hands. Oh ! when I meet her again at the 
 tapis-franc, won't I pay her off "
 
 THE RENDEZ VO US. 97 
 
 " There, that'll do, Finette ; we have other things to talk of, 
 and so leave oft' your gossip." 
 
 " May we * patter ' before the * mot ? ' " asked Eodolph. 
 
 " Most decidedly ! She's true as steel, and is worth her weight 
 in gold to watch for us to get information or impressions of 
 keys, to conceal stolen goods or sell them, nothing comes amiss 
 to her. She is a first-rate manager. Good Finette ! " added 
 the robber, extending his hand to the horrid hag. " You can 
 have no idea of the services she has done me. Take off your 
 shawl, Finette, or you'll be cold when you go out : put it on the 
 chair with your basket." 
 
 The Chouette took off her shawl. 
 
 In spite of his presence of mind, and the command which he 
 had over himself, Rodolph could not quite conceal his surprise 
 when he saw suspended by a ring of silver, from a thick chain 
 of metal which hung round the old creature's neck, a small 
 Saint-Esprit in lapis lazuli, precisely resembling that which the 
 son of Madame Georges had round his neck when he was carried 
 off. 
 
 At this discovery, a sudden idea flashed across the mind of 
 Eodolph. According to the Chourineur's statement, the School- 
 master had escaped from the Bagne six months ago, and had 
 since defied all search after him by disfiguring himself as he 
 had now; and six months ago the husband of Madame Georges 
 had disappeared from the Bagne. Rodolph surmised that, very 
 possibly, the Schoolmaster was the husband of that unhappy 
 lady. If this were so, he knew the fate of the son she lamented 
 he possessed, too, some papers relative to the birth of the 
 Goualeuse. Rodolph had, then, fresh motives for persevering 
 in his projects, and, fortunately, his absence of mind was not 
 observed by the Schoolmaster, who was busy helping the 
 Chouette. 
 
 " Morbleu! what a pretty chain you have!" said Rodolph to 
 the one-eyed woman. 
 
 " Pretty, and not dear," answered the old creature, laughing. 
 " It is only a sham till my man can afford to give me a real 
 one." 
 
 " That will depend on this gentleman, Finette. If our job 
 comes off well, why then " 
 
 " It is astonishing how well it is imitated," continued Rodolph. 
 " And what is that little blue thing at the end ? " 
 
 " It is a present from my man, which I shall wear until he 
 give? me a ticker. Isn't it, fourline?" 
 
 Rodolph's suspicions were thus half confirmed, and he
 
 98 THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. 
 
 waited with anxiety for the reply of the Schoolmaster, who 
 said: 
 
 " You must take care of that, notwithstanding the ticker, 
 Finette : it is a talisman, and brings good luck." 
 
 " A talisman ! " said Rodolph, in a careless tone : " do you 
 believe in talismans? And where the devil did you pick it up? 
 Give me the address of the shop." 
 
 " They do not make them now the shop is shut up. As you 
 see it, that bit of jewelry has a very great antiquity three 
 generations. I value it highly, for it is a family loom," added 
 he, with a hideous grin ; " and that's why I gave it to Finette, 
 that she might have good fortune in the enterprises in which she 
 so skilfully seconds me. Only see her at work ! only see her ! 
 
 If we go into business together, why But let us now to 
 
 our affair in hand. You say, that in the Allee des Veuves " 
 
 " At No. 17 there is a house inhabited by a rich man, whose 
 name is " 
 
 " I will not be guilty of the indiscretion of asking his name. 
 You say there are sixty thousand francs in gold in a cabinet ? " 
 
 " Sixty thousand francs in gold ! " exclaimed the Chouette. 
 
 Eodolph nodded his head in the affirmative. 
 
 " And you know this house, and the people in it ? " said the 
 Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Quite well." 
 
 "Is the entry difficult?" 
 
 " A wall seven feet high on the side of the Allee des Veuves, 
 a garden, windows down to the ground, and the house has only 
 the ground-floor throughout." 
 
 " And there is only the porter to guard this treasure ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And what, young man, is your proposed plan of preceding ? " 
 
 " Simple enough : to climb over the wall, pick the lock of 
 the door, or force open a shutter or lock. What do you think 
 of it?" 
 
 " I cannot answer you before I have examined it all myself 
 that is, by the aid of my wife : but, if all you tell me is as you 
 say, I think it would be the thing to do it at once this evening." 
 
 And the ruffian looked earnestly at Rodolph. 
 
 " This evening ! impossible ! " replied he. 
 
 " Why, since the occupier does not return until the day after 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, but I I cannot this evening " 
 
 "Really? Well, and I I cannot to-morrow." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 THE RENDEZ VO US. 99 
 
 " For the reason that prevents you this evening," said the 
 robber, in a tone of mockery. 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Eodolph replied : 
 
 " Well, then, this evening be it. Where shall we meet ? " 
 
 " We will not separate," said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Why should we?" 
 
 "What is the use of separating? The weather has cleared 
 up, and we will go and walk about, and give a look at the Allee 
 des Veuves: you will see how my woman will work. When that 
 is done, we will return and play a hand at piquet, and have a 
 bit of something in a place in the Champs Elysees that I know, 
 near the river; and, as the Allee des Veuves is deserted at an 
 early hour, we will walk that way about ten o'clock." 
 
 " I will join you at nine o'clock." 
 
 " Do you or do you not wish that we should do this job 
 together ? " 
 
 " I do wish it." 
 
 " Well, then, we do not separate before evening, or else " 
 
 "Or else?" 
 
 " I shall think that you are making ' a plant ' for me, and 
 that's the reason you wish to part company now." 
 
 " If I wished to set the ' traps ' after you, what is to prevent 
 my doing so this evening ? " 
 
 "Why, everything. You did not expect that I should propose 
 the affair to you so soon, and if you do not leave us you cannot 
 put anybody up to it." 
 
 " You mistrust me, then ? " 
 
 " Most extremely. But as what you propose may be quite true 
 and honest, and the half of sixty thousand francs is worth a 
 risk, I am willing to try for it; but this evening, or never: if 
 never, I shall have my suspicions of you confirmed, and one day 
 or other I will take care and let you dine off a dish of my 
 cooking." 
 
 " And I will return your compliment, rely on it." 
 
 " Oh, thisi is all stuff and nonsense ! " said the Chouette. " I 
 think wkh fourline, to-night or never." 
 
 Eodolph was in a state of extreme anxiety ; if he allowed this 
 opportunity to escape of laying hands on the Schoolmaster, he 
 might never again light on him. The ruffian would ever after- 
 wards be on his guard, or if recognized, apprehended, and taken 
 back to the Bagne, would carry with him that secret which 
 Rodolph had so much interest in discovering. Confiding in his
 
 100 THE MYSTERIES OF PAPJS. 
 
 address and courage, and trusting to chance, he said to the 
 Schoolmaster, 
 
 " Agreed, then ; and we will not part company before even- 
 ing." 
 
 "Then I'm your man. It is now two o'clock it is some 
 distance from here to the Allee des Veuves it is raining again in 
 torrents let us pay the reckoning and take a coach." 
 
 " If we have a coach, I should like first to smoke a cigar." 
 
 " Why not ? " said the Schoolmaster. " Finette does not mind 
 the smell of tobacco." 
 
 "Well, then, I'll go and fetch some cigars," said Rodolph, 
 rising. 
 
 " Pray don't give yourself that trouble," said the School- 
 master, stopping him : " Finette will go." 
 
 Eodolph resumed his seat. The Schoolmaster had penetrated 
 his design. The Chouette went out. 
 
 " What a clever manager I have, haven't I ? " said the ruffian ; 
 " and so tractable, she would throw herself into the fire for 
 me." 
 
 " Apropos of fire, it is not over-warm here," replied Rodolph, 
 placing both his hands under his blouse ; and then, continuing his 
 conversation with the Schoolmaster, he took out a lead pencil 
 and a morsel of paper, which he had in his waistcoat-pocket, 
 without being detected, and wrote some words hastily, taking 
 care to make his letters wide apart, so that they might be more 
 legible: for he wrote under his blouse, and without seeing what 
 he wrote. 
 
 This note escaped the penetration of the Schoolmaster: the 
 next thing was to enable it to reach its address. 
 
 Rodolph rose and went listlessly towards the window, and 
 began to hum a tune between his teeth, accompanying himself 
 on the window glasses. 
 
 The Schoolmaster came up to the window and said to Rodolph : 
 
 " What tune are you playing ? " 
 
 " I am playing ' Tu n' auras pas ma rose.' " 
 
 " And a very pretty tune it is. I should like to know if it 
 would have the effect of making any of the passers-by turn 
 round ? " 
 
 " I had no such intention." 
 
 "You are wrong, young man; for you are playing the 
 tambourine on that pane of glass with all your might. But I 
 was thinking, the porter of this house in the Allee des Veuves 
 is perhaps a stout fellow ; if he resists, you have only your pistol, 
 which is a noisy weapon, whilst a tool like this (and he showed
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 101 
 
 Rodolph the handle of his poniard) makes no noise, and does 
 not disturb anybody." 
 
 " Do you mean, then, to assassinate him ? " exclaimed Rodolph. 
 " If you have any such intention, let us give up the job 
 altogether : I will have no hand in it so don't rely on me " 
 
 " But if he awakes ? " 
 
 " We will take to our heels." 
 
 " Well, just as you like ; only it is better to come to a clear 
 understanding beforehand. So, then, ours is simply a mere 
 robbery with forcible entry " 
 
 " Nothing more." 
 
 " Tht's very silly and contemptible: but so be it." 
 
 " And as I'will not leave you for a second," thought Rodolph, 
 " I will prevent you from shedding blood." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 THE Chouette returned to the room, bringing the cigars with 
 her. 
 
 " I don't think it rains now," said Rodolph, lighting his cigar. 
 " Suppose we go and fetch the coach ourselves it will stretch 
 our legs." 
 
 " What ! not rain ! " replied the Schoolmaster: " are you blind? 
 Do you think I will expose Finette to the chance of catching 
 cold, and exposing her precious life, and spoiling her new 
 shawl?" 
 
 " You are right, old fellow : it rains cats and dogs. Let the 
 servant come and we can pay him, and desire him to fetch 
 us a coach," replied Rodolph. 
 
 " That's the most sensible thing you have said yet, young 
 fellow; we may go and look about as we seek the Allee des 
 Veuves." 
 
 The servant entered, and Rodolph gave her five francs. 
 
 "Ah! sir, it is really an imposition I cannot allow it/' 
 exclaimed the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Oh ! all right : your turn next time." 
 
 " Be it so, but on condition that I shall offer you something, 
 by and by, in a little cabaret in the Champs Elysees a capital 
 little snuggery that I know of."
 
 102 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "Just as you like." 
 
 The servant paid, and they left the room. 
 
 Eodolph wished to go last, out of politeness to the Chouette, 
 but the Schoolmaster would not allow it, and followed close on 
 his heels, watching his every movement. 
 
 The master of the house kept a wine-shop also, and amongst 
 other drinkers a charcoal-man, with his face blackened and his 
 large hat flapping over his eyes, was paying his ' shot ' at the 
 bar when these three personages appeared. In spite of the close 
 look-out of the Schoolmaster and the one-eyed hag, Eodolph, who 
 walked before the hideous pair, exchanged a rapid and unper- 
 ceived glance with Murphy as he got into -the hackney-coach. 
 
 " Which way am I to go, master ? " asked the driver. 
 
 Eodolph replied, in a loud voice : 
 
 " Alice des " 
 
 "Des Acacias, in the Bois de Boulogne," cried the School- 
 master, interrupting him. Then he added, " And we will pay 
 you well, coachman." 
 
 The door was shut. 
 
 " What the devil made you bawl out which way we were going 
 before these people ? " said the Schoolmaster. " If the thing 
 were found out to-morrow, we might be traced and discovered. 
 Young man young man, you are very imprudent ! " 
 
 The coach was already in motion. Eodolph answered: 
 
 " True ; I did not think of that. But with my cigar I shall 
 smoke you like herrings: let us have a window open." 
 
 And, joining the action to the word, Eodolph, with much 
 dexterity, let fall outside the window the morsel of paper, folded 
 very small, on which he had hastily written a few words in pencil 
 under his blouse. The Schoolmaster's glance was so quick, that, 
 in spite of the calmness of Eodolph's features, the ruffian detected 
 some expression of triumph, for, putting his head out of window, 
 he called out to the driver, 
 
 " Whip behind ! whip behind ! there is some one getting up at 
 the back of the coach!" 
 
 The coach stopped, and the driver, standing on his seat, looked 
 back, and said: 
 
 " N"o, master, there is no one there." 
 
 " Parbleu! I will look myself," replied the Schoolmaster, 
 jumping out into the street. 
 
 Not seeing any person or anything (for since Eodolph had 
 dropped the paper the coach had gone on several yards), the 
 Schoolmaster thought he was mistaken. 
 
 "You will laugh at me," he said, as he resumed his seat,
 
 PREPARATIONS. 103 
 
 " but I don't know why I thought some one was following us." 
 
 The coach at this moment turned round a corner, and Murphy, 
 who had not lost sight of it with his eyes, and had seen Rodolph's 
 maneuver, ran and picked up the little note, which had fallen 
 into a crevice between two of the paving-stones. 
 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour the Schoolmaster said to 
 the driver of the hackney-coach, 
 
 " My man, we have changed our minds : drive to the Place de 
 la Madelaine." 
 
 Eodolph looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 " All right, young man : from hence we may go to a thousand 
 different places. If they seek to track us hereafter, the deposi- 
 tion of the coachman will not be of the slightest service to 
 them." 
 
 At the moment when the coach was approaching the barrier, 
 a tall man, clothed in a long white riding-coat, with his hat 
 drawn over his eyes, and whose complexion appeared of a deep 
 brown, passed rapidly along the road, stooping over the neck 
 of a high, splendid hunter, which trotted with extraordinary 
 speed. 
 
 " A good horse and a good rider," said Rodolph, leaning for- 
 ward to the door of the coach and following Murphy (for it was 
 he) with his eyes. "What a pace that stout man goes! Did 
 you see him ? " 
 
 "Ma foil he passed so very quickly," said the Schoolmaster, 
 "that I did not remark him." 
 
 Rodolph calmly concealed his satisfaction ; Murphy had, doubt- 
 less, deciphered the almost hieroglyphic characters of the note 
 which he had dropped, and which had escaped the vigilance of the 
 Schoolmaster. Certain that the coach was not followed, he had 
 become more assured, and desirous of imitating the Chouette, 
 who slept, or rather pretended to sleep, he said to Rodolph, 
 
 " Excuse me, young man, but the motion of the coach always 
 produces a singular effect on me it sends me off to sleep like a 
 child." 
 
 The ruffian, under the guise of assumed sleep, thought to 
 examine whether the physiognomy of his companion betrayed 
 any emotion ; but Rodolph was on his guard, and replied, 
 
 " I rose so early that I feel sleepy, and will have a nap too." 
 
 He shut his eyes, and very soon the hard breathing of the 
 Schoolmaster and the Chouette, who snored in chorus, so com- 
 pletely deceived Rodolph, that, thinking his companions sound 
 asleep, he half opened his eyes. The Schoolmaster and the 
 Chouette, in spite of their loud snoring, had their eyes open,
 
 104 . THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 and were exchanging some mysterious signs by means of their 
 fingers curiously placed or bent in the palms of their hands. In 
 an instant this mute language ceased. The brigand no doubt 
 perceived, by some almost imperceptible sign, that Eodolph was 
 not asleep, and said, in a laughing tone, 
 
 " Ah, ah, comrade ! what, you were trying your friends, were 
 you?" 
 
 " That can't astonish you, who sleep with your eyes open." 
 
 " I who That's different, young man : I am a som- 
 nambulist." 
 
 The hackney-coach stopped in the Place de la Madelaine. 
 The rain had ceased for a moment, but- the clouds, driven by 
 the violence of the wind, were so dark and so low, that it was 
 almost night in appearance. Eodolph, the Chouette, and the 
 Schoolmaster, went towards the Cours la Eeine. 
 
 " Young man, I have an idea, which is not a bad one," said 
 the robber. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "To ascertain if all that you have told us respecting the 
 interior of the house in the Allee des Veuves is true." 
 
 " You surely will not go there now, under any circumstances ? 
 It would awaken suspicion." 
 
 " I am not such a flat as that, young fellow : but why have I a 
 wife whose name is Finette ? " 
 
 The Chouette drew up her head. 
 
 "Do you see her, young man? Why, she looks like a war- 
 horse when he hears the blast of the trumpet ! " 
 
 " You mean to send her as a look-out ? " 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 "No. 17, Allee des Veuves, isn't it, my man?" cried the 
 Chouette, impatiently. " Make yourself easy : I have but one 
 eye, but that is a good one." 
 
 " Do you see, young man do you see she is all impatience to 
 be at work ? " 
 
 " If she manages cleverly to get into the house, I do not 
 think your idea a bad one." 
 
 "Take the umbrella, fourline; in half-an-hour I will be here 
 again, and you shall see what I will do," said the Chouette. 
 
 " One moment, Finette : we are going down to the ' Bleeding 
 Heart ' only two steps from here. If the little Tortillard 
 (cripple) is there, you had better take him with you: he will 
 remain outside on the watch whilst you go inside the house." 
 
 "You are rierht little Tortillard is as cunning as a fox: he is 
 not ten years of age, and yet it was he who the other day "
 
 PREPARATIONS. 105 
 
 A signal from the Schoolmaster interrupted the Chouette. 
 
 "What does the 'Bleeding Heart' mean? it is an odd sign 
 for a cabaret," asked Rodolph. 
 
 " You must complain to the landlord." 
 
 " What is his name?" 
 
 " The landlord of the ' Bleeding Heart ? ' " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What is that to you? He never asks the names of his 
 customers." 
 
 " But, still " 
 
 " Call him what you like Peter, Thomas, Christopher, or 
 Barnabas, he will answer to any and all. But here we are, and 
 it's time we were, for the rain is coming down again in floods; 
 and how the river roars ! it has almost become a torrent ! 
 Why, look at it! Two more days of such rain, and the water 
 will overflow the arches of the bridge." 
 
 "You say that we are there, but where the devil is the 
 cabaret? I do not see any house here." 
 
 " Certainly not, if you look round about you." 
 
 "Where should I look then?" 
 
 " At your feet." 
 
 " At my feet ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And whereabouts ? " 
 
 "Here look: do you see the roof? Mind, and don't step 
 upon it." 
 
 Rodolph had not remarked one of those subterraneans which 
 used to be seen, some years since, in certain spots in the Champs 
 Elysees, and particularly near the Cours la Eeine. 
 
 A flight of steps, cut out of the damp and greasy ground, led 
 to the bottom of this sort of deep ditch, against one end of which, 
 cut perpendicularly, leaned a low, mean, dilapidated hovel ; its 
 roof covered with moss-covered tiles, was scarcely so high as the 
 ground on which Rodolph was standing; two or three out- 
 buildings, constructed of worm-eaten planks, serving as cellar, 
 wood-house, and rabbit-hutches, surrounded this wretched den. 
 
 A narrow path, which extended along this ditch, led from the 
 stairs to the door of the hut; the rest of the ground was con- 
 cealed under a mass of trellis-work, which sheltered two rows of 
 clumsy tables, fastened to the ground. A worn-out iron sign 
 swung heavily backwards and forwards on its creaking hinges, 
 and through the rust that covered it might still be seen a red 
 heart pierced ttnth an arrow. The sign was supported by a post 
 erected above this cave this real human burrow.
 
 106 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 A thick and moist fog was added to the rain as night 
 approached. 
 
 " What think you of this hotel, young fellow ? " inquired the 
 Schoolmaster. 
 
 "Why, thanks to the torrents that have fallen for the last 
 fortnight, it must be deliciously fresh. But come on." 
 
 " One moment I wish to know if the landlord is in. Hark ! " 
 
 The ruffian then, thrusting his tongue forcibly against his 
 palate, produced a singular noise a sort of guttural sound, loud 
 and lengthened, something like P-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! ! ! A similar 
 note came from the depths of the hovel. 
 
 " He's there," said the Schoolmaster. . " Pardon me, young 
 man respect to the ladies allow the Chouette to pass first: 
 I follow you. Mind how you come it's slippery." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE BLEEDING HEART. 
 
 THE landlord of the Bleeding Heart, after having responded 
 to the signal of the Schoolmaster, advanced politely to the 
 threshold of his door. 
 
 This personage, whom Eodolph had been to see in the Cite, 
 and whom he did not yet know under his true name, or, rather, 
 his habitual surname, was Bras Rouge. 
 
 Lank, mean-looking, and feeble, this man might be fifty years 
 of age. His countenance resembled both the weasel and the 
 rat ; his peaked nose, his receding chin, his high cheek-bones, his 
 small eyes, black, restless, and keen, gave his features an 
 indescribable expression of malice, cunning, and sagacity. An 
 old brown wig, or, rather, as yellow as his bilious complexion, 
 perched on the top of his head, showed the nape of the old 
 fellow's withered neck. He had on a round jacket, and one 
 of those long black aprons worn by the waiters at the wine-shops. 
 
 Our three acquaintances had hardly descended the last step of 
 the staircase when a child of about ten years of age, rickety, 
 lame, and somewhat misshapen, came to rejoin Bras Rouge, whom 
 he resembled in so striking a manner that there was no mistaking 
 them for father and son. There was the same quick and 
 cunning look, joined to that impudent, hardened, and knavish 
 air, which is peculiar to the scamp (voyou) of Paris that fear-
 
 TUB BLEEDrNO HEART. 107 
 
 ful type of precocious depravity, that real hempseed (graine de 
 lagne), as they style it, in the horrible slang of the jail. The 
 forehead of the brat was half lost beneath a thatch of yellowish 
 locks, as harsh and stiff as horse-hair. Reddish-colored trousers 
 and a gray blouse, confined by a leather girdle, completed 
 Tortillard's costume, whose nickname was derived from his 
 infirmity. He stood close to his father, standing on his sound 
 leg like a heron by the side of a marsh. 
 
 "Ah, here is the darling one! (mome}" said the School- 
 master. " Finette, night is coming on, and time is pressing; we 
 must profit by the daylight which is left to us." 
 
 " You are right, my man : I will ask the father to spare his 
 darling." 
 
 "Good day, old friend," said Bras Rouge, addressing the 
 Schoolmaster, in a voice which was cracked, sharp, and shrill. 
 " What can I do for you ? " 
 
 " Why, if you could spare your ' small boy * to my mistress 
 for a quarter of an hour, she has lost something which he could 
 help her to look for." 
 
 Bras Rouge winked his eye and made a sign to the School- 
 master, and then said to the child, 
 
 " Tortillard, go with Madame." 
 
 The hideous brat hopped forward and took hold of the 
 ' one-eyed's ' hand. 
 
 " Love of a bright boy, come along ! There is a child ! " said 
 Finette. " And how like his father ! He is not like Pegriotte, 
 who always pretended to have a pain in her side when she came 
 near me a little baggage ! " 
 
 " Come, come, away ! be off, Finette ! Keep your weather- 
 eye open, and bright look-out. I await you here." 
 
 " I won't be long. Go first, Tortillard." 
 
 The one-eyed hag and the little cripple went up the slippery 
 steps. 
 
 " Finette, take the umbrella," the brigand called out. 
 
 " It would be in the way, my man," said the old woman, who 
 quickly disappeared with Tortillard in the midst of the fog, 
 which thickened with the twilight, and the hollow murmur of the 
 wind as it moaned through the thick and leafless branches of the 
 tall elms in the Champs Elysees. 
 
 " Let us go in," said Rodolph. 
 
 It was requisite to stoop in passing in at the door of the 
 cabaret, which was divided into two apartments. In one was 
 a bar and a broken-down billiard-table ; in the other, tables and 
 garden-chairs, which had once been painted green. Two narrow
 
 108 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 windows, with their cracked panes festooned with spiders' webs, 
 cast a dim but not religious light on the damp walls. 
 
 Eodolph was alone for one moment only, during which Bras 
 Rouge and the Schoolmaster had time to exchange some words, 
 rapidly uttered, and some mysterious signs. 
 
 " You'll take a glass of beer or brandy, perhaps whilst we 
 wait for Finette ? " said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " No : I am not thirsty." 
 
 " Do as you like I am for a drain of brandy," said the 
 ruffian; and he seated himself on one of the little green tables 
 in the second apartment. 
 
 Darkness came on to this den so completely, that it was 
 impossible to see in one of the angles of'this inner apartment the 
 open mouth of one of those cellars which are entered by a door 
 in two divisions, one of which was constantly kept open for the 
 convenience of access. The table at which the Schoolmaster sat 
 was close upon this dark and deep hole, and he turned his back 
 upon it, so that it was entirely concealed from Rodolph's view. 
 
 He was looking through the window, in order to command 
 his countenance and conceal the workings of his thoughts. The 
 sight of Murphy speeding through the Alice des Veuves did 
 not quite assure him ; he was afraid that the worthy squire had 
 not quite understood the full meaning of his note, necessarily 
 so laconic, and containing only these words: 
 
 " This evening ten o'clock. Be on your guard." 
 
 Resolved not to go to the Alice des Veuves before that moment, 
 nor to lose sight of the Schoolmaster for an instant, he yet 
 trembled at the idea of losing the only opportunity that might 
 ever be afforded him of obtaining that secret which he was so 
 excessively anxious to possess. Although he was powerful and 
 well armed, yet he had to deal with an unscrupulous assassin, 
 capable of any and everything. Not desiring, however, that his 
 thoughts should be detected, he seated himself at the table with 
 the Schoolmaster, and, by way of seeming at his ease, called 
 for a glass of something. Bras Rouge having exchanged a few 
 words, in a low tone, with the brigand, looked at Rodolph with 
 an air in which curiosity, distrust, and contempt, were mingled. 
 
 " It is my advice, young man," said the Schoolmaster, " that 
 if my wife informs us that the persons we wish to see are within, 
 we had better make our call about eight o'clock." 
 
 "That will be two hours too soon," said Rodolph; "and that 
 will spoil all." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " I am sure of it."
 
 THE BLEEDING HEART. 109 
 
 " Bah ! amongst friends there should be no ceremony." 
 
 " I know them well, and I tell you that we must not think of 
 going before ten o'clock." 
 
 " Are you out of your senses, young man ? " 
 
 " I give you my opinion, and devil fetch me if I stir from 
 here before ten o'clock." 
 
 "Don't disturb yourself I never close my establishment 
 before midnight," said Bras Rouge, in his falsetto voice : " it is 
 the time my best customers drop in ; and my neighbors never 
 complain of the noise which is made in my house." 
 
 " I must agree to all you wish, young man," continued the 
 Schoolmaster. " Be it so, then: we will not set out on our visit 
 until ten o'clock." 
 
 " Here is the Chouette ! " said Bras Rouge, hearing and reply- 
 ing to a warning cry similar to that which the Schoolmaster 
 had uttered before he descended to the subterraneous abode. 
 
 A minute afterwards the Chouette entered the billiard-room 
 alone. 
 
 " It is all right, my man I've done the trick ! " cried the 
 one-eyed hag as she entered. 
 
 Bras Rouge discreetly withdrew, without asking a word about 
 Tortillard, whom, perhaps he did not expect to see return. The 
 beldam sat with her face towards Rodolph and the brigand. 
 
 "Well?" said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " The young fellow has told us all true, so far." 
 
 " Ah ! you see I was right," exclaimed Rodolph. 
 
 " Let the Chouette tell her tale, young man. Come, tell us 
 all about it, Finette." 
 
 " I went straight to No. 17, leaving Tortillard on the look-out 
 and concealed in a corner. It was still daylight, and I rung at 
 a side-door which opens outwards, and here's about two inches 
 of space between it and the sill : nothing else to notice. I rang, 
 the porter opened. Before I pulled the bell I had put my 
 bonnet in my pocket, that I might look like a neighbor. As 
 soon as I saw the porter I pretended to cry violently, saying that 
 I had lost a pet parrot, Cocotte a litle darling that I adored. 
 I told him I lived in the Rue Marboeuf, and that I had pursued 
 Cocotte from garden to garden, and entreated him to allow 
 me to enter and try and find the bird." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Schoolmaster, with an air of proud satisfac- 
 tion, pointing to Finette, "what a woman!" 
 
 " Very clever," said Rodolph. " And what then ? " 
 
 " The porter allowed me to look for the creature, and I went 
 trotting all round the garden, calling ' Cocotte ! Cocotte ! ' and
 
 HO THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 looking about me in every direction to scrutinize everything. 
 Inside the walls," continued the horrid old hag, going on with 
 her description of the premises, " inside the walls, trellis-work 
 all round a perfect staircase; at the left-hand corner of the 
 wall a fir-tree, just like a ladder a lying-in woman might 
 descend by it. The house has six windows on the ground-floor, 
 and has no upper story six small windows, without any fasten- 
 ing. The windows of the ground-floor close with shutters, having 
 hooks below and staples in the upper part : press in the bottom, 
 use your steel file "' 
 
 " A push," said the Schoolmaster, " and it is open." 
 
 The Chouette continued: 
 
 " The entrance has a glass-door, two Venetian blinds out- 
 side 
 
 " Memorandum," said the ruffian. 
 
 " Quite correct : it is as precise as if we saw it," said Rodolph. 
 
 " On the left," resumed the Chouette, " near the courtyard, 
 is a well: the rope may be useful (for at that particular spot 
 there is no trellis against the wall), in case retreat should be 
 cut off in the direction of the door. On entering into the 
 house " 
 
 " You got inside the house, then ? Young man, she got inside 
 the house ! " said the Schoolmaster, with pride. 
 
 " To be sure I got in ! Not finding Cocotte, I had made so 
 much lamentation that I pretended I was quite out of breath : I 
 begged the porter to allow me to sit down on the step of the 
 door, and he very kindly asked me to step in, offering me a glass 
 of wine and water. *A glass of plain water,' I said; 'plain 
 water only, my good sir/ Then he made me go into the 
 antechamber carpeted all over: good precaution footsteps or 
 broken glass cannot be heard, if we must ' mill the glaze ' (break 
 a pane of glass) ; right and left, doors with sliding bolts, which 
 open by a gentle push from the top. At the bottom was a 
 strong door, locked it looked very like a money-chest. I had 
 my wax in my basket " 
 
 " She had her wax, young man ! she never goes without her 
 wax ! " said the brigand. 
 
 The Chouette proceeded: 
 
 " It was necessary to approach the door which smelled so 
 strongly of the cash, so I pretended that I was seized with a 
 fit of coughing so violent, that I was compelled to lean against 
 the wall for support. Hearing me cough, the porter said, ' I'll 
 fetch you a morsel of sugar to put in your water/ He probably 
 looked for a spoon, for I heard plate chink plate in the room
 
 THE BLEEDING HEART. HI 
 
 on the left-hand : don't forget that, fourline. Well, coughing 
 and wheezing, I reached the door at the bottom I had my wax 
 in the palm of my hand. I leaned against the lock as though 
 accidentally, and here is the impression : we may not want it to- 
 day, but another time it may be useful." 
 
 And the Chouette gave the brigand a bit of yellow wax, on 
 which the print of the lock was perfectly impressed. 
 
 " You can tell us whether this is the door of the money-chest," 
 said the Chouette. 
 
 " It is, and there is the cash," replied Rodolph ; and then said 
 to himself, " Has Murphy, then, been the dupe of this cursed 
 old hag? Perhaps so, and he only expects to be assailed at ten 
 o'clock : by that time every precaution will have been taken." 
 
 "But all the money is not there," continued the Chouette, 
 and her one green eye sparkled. " As I approached the windows, 
 still searching for my darling Cocotte, I saw in one of the cham- 
 bers (door on the left) some bags of crown-pieces, in a bureau. 
 I saw them as plainly as I see you, my man ; there were at least 
 a dozen of them." 
 
 " Where is Tortillard ? " said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " In his hiding-place not more than two paces from the 
 garden. He can see in the dark like a cat. There is only that 
 one entrance to N"o. 17, so when we go he will tell us if any one 
 has come or not/' 
 
 " That's good " 
 
 The Schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words than he 
 made a sudden rush at Rodolph, grappled him by the throat, and 
 flung him violently down the cellar which was yawning behind 
 the table. 
 
 The attack was so rapid, unexpected, and powerful, that 
 Rodolph could neither foresee nor avoid it. The Chouette, 
 alarmed, uttered a piercing shriek; for at the first moment she 
 had not seen the result of the struggle. When the noise of 
 Rodolph's body rolling down the steps had ceased, the School- 
 master, who knew all the ways and windings of the underground 
 vaults in the place, went down the stairs slowly, listening as he 
 went. 
 
 " Fourline, be on your guard," cried the beldam, leaning over 
 the opening of the trap : " draw your ' pinking iron.' " 
 
 The brigand disappeared without any reply. For a time 
 nothing was heard, but at the end of a few moments the distant 
 noise of a door shutting, which creaked on its rusty hinges, 
 sounded harshly in the depths of the cavern : then all was again 
 still as death. The darkness was complete. The Chouette
 
 112 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 fumbled in her basket, and then producing a lucifer-match 
 lighted a wax taper, whose feeble ray made visible the darkness 
 of this dreary den. 
 
 At this moment the monster-visage of the Schoolmaster ap- 
 peared at the opening of the trap. The Chouette could not re- 
 press an exclamation or horror at the sight of his ghastly, 
 seamed, mutilated, and fearful face, with eyes that gleamed like 
 phosphorus, and seemed to glare on the ground even in the 
 midst of the darkness which the lighted taper could not entirely 
 dissipate. Having subdued her feeling of fright, the old hag 
 exclaimed, in a tone of horrible flattery, 
 
 " You must be an awful man, fourline, for even I was 
 frightened ! yes, I ! ! " 
 
 " Quick, quick, for the Allee des Veuves ! " said the ruffian, 
 securely closing the double flap of the trap with a bar of iron. 
 " In another hour, perhaps, it will be too late. If it is a trap, 
 it is not yet baited ; if it is not, why we can do the job alone." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE VAULT. 
 
 STUNNED by his horrible fall, Rodolph lay senseless and 
 motionless at the bottom of the stairs, down which he had been 
 hurled. The Schoolmaster, dragging him to the entrance of a 
 second and still deeper cavern, thrust him into its hideous re- 
 cesses, and closing and securely bolting a massy iron-shod door, 
 returned to his worthy confederate the Chouette, who was wait- 
 ing to join him in the proposed robbery (it might be murder) 
 in the Alice des Veuves. 
 
 About the end of an hour Rodolph began, though slowly, to 
 resume his consciousness. He found himself extended on the 
 ground, in the midst of thick darkness; he extended his hand 
 and touched the stone stairs descending to the vault; a sensa- 
 tion of extreme cold about his feet induced him to endeavor, by 
 feeling the ground, to ascertain the cause: his fingers dabbled 
 in a pool of water. 
 
 With a violent effort he contrived to seat himself on the lower 
 step of the staircase; the giddiness arising from his fall sub- 
 sided by degrees, and as he became able to extend his limbs he 
 found, to his great joy, that, though severely shaken and con- 
 tused, no bones were broken. He listened: the only sound that
 
 THE VAULT. 113 
 
 reached his ear was a low, dull, pattering, hut continued noise, 
 of which he was then far from divining the cause. 
 
 As his senses became more clear, so did the circumstances, to 
 which he had been the unfortunate victim, return to his imagi- 
 nation; and just as he had recalled each particular, and was 
 deeply considering the possible result of the whole, he became 
 aware that his feet were wholly submerged in water: it had, 
 indeed, risen above his ankle. 
 
 In the midst of the heavy gloom and deep silence which sur- 
 rounded him, he heard still the same dull, trickling sound, he 
 had observed before; and now the matter was clear to him. 
 Now, indeed, he comprehended all the horrors of his situation: 
 the cave was filling with water, arising from the fearful and 
 formidable overflowing of the Seine the dungeon in which he 
 had been thrown was doubtless beneath the level of the river, 
 and was chosen by his jailers for that purpose, as offering a 
 slow though certain means of destruction. 
 
 The conviction of his danger recalled Rodolph entirely to 
 himself. Quick as lightning he made his way up the damp, 
 slippery stairs; arrived at the top, he came in contact with a 
 thick door: he tried in vain to open it its massy hinges 
 resisted his most vigorous efforts to force them. 
 
 At this moment of despair and danger his first thought was 
 for Murphy. " If he be not on his guard those monsters will 
 murder him ! " cried he. " It will be I who shall have caused 
 his death my good, my faithful Murphy ! " This cruel thought 
 nerved the arm of Rodolph with fresh vigor, and again he bent 
 his most powerful energy to endeavor to force the ponderous 
 door. Alas ! the thickly plated iron with which it was covered 
 mocked his -utmost effort ; and sore, weary, and exhausted, he 
 was compelled to relinquish the fruitless task. Again he de- 
 scended into the cave, in hopes of obtaining something which 
 might serve as a lever to force the hinges or wrench the fasten- 
 ings. Groping against the slimy walls, he felt himself con- 
 tinually treading on some sort of round elastic bodies, which 
 appeared to slip from under his feet and to scramble for safety 
 past him they were rats, driven by the first-rising water from 
 their retreats. Groping about the place on all fours, with the 
 water half-way up to his legs, Rodolph felt in all directions for 
 the weapon he so much desired to find; nothing but the damp 
 walls met his touch however, and in utter despair he resumed 
 his position at the top of the steps : of the thirteen stairs which 
 composed the flight, three were already under water. 
 
 Thirteen had ever been Rodolph's unlucky number. There
 
 1U THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 are moments when the strongest minds are under the influence 
 of superstitious ideas, and at this juncture Eodolph viewed the 
 fatal amount of stairs as an ill augury. Again the possible fate 
 of Murphy recurred to him, and, as if inspired by a fresh hope, 
 he eagerly felt around the door to discover some slight chink, or 
 opening, by which his cries for help might be heard. In vain: 
 the dampness of the soil had swollen the wood, and joined it 
 hermetically to the wet slimy earth. 
 
 Rodolph next tried the powers of his voice, and shouted with 
 the fullest expansion of his lungs, trusting that his cries for 
 assistance might reach the adjoining cabaret; and then, tired 
 and exhausted, sat down to listen. Nothing was to be heard 
 no sound disturbed the deep silence which reigned but the drop, 
 drop, drop, the dull, trickling, monotonous bubbling of the fast- 
 increasing waters. 
 
 His last hope extinguished, Rodolph seated himself in gloomy 
 despair, and, leaning his back against the door, bewailed the 
 perilous situation of his faithful friend, perhaps at that very 
 moment struggling beneath the assassin's knife. Bitterly did 
 he then regret his rash and venturesome projects, however good 
 and generous the motives by which he had been instigated; and 
 severely did he reproach himself for having taken advantage of 
 the devotion of Murphy, who, rich, honored, and esteemed by all 
 who knew him, had quitted a beloved wife and child to assist 
 Rodolph in the bold undertaking he had imposed on himself. 
 
 During these sorrowful reflections the water was still rising 
 rapidly, and five stairs only now remained dry. Rodolph now 
 found himself compelled to assume a standing position, though 
 in so doing his forehead was brought in close contact with the 
 very top of the vault. He calculated the probable duration of 
 his mortal agony of the period which must elapse ere this slow, 
 inch-like death would put a period to his misery; he bethought 
 him of the pistol he carried with him, and, at the risk of in- 
 juring himself in the attempt, he determined to fire it off 
 against the door, so as to disturb some of the fastenings by the 
 concussion: but here, again, a disappointment awaited him 
 the pistol was nowhere to be found, and he could but conclude 
 it had fallen from his pocket during his struggle with the 
 Schoolmaster. But for his deep concern on Murphy's account, 
 Rodolph would have met his death unmoved his conscience 
 acquitted him of all intentional offense; nay, it solaced him 
 with the recollection of good actually performed, and much 
 more meditated. To the decrees of an all-wise and inscrutable 
 Providence he resigned himself, and humbly accepted his pres-
 
 THE VAULT. 115 
 
 ent punishment as the just reward for a criminal action as yet 
 unexpiated. 
 
 A fresh trial of his fortitude awaited him. The rats, still 
 pursued by the fast-gathering waters, finding no other means 
 of escape, sought refuge from one step to another, ascending as 
 fast as the rising flood rendered their position untenable, un- 
 able to scale the perpendicular walls or doors they availed them- 
 selves of the vestments of Rodolph, whose horror and disgust 
 rose to an indescribable degree as he felt their cold, clammy 
 paws, and wet, hairy bodies, crawling or clinging to him : in his 
 attempts to repulse them, their sharp, cold bite, inflicted on 
 him the most acute agony, while his face and hands streamed 
 with blood from the multitude of wounds received. Again he 
 called for help, shouted aloud, and almost screamed in his pain 
 and wretchedness. Alas! the dull echo of the vault and the 
 gurgling waters alone replied. A few short moments, and he 
 would be bereft even of the power of calling upon God or man 
 to help him: the rapidly rising flood had now reached his very 
 throat, and ere long would have ascended to his lips. 
 
 The choked air began, too, to fail in the narrow space now 
 left it, and the first symptoms of asphyxia began to oppress 
 Rodolph: the arteries of his temples beat violently, his head 
 became giddy, and the faint sickness of death seemed to make 
 his chest heave convulsively. Already were the waters gurgling 
 in his ears; a dizziness of sight and a confusion of ideas had 
 well-nigh deprived him of all powers of sight or sound ; the last 
 glimmer of reason was well-nigh shaken from her throne, when 
 hasty steps and the sound of voices on the other side of the door 
 were heard. 
 
 Hope recalled his expiring strength, and, making one power- 
 ful effort, Rodolph was able to distinguish the following words, 
 after which all consciousness forsook him: 
 
 " Did I not tell you so ? there, you see there is no one here ! " 
 
 " Deuce take it ! no more there is," replied the voice of the 
 Chourineur, in a tone of vexation and disappointment. And 
 the sounds died away. 
 
 Rodolph, utterly exhausted, had no longer power to sustain 
 himself; his limbs sunk from under him, and he slid unresist- 
 ingly down the stone steps. 
 
 All at once the door of the vault was abruptly opened from 
 the other side, and the swelling masses contained in the inner 
 vault, glad to find a further outlet, rushed onwards as though 
 bursting through the gates of a sluice, and the Chourineur, 
 whose opportune return shall be accounted for by and by,
 
 116 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 seized the two arms of Rodolph, who, half-dead, had me- 
 chanically clung to the threshold of the door, and bore him 
 from the black and rushing waters which had nigh proved his 
 grave. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. 
 
 SNATCHED by the Chourineur from a certain death, and re- 
 moved to the house in the Allee des Veuves which had been 
 reconnoitred by the Chouette previously 'to the attempt on it by 
 the Schoolmaster, Rodolph was placed in bed, in a comfortably 
 furnished apartment : a cheerful fire was burning on the hearth. 
 A lamp, placed on a neighboring table, diffused a strong clear 
 light; while the bed of Rodolph, shaded by thick curtains of 
 green damask, remained protected from the glare, and in the 
 shadow of its deep recess. 
 
 A Negro of middling stature, with white hair and eyebrows, 
 wearing an orange and green ribbon at the button-hole of his 
 blue coat, sat by the bedside, holding in his right hand a sec- 
 onds' watch, which he appeared to consult while counting with 
 his left the beating of Rodolph's pulse. The expression of the 
 Negro's countenance was at once sad and pensive, and he con- 
 tinued from time to time to gaze on the sleeping man with the 
 most tender solicitude. 
 
 The Chourineur, clad in rags and soiled with mud, stood 
 motionless, with folded arms, at the foot of the bed; his red 
 beard was long and matted, in disorder; his thick bushy hair 
 was tangled with mud and wet, which still dripped from it; 
 while his hard, bronzed features were marked by the most pro- 
 found pity for the patient: hardly venturing to breathe lest 
 the heaving of his huge chest should disturb the invalid, he 
 awaited with the most intense anxiety the result of the doctor's 
 observations on the sick man's state; then, as though to wile 
 away the fearful apprehension of an unfavorable opinion, he 
 continued to deliver his thoughts aloud, after the following 
 manner : 
 
 " Who would think, now, to see him lying there so helpless, 
 he could ever have been the man to give me such a precious 
 drubbing as I got from him? I dare say, though, he will soon 
 be up again, well and strong as ever. Don't you think so, 
 M. le Docteur? 'Faith, I only wish he could drum himself
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. H7 
 
 well upon my back ; I'd lend it him as long as he liked. But, 
 perhaps, that would shake him too much, and over-fatigue him: 
 would it, sir ? " addressing the Negro, whose only reply was an 
 impatient wave of the hand. 
 
 The Chourineur was instantly silent. 
 
 " The draught ! " said the doctor. 
 
 The Chourineur, who had respectfully left his nailed shoes at 
 the door, at these words arose and walked towards the table in- 
 dicated by the Negro's finger ; going on the very top of his toes, 
 drawing up his legs, extending his arms, and swelling out his 
 back and shoulders, in a manner so ludicrous as, under other 
 circumstances, would have been highly diverting. The poor fel- 
 low seemed endeavoring to collect his whole weight, so that no 
 portion of it should touch the floor; which, in spite of his 
 energetic efforts to prevent it, groaned beneath his ponderous 
 limbs as they moved towards the desired spot. Unfortunately, 
 between his over-anxiety to acquit himself well in his important 
 mission, and his fear of dropping the delicate phial he was 
 bringing so over-carefully, he grasped the slight neck so tightly 
 in his huge hand that it shivered to atoms, and the precious 
 liquid was expended on the carpet. 
 
 At the sight of this unfortunate mischance the Chourineur 
 remained in mute astonishment, one of his huge legs in the 
 air, his toes nervously contracted, and looking with a stupefied 
 air alternately from the doctor to the fragments of the bottle, 
 and from that to the morsel his thumb and finger were yet 
 tightly holding. 
 
 " Awkward devil ! " exclaimed the Negro, impatiently. 
 
 " Yes, that I am ! " responded the Chourineur, as though 
 grateful for the sound of a voice to break the frightful bewilder- 
 ment of his ideas. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the ^Esculapius, observing the table attentively, 
 " happily you took the wrong phial I wanted the other one." 
 
 "What, that little one with the red stuff? 7 ' inquired the un- 
 lucky sick-nurse, in a low and humble tone. 
 
 " Of course I mean that : why, there is no other left." 
 
 The Chourineur, turning quickly round upon his heels after 
 his old military fashion, crushed the fragments of glass which 
 lay on the carpet beneath his feet. More delicate ones might 
 have suffered severely from the circumstance, but the ex-de- 
 bardeur had a pair of natural sandals, hard as the hoofs of a 
 horse. 
 
 "Have a care!" cried the physician: "you will hurt your- 
 self ! "
 
 118 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 To this caution the Chourineur paid no attention, but seemed 
 wholly absorbed in so discharging his new mission as should 
 effectually destroy all recollection of his late clumsiness. It was 
 really beautiful to behold the scrupulous delicacy and lightness 
 of touch with which, spreading out his two first fingers, he 
 seized the fragile crystal; avoiding all use of the unlucky thumb 
 whose undue pressure, he rightly conceived, had brought about 
 his previous accident, he kept so widely stretched from his fore- 
 finger that a butterfly might have passed between, with out- 
 spread wings, without losing one atom of its golden plumage. 
 The black doctor trembled lest all this caution should lead to a 
 second misadventure, but, happily, the phial reached its destina- 
 tion in safety. As the Chourineur approached the bed, he again 
 smashed beneath his tread some of the fallen relics of the former 
 potion. 
 
 " The deuce take you, man ! do you want to maim yourself 
 for life?" 
 
 "Lame myself?" asked the eager nurse. 
 
 " Why, yes : you keep walking upon glass as though you were 
 trying for it." 
 
 " 0, bless you ! never mind that ; the soles of my feet are hard 
 as iron : must be something sharper than glass could hurt them." 
 
 " A teaspoon " said the doctor. 
 
 The Chourineur recommenced his evolutions sylphidiques, 
 and returned with the article required. 
 
 After having swallowed a few spoonsful of the mixture, 
 Eodolph began to stir in his bed, and faintly moved his hands. 
 
 " Good ! good ! he is recovering from his stupor," said the 
 doctor, speaking to himself. " That bleeding has relieved him : 
 he is now out of danger." 
 
 "Saved? Bravo! Vive la Charte!" exclaimed the Chou- 
 rineur, in the full burst of his joy. 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! and, pray, be quiet ! " said the Negro, 
 in a tone of command. 
 
 " To be sure I will, Monsieur le Medecin." 
 
 "His pulse is becoming regular very well, indeed excel- 
 lent " 
 
 " And that poor friend of M. Rodolph's body and bones of 
 me ! when he comes to know that But, then, luckily " 
 
 "Silence! I say." 
 
 " Certainly, M. le Docteur." 
 
 And sit down." 
 
 " But, M. le " 
 
 " Sit down, I tell you ! You disturb me, twisting and fidget-
 
 fttE SICK-NURSE. 119 
 
 ing about in that manner you distract my attention. Come, 
 sit down at once, and keep still." 
 
 " But, doctor, don't you perceive I am as dirty as a pile of 
 floating wood just going to be unloaded? all slime and wet, 
 you see. I should spoil the furniture." 
 
 " Then sit down on the ground." 
 
 " I should soil the carpet." 
 
 " Do what you like, but, for Heaven's sake, be quiet ! " said 
 the doctor, in a tone of impatience ; then, throwing himself into 
 an armchair, he leaned his head upon his clasped hands, and 
 appeared lost in deep reflection. 
 
 After a moment of profound meditation, the Chourineur, less 
 from any need he felt for repose than in obedience to the doc- 
 tor's commands, took a chair with the utmost precaution, turned 
 it upside down with an air of intense self-satisfaction at hav- 
 ing at length devised a plan to act in strict conformity with the 
 orders received, and yet avoid all risk of soiling the silken 
 cushion: having laid the back on the ground he proceeded, after 
 all manner of delicate arrangements, to take his seat on the 
 outer rails; but, unhappily, the Chourineur was entirely igno- 
 rant of the laws of the lever and the equilibrium of bodies the 
 chair overbalanced, and the luckless individual seated thereon, 
 in endeavoring to save himself from falling, by an involuntary 
 movement caught hold of a small stand, on which was a tray 
 containing some tea-things. 
 
 At the formidable noise caused by so many falling articles 
 clattering upon the head of the unfortunate cause of all this 
 discord and havoc, the doctor sprung from his seat; while 
 Rodolph, awaking with a start, raised himself on his elbow, 
 looked about him with an anxious and perturbed glance, then 
 passing his hand over his brows, as though trying to arrange his 
 ideas, he inquired, 
 
 "Where is Murphy?" 
 
 " Your royal highness need be under no apprehensions on his 
 account," answered the Negro, respectfully : " there is every hope 
 of his recovery." 
 
 " Recovery ! He is, then, wounded ? " 
 
 " Unhappily, my lord, he is." 
 
 "Where is he? let me see him!" And Rodolph endeavored 
 to rise, but fell back again, overcome by weakness and the in- 
 tense pain he felt from his many and severe contusions. " Since 
 I cannot walk," cried he, at length, " let me be instantly carried 
 to Murphy this moment ! " 
 
 " My lord, he sleeps at present : it would be highly dangerous,
 
 120 THE MYSTERIES Off PARIS. 
 
 at this particular juncture, to expose him to the slightest agita- 
 tion." 
 
 " You are deceiving me, and he is dead ! He has heen 
 murdered ! and I I am the wretched cause of it ! " cried 
 Eodolph in a tone of agony, raising his clasped hands towards 
 heaven. 
 
 " My lord knows that his servant is incapable of a falsehood. 
 I assert by my honor, that, although severely wounded, Murphy 
 lives, and that his chance of recovery is all' but certain." 
 
 " You say that but to prepare me for more disastrous tidings : 
 he lies, doubtless, wounded past all hope; and he, my faithful 
 friend, will die ! " 
 
 " My lord " 
 
 " Yes, you are seeking to deceive me till all is over. But I 
 will see him I will judge for myself: the sight of a friend 
 cannot be hurtful. Let me be instantly removed to his 
 chamber." 
 
 " Once more, my lord, I pledge my solemn assurance, that, 
 barring chances not likely to occur, Murphy will soon be con- 
 valescent." 
 
 "My dear David, may I indeed believe you?" 
 
 " You may, indeed, my lord." 
 
 " Hear me. You know the high opinion I entertain of your 
 ability and knowledge, and that, from the hour in which you 
 were attached to my household, you have possessed my most 
 unbounded confidence never, for one instant, have I doubted 
 your great skill and perfect acquaintance with your profession; 
 but I conjure you, if a consultation be necessary " 
 
 " My lord, that would have been my first thought, had I seen 
 the slightest reason for such a step; but, up to the present mo- 
 ment, it would be both useless and unnecessary. And, besides, 
 I should be somewhat tenacious of introducing strangers into 
 the house until I knew whether your orders of yesterday " 
 
 "But how has all this happened?" said Rodolph, interrupt- 
 ing the black. " Who saved me from drowning in that horrid 
 cellar? I have a confused recollection of having heard the 
 Chourineur's voice there : was I mistaken ? " 
 
 " Not at all mistaken, my lord. But let the brave fellow, to 
 whom all praise is due, relate the affair in which he was the 
 principal actor himself." 
 
 "Where is he? where is he?" 
 
 The doctor looked about for the recently elected sick-nurse, 
 and at length found him, thoroughly silenced and ashamed by 
 his late tumble, ensconced behind the curtains of the bed.
 
 THE SICE-NURSE. 121 
 
 " Here he is," said the doctor : " lie looks somewhat shame- 
 faced." 
 
 " Come forward, my brave fellow ! " said Rodolph, extending 
 his hand to his preserver. 
 
 The confusion of the poor Chourineur was still further in- 
 creased from having, when behind his curtain, heard the black 
 doctor address Rodolph continually as " my lord," or " your 
 royal highness." 
 
 " Approach, my friend my deliverer ! " said Rodolph ; " and 
 give me your hand." 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir I mean, my lord no, highness no " 
 
 " Call me M. Rodolph, as you used to do : I like it better." 
 
 " And so do I it comes so much easier to one. But be so 
 good as to excuse my hand: I have done so much work lately, 
 that " 
 
 " Your hand, I tell you your hand ! " 
 
 Overcome by this kind and persevering command, the 
 Chourineur timidly extended his black and horny palm, which 
 Rodolph warmly shook. 
 
 " Now, then, sit down, tell me all about it how you dis- 
 covered the cellar. But I think I can guess. The School- 
 master ? " 
 
 " We have him in safety," said the black doctor. 
 
 " Yes, he and the Chouette, tied together like two rolls of 
 tobacco. A pair of pretty creatures they look, as ever you wish 
 to see, and, I doubt not, sick enough of each other's company by 
 this time." 
 
 " And my poor Murphy ! What a selfish wretch must I be to 
 think only of myself ! Where is he wounded, David ? " 
 
 " In the right side, my lord ; but, fortunately, towards the 
 lower false rib." 
 
 " Oh, I must have a deep and terrible revenge for this ! 
 David, I depend upon your assistance." 
 
 " My lord knows full well that I am wholly devoted to him, 
 both body and soul," replied the Negro, coldly. 
 
 " But how, my noble fellow, were you able to arrive here in 
 time?" said Rodolph to the Chourineur. 
 
 " Why, if you please, my lor no, sir highness 
 
 Rodolph I had better begin by the beginning " 
 
 " Quite right. I am listening go on. But mind, you are 
 only to call me Monsieur Rodolph." 
 
 " Very well. You know that last night you told me, after 
 you returned from the country, where you had gone with poor 
 Goualeuse, ' Try and find the Schoolmaster in the Cite ; tell
 
 122 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 him you know of a capital 'put-up,' that you have refused to 
 join it, but that if he will take your place he has only to be to- 
 morrow (that's to-day) at the barrier of Bercy, at the Panier- 
 Fleuri, and there he will see the man who has ' made the plant ' 
 (qui a nourri le poupard).'" 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " On leaving you, I pushed on briskly for the Cite. I goes to 
 the ogress's no Schoolmaster; then to the Rue Saint Eloi; on 
 to the Rue aux Feves; then to the Rue de la Vieille Draperie 
 couldn't find my man. At last I stumbled upon him and that 
 old devil's kin, Chouette, in the front of Notre Dame, at the 
 shop of a tailor, who is a fence * and thief : they were ' sporting 
 the blunt which they had prigged from the tall gentleman 'in 
 black, who wanted to do something to you; they bought them- 
 selves some toggery. The Chouette bargained for a red shawl 
 an old monster ! I told my tale to the Schoolmaster and he 
 snapped at it, and said he would be at the rendezvous accord- 
 ingly. So far so good. This morning, according to your orders, 
 I ran here to bring you the answer. You said to me, ' My lad, 
 return to-morrow before daybreak; you must pass the day in 
 the house, and in the evening you will see something which will 
 be worth seeing/ You did not let out more than that, but I 
 was ' fly/ and said to myself, * This is a " dodge " to catch the 
 Schoolmaster to-morrow, by laying a right bait for him. He is 
 
 a scoundrel ; he murdered the cattle-dealer, and, as they say, 
 
 another person besides, in the Rue du Roule. I see all about 
 it 
 
 " My mistake was not to have told you all, my good fellow ; 
 then this horrible result would not have occurred." 
 
 " That was your affair, M. Rodolph ; all that concerned me 
 was to serve you: for, truth to say, I don't know how or why, 
 but, as I have told you before, I feel as if I were your bull-dog. 
 But that's enough. I said, then, ' M. Rodolph pays me for my 
 time, so my time is his, and I will employ it for him/ Then 
 an idea strikes me : the Schoolmaster is cunning, he may suspect 
 a trap. M. Rodolph will propose to him the job for to-morrow, 
 it is true, but the ' downy cove ' is likely enough to come to- 
 day and lurk about, and reconnoitre the ground, and if he is 
 suspicious of M. Rodolph he will bring some other cracksman 
 (robber) with him, and do the trick on his own account. To 
 prevent this, I said to myself, ' I must go and plant myself 
 somewhere where I may get a view of the walls, the garden- 
 
 * Receiver of stolen goods.
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. 123 
 
 gate there is no other entrance. If I find a snug corner, as it 
 rains, I will remain there all day, perhaps all night, and to-mor- 
 row morning I shall be all right and ready to go to M. Rodolph's.' 
 So I goes to the Allee des Veuves to place myself, and what 
 should I see but a small tavern, not ten paces from your door ! 
 I entered and took my seat near the window, in a room on the 
 ground-floor. I called for a quart of drink and a quart of nuts, 
 saying I expected some friends a hump-backed man and a tall 
 woman. I chose them because it would appear more natural. 
 I was very comfortably seated, and kept my eye on the door. 
 It rained cats and dogs no one passed : night came on " 
 
 "But," interrupted Kodolph, "why did you not go at once 
 to my house?" 
 
 "You told me to come the next day morning, M. Rodolph, 
 and I didn't dare return there sooner : I should have looked like 
 an intruder a sneak (brosseur), as the troopers call it. You 
 understand ? Well, there I was at the window of the wine-shop, 
 cracking my nuts and drinking my liquor, when, through the 
 fog, I saw the Chouette approach, accompanied by Bras Rouge's 
 brat, little Tortillard. ' Ah, ah ! ' said I to myself, ' now the 
 farce begins ! ' Well, the little hound of a child hid himself in 
 one of the ditches of the Allee, and was evidently on the look- 
 out. As for that the Chouette, she takes off her bonnet, 
 
 puts it into her pocket, and rings the gate-bell. Our poor 
 friend, M. Murphy, opened the door, and the one-eyed mother 
 of mischief tosses up her arms and makes her way into the 
 garden. I could have kicked myself for not being able to make 
 out what the Chouette was up to. At last out she comes, puts 
 on her bonnet, says two words to Tortillard who returns to his 
 hole, and then ' cuts her stick/ I say to myself, ' Caution ! no 
 blunder now ! Tortillard has come with the Chouette : then the 
 Schoolmaster and M. Rodolph are at Bras Rouge's. The 
 Chouette has come out to reconnoitre about the house: then, 
 sure as a gun, they'll try it on this very night ! If they do, 
 M. Rodolph, who believes they will not go to work till to-mor- 
 row, is quite over-reached ; and if he is over-reached, I ought to 
 to go Bras Rouge's and see for him. True: but then suppose 
 that the Schoolmaster arrives in the meantime that's to be 
 thought of. Suppose I go to the house and see M. Murphy 
 mind your eye ! that urchin Tortillard is near the door ; he will 
 hear me ring the bell, see me, and give the word to the Chouette ; 
 and if she returns, that will spoil all; and the more particularly 
 as perhaps M. Rodolph has, after all, made his arrangements for 
 this evening.' Confound it ! these yes and no bothered my brain
 
 14 TU& MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 tremendously. I was quite bewildered, and saw nothing clear 
 before me. I didn't know what to do for the best, so I said, 
 Til walk out, and perhaps the clear air will brighten my 
 thoughts a bit. I went out, and the open air cleared my brain ; 
 so I took off my blouse and my neckhandkerchief, I went to the 
 ditch where Tortillard lay, and taking the young devil's kin by 
 the cuff of his neck how he did wriggle, and twist, and scuffle, 
 and scratch ! I put him into my blouse, tying up one end with 
 the sleeves and the bottom tightly with my cravat. He could 
 breathe very well. Well, then I took the bundle under my arm, 
 and passing a low, damp garden, surrounded by a little wall, 
 I threw the brat Tortillard into the midst of a cabbage-bed. 
 He squeaked like a sucking-pig, but nobody could hear him two 
 steps off. I cut off: it was time. I climbed up one of the high 
 trees in the Alice, just in front of your door, and over the ditch 
 in which Tortillard had been stationed. Ten minutes after- 
 wards I heard footsteps : it was raining still, and the night was 
 very dark. I listened it was the Chouette. ' Tortillard! 
 Tortillard ! ' says she, in a low voice. ' It rains, and the little 
 brat is tired of waiting,' said the Schoolmaster, swearing: 'if 
 1 catch him, I'll skin him alive ! ' ' Fourline, take care ! ' re- 
 plied the Chouette. ' Perhaps he has gone to warn us of some- 
 thing that has happened maybe, some trap for us. The young 
 fellow would not make the attempt till ten o'clock.' ' That's the 
 very reason,' replies the Schoolmaster : ' it is now only seven 
 o'clock. You saw the money nothing venture nothing have. 
 Give me the ripping chisel and the jemmy ' 
 
 " What instruments are they ? " asked Eodolph. 
 
 " They came from Bras Eouge's. Oh, he has a well-fur- 
 nished house ! In a crack the door is opened. ' Stay where you 
 are,' said the Schoolmaster to the Chouette; keep a bright look- 
 out, and give me the signal if you hear anything.' l Put your 
 pinJcing-iron in the button-hole of your waistcoat, that you may 
 have it handy,' said the old hag. The Schoolmaster entered the 
 garden, and I instantly coming down from the tree fell on the 
 Chouette. I silenced her with two blows of my fist my new 
 style and she fell without a word. I ran into the garden, but, 
 thunder and lightning, M. Eodolph ! it was too late " 
 
 " Poor Murphy ! " 
 
 " He was struggling on the ground with the Schoolmaster at 
 the entrance, and, although wounded, he held his voice and 
 made no cry for help. Excellent man ! he is like a good dog 
 bites, but doesn't bark. Well, I went bang, heads or tails, at it, 
 hitting the Schoolmaster on the shoulder, which was the only
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. 125 
 
 place I could at the moment touch. ' Vive la Charte ! it's I ! ' 
 'The Chourineur!' shouts M. Murphy. 'Ah, villain! where 
 do you come from ? ' cries out the Schoolmaster, quite off his 
 guard at that. ' What's that to you ? ' says I, fixing one of his 
 legs between my knees, and grasping his ' fin ' with my other 
 hand : it was that in which he held his dagger. ' And M. 
 Eodolph ? ' asked M. Murphy of me, whilst doing all in his power 
 to aid me " 
 
 " Worthy, kind-hearted creature ! " murmured Kodolph, in 
 a tone of deep distress. 
 
 " ' I know nothing of him/ says I ; ' this scoundrel, perhaps, 
 has killed him/ And then I went with redoubled strength at 
 the Schoolmaster, who tried to stick me with his larding-pin; 
 but I lay with my breast on his arm, and so he only had his fist 
 at liberty. * You are, then, quite alone ? ' says I to M. Murphy, 
 whilst we still struggled desperately with the Schoolmaster. 
 ' There are people close at hand/ he replied ; ' but they did not 
 hear me cry out/ ' Is it far off ? ' ' They would be here in ten 
 minutes/ ' Let us call out for help, there are passers-by who will 
 come and help us/ ' No, as we have got him we must hold him 
 here. But I am growing weak I am wounded/ ' Thunder 
 and lightning ! then run and get assistance, if you have strength 
 left: I will try and hold him/ M. Murphy then disengaged 
 himself, and I was alone with the Schoolmaster. I don't want 
 to brag, but, by Jove ! these were moments when I was not hav- 
 ing a holiday. We were half on the ground, half on the bottom 
 step of the flight. I had my arms round'the neck of the villain 
 my cheek against his cheek ; and he was puffing like a bull 
 I heard his teeth grind. It was dark it rained pouring: the 
 lamp left in the passage lighted us a little. I had twisted one of 
 my legs round his, but, in spite of that, his loins were so power- 
 ful that he moved himself and me on to the bare ground. He 
 tried to bite me, but couldn't : I never felt so strong. Thunder ! 
 my heart beat, but it was in the right place. I said, ' I am like 
 a man who is grappling with a mad dog, to prevent him from 
 fastening on some passer-by/ 'Let me go, and I will do you 
 no harm/ said the Schoolmaster, in an exhausted voice. ' What ! 
 a coward ? ' says I to him. ' So, then, your pluck is in your 
 strength? So you wouldn't have stabbed the cattle-dealer at 
 Poissy, and robbed him, if he had only been as strong as me 
 eh? '"'No/ says he; 'but I will kill you as I did him/ And 
 saying that, he made so violent a heave, and gave so powerful 
 a jerk with his legs at the same time, that he half threw me over: 
 if I had not kept a tight hold of his wrist which held the stiletto,
 
 126 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 I was done for. At this moment my left hand was seized with 
 the cramp, and I was compelled to loosen my hold: that nearly 
 spoiled all, and I said to myself, ' I am now undermost and he 
 at top he'll kill me. Never mind, I had rather be in my place 
 than his : M. Eodolph said that I had heart and honor/ I felt 
 it was all over with me, and at that moment I saw the Chouette 
 standing close by us, with her glaring eye and red shawl. 
 Thunder and lightning! I thought I had the nightmare. 
 ' Finette/ cries the Schoolmaster, ' I have let fall the knife : 
 pick it up there, there, under him and strike him home in 
 the back between the shoulders : quick ! quick ! * * Only wait, 
 only wait till I find it till I see it, fourline/ And then the 
 cursed Chouette turned and poked about us, like an old bird of 
 mischief as she was. At last she found the dagger and sprung 
 towards it, but as I was flat on my belly I gave her a kick in 
 the stomach, which sent her neck over crop : she got up, and in 
 a desperate rage. I could do no more; I still held on and 
 struggled with the Schoolmaster, but he kept giving me such 
 dreadful blows on my jaw that I was about to let go my hold, 
 when I saw three or four armed men who came down the stairs, 
 and M. Murphy, pale as ashes, and with difficulty supporting 
 himself with the assistance of the doctor here. They seized 
 hold of the Schoolmaster and the Chouette, and soon bound 
 them hand and foot. That was not all I still wanted 
 M. Eodolph. I sprang at the Chouette: remembering the tooth 
 of the poor dear Goualeuse, I grasped her arm and twisted it, 
 saying, ' Where is M. Eodolph? She bore it well, and silently. 
 I took a second turn, and then she screeched out, ' At Bras 
 Eouge's, in the vault at the Bleeding Heart ! ' All right ! As 
 I went, I meant to take Tortillard from his cabbage-bed, as it 
 was on my road. I looked for him, but only found my blouse 
 he had gnawed his way out with his teeth. I reached the 
 ' Bleeding Heart/ and I laid hold of Bras Eouge. ' Where is 
 the young man who came here this evening with the School- 
 master?' ' Don't squeeze so hard, and I'll tell you. They 
 wanted to play him a trick and shut him up in my cellar ; we'll 
 go now and let him out.' We went down, but there was no one 
 to be seen. ' He must have gone out whilst my back was turned/ 
 says Bras Eouge: 'you see plain enough he is not here.' I was 
 going away sad enough, when, by the light of the lantern, I saw 
 at the bottom of the cellar another door. I ran towards it and 
 opened the door, and had, as it were, a pail of water thrown at 
 me. I saw your two poor arms in the air. I fished you out and 
 brought you here on my back, as there was nobody at hand to
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. 127 
 
 get a coach. That's all my tale, M. Rodolph; and I may say, 
 without bragging, that I am satisfied with myself." 
 
 " My man, I owe my life to you : it is a heavy debt, but be 
 assured I will pay it. David, will you go and learn how 
 Murphy is," added Kodolph, " and return again instantly ? " 
 
 The black went out. 
 
 " Where is the Schoolmaster, my good fellow ? " 
 
 " In another room, with the Chouette. You will send for the 
 police, M. Rodolph?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You surely will not let him go ! Ah, M. Rodolph, none of 
 that nonsensical generosity ! I say again, he is a mad dog let 
 the passengers look out ! " 
 
 " He will never bite again, be assured." 
 
 " Then you are going to shut him up somewhere ? " 
 
 " No : in half an hour he will leave this house." 
 
 "The Schoolmaster?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Without gens d'armes?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He will go out from here, and free ? " 
 
 " Free." 
 
 "And quite alone?" 
 
 "Quite alone." 
 
 " But he will go " 
 
 "Wherever he likes," said Rodolph, interrupting the Chou- 
 rineur with a meaning smile. 
 
 The black returned. 
 
 "Well, David, well, and how is Murphy?" 
 
 "He sleeps, my lord," said the doctor, despondingly : "his 
 respiration is very difficult." 
 
 " Not out of danger ? " 
 
 " His case is very critical, my lord ; yet there is hope." 
 
 " Oh, Murphy ! vengeance ! vengeance ! " exclaimed Rodolph, 
 in a tone of concentrated rage. Then he added, "David, a 
 word " 
 
 And he whispered something in the ear of the black. He 
 started back. 
 
 "Do you hesitate?" said Rodolph. "Yet I have often sug- 
 gested this idea to you: the moment is come to put it into 
 practice." 
 
 "I do not hesitate, my lord: the suggestion is well worthy 
 the consideration of the most elevated jurists, for this punish- 
 ment is at the same time terrible and yet fruitful for repentance.
 
 128 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 In this case it is most applicable. Without enumerating the 
 crimes which have accumulated to send this wretch to the 
 Bagne for his life, he has committed three murders the cattle- 
 dealer, Murphy, and yourself: it is in his case justice " 
 
 " He will have before him an unlimited horizon for expia- 
 tion," added Rodolph. After a moment's silence he resumed: 
 " And five thousand francs will suffice, David ? " 
 
 " Amply, my lord." 
 
 " My good fellow," said Eodolph to the bewildered Chou- 
 rineur, " I have two words to say to M. David ; will you go into 
 that chamber on the other side, where you will see a large red 
 pocket-book on a bureau, open it and take out five notes of a 
 thousand francs eack, and bring them to me." 
 
 " And," inquired the Chourineur, involuntarily, " who are 
 those five thousand francs for ? " 
 
 " For the Schoolmaster. And do you, at the same time, tell 
 them to bring him in here." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 
 
 THE scene we are about to describe took place in a room hung 
 with red, and brilliantly lighted. Rodolph, clothed in a long 
 dressing-gown of black velvet, which increased the pallor of his 
 features, was seated before a large table covered with a green 
 cloth. On this table was the Schoolmaster's pocket-book, the 
 pinchbeck chain of the Chouette (to which was suspended the 
 little Saint Esprit of lapis lazuli), the blood-stained stiletto 
 with which Murphy had been stabbed, the crow-bar with which 
 the door had been forced, and the five notes of a thousand francs 
 each, which the Chourineur had fetched out of the next apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The Negro doctor was seated at one side of the table, the 
 Chourineur on the other. The Schoolmaster, tightly bound with 
 cords, and unable to move a limb, was placed in a large arm- 
 chair on castors, in the middle of the saloon. The people who 
 had brought in this man had withdrawn, and Rodolph, the doctor, 
 the Chourineur, and the assassin, were left alone. Rodolph was 
 no longer out of temper, but calm, sad, and collected: he was 
 about to discharge a solemn, self-imnosed and important duty. 
 The doctor was lost in meditation. The Chourineur felt an inde- 
 scribable fear: he could not take his eyes off Rodolph. The
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 129 
 
 Schoolmaster's countenance was ghastly: he was in an agony of 
 fear. The most profound silence reigned within: nothing was 
 heard but the splash, splash of the rain without, as it fell from 
 the roof on to the pavement. Rodolph addressed the School- 
 master : 
 
 " Anselm Duresnel, you have escaped from the Bagne at 
 Rochefort, where you were condemned for life for forgery, 
 robbery, and murder ! " 
 
 " It's false ! " said the Schoolmaster, in a hollow voice, and 
 looking about him with his restless and glaring glance. 
 
 " You are Anselm Duresnel, and you murdered and robbed 
 a cattle-dealer on the road to Poissy " 
 
 " It's a lie ! " 
 
 " You shall confess it presently." 
 
 The scoundrel looked at Rodolph with an air of astonishment. 
 
 " This very night you came here to rob, and you have stabbed 
 the master of this house " 
 
 " It was you who suggested this robbery ! " assuming an air 
 of assurance. " I was attacked, and I defended myself." 
 
 " The man you stabbed did not attack you he was unarmed. 
 True, I did suggest this robbery to you I'll tell you why. Last 
 night only, after having robbed a man and woman in the Cite, 
 you offered to kill me for a thousand francs " 
 
 " I heard him," said the Chourineur. 
 
 The Schoolmaster darted at him a glance of deadliest hate. 
 
 Rodolph continued: 
 
 " You see there was no occasion to tempt you to do mischief." 
 
 " You are not my judge, and I will not answer you another 
 question." 
 
 " I'll tell you why I proposed this robbery to you. I knew 
 you were a runaway convict you know the parents of the 
 unfortunate girl, all whose misfortunes have been caused by your 
 miserable accomplice the Chouette. I wished to draw you here by 
 the temptation of a robbery, because this was the only temptation 
 that could avail with you. Once in my power, I leave you the 
 choice of being handed over to the hands of justice, which will 
 make you pay with your head the assassination of the cattle- 
 dealer " 
 
 " It is false ! I did not commit that crime." 
 
 " Or of being conducted out of France, under my direction, 
 to a place of perpetual confinement, where your lot will be less 
 painful than at the Bagne: but I will only allow you this relaxa- 
 tion of punishment on condition that you give me the information 
 which I desire to acquire. Condemned for life, you have broken 
 away from your confinement, and by seizing upon you and plac-
 
 130 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 ing you hereafter beyond the possibility of doing injury I serve 
 society ; and from your confession I may, perhaps, find the means 
 of restoring to her family a poor creature much more unfortunate 
 than guilty. This was my first intention it was not legal: 
 but your escape and your fresh crimes forbid any such course on 
 my part now, and place you beyond all law. Yesterday, by 
 a remarkable revelation, I discovered that you are Anselm 
 Duresnel " 
 
 "It's false! I am not called Duresnel." 
 
 Eodolph took from the table the chain of the Chouette, and 
 pointing to the little Saint Esprit of lapis lazuli said, in a 
 threatening voice, 
 
 " Sacrilege ! You have prostituted 'to an infamous wretch 
 this holy relic thrice holy, for your infant boy had this pious 
 gift from his mother and grandmother ! " 
 
 The Schoolmaster, dumbfounded at this discovery, lowered 
 his head and made no response. 
 
 " You carried off your child from his mother fifteen years 
 ago, and you alone possess the secret of his existence. I had 
 in this an additional motive for laying hands on you when I 
 had detected who you were. I seek no revenge for what you 
 have done to me personally, but to-night you have again shed 
 blood without provocation. The man you have assassinated came 
 to you in full confidence, not suspecting your sanguinary purpose. 
 He asked you what you wanted : ' Your money or your life ! ' 
 and you stabbed him with your poniard." 
 
 M So M. Murphy said when I first came to his aid," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 "It's false! he lied!" 
 
 " Murphy never lies," said Rodolph, calmly. " Your crimes 
 demand a striking reparation. You came into this garden 
 forcibly you stabbed a man that you might rob him: you have 
 committed another murder you ought to die on this spot; but 
 pity, respect for your wife and son, they shall save you from 
 the shame of a scaffold. It will be said that you were killed 
 in a brawl with weapons in your hand. Prepare, the means for 
 your punishment are at hand." 
 
 Rodolph's countenance was implacable. The Schoolmaster 
 had remarked in the next room two men, armed with carbines. 
 His name was known: he thought they were going to make 
 away with him and bury in the shade his later crimes, and thus 
 spare his family the new opprobrium. Like his fellows, this 
 wretch was as cowardly as he was ferocious. Thinking his hour 
 was come he trembled^ and cried " Mercy ! "
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 131 
 
 " No mercy for you," said Rodolph. " If your brains are 
 not blown out here, the scaffold awaits you " 
 
 " I prefer the scaffold I shall live, at least, two or three 
 months longer. Why, why should I be punished at once? 
 Mercy ! mercy ! " 
 
 " But your wife your son they bear your name " 
 
 " My name is dishonored already. If only for eight days, let 
 me live ! in mercy do ! " 
 
 " Not even that contempt of life which is sometimes displayed 
 by the greatest criminals ! " said Rodolph, with disgust. 
 
 " Besides, the LAW forbids any one to take justice into their 
 own hands," said the Schoolmaster, with assurance. 
 
 "The Law! the LAW!" exclaimed Rodolph. "Do you dare 
 to invoke the law? you, who have always lived in open revolt 
 and constant enmity against society ? " 
 
 The ruffian bowed his head and made no answer ; then added, 
 in a more humble tone, 
 
 " At least for pity's sake, spare my life ! " 
 
 " Will you tell me where your son is ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will tell you all I know." 
 
 " Will you tell me who are the parents of the young girl 
 whose childhood the Chouette made one scene of torture ? " 
 
 " In my pocket-book there are papers which will put you on 
 the track of the persons who gave her to the Chouette." 
 
 " Where is your son ? " 
 
 "Will you let me live?" 
 
 " First make a full confession." 
 
 " And then, when I have told you all " said the School- 
 master with hesitation. 
 
 " You have killed him ! " 
 
 " No, no ! I have confided him to one of my accomplices, who, 
 when I was apprehended, effected his escape." 
 
 " What did he do with him? " 
 
 "He brought him up, and gave him an education which 
 fitted him to enter into a banking-house at Nantes, so that we 
 might get information, manage an introduction to the banker, 
 and so facilitate our plans. Although at Rochefort, and prepar- 
 ing for my escape, I arranged this plan and corresponded in 
 cipher with my friend " 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu! his child ! his son ! ! This man appals me ! " 
 cried Rodolph, with horror, and hiding his head between his 
 hands. 
 
 " But it was only of forgery that we thought," exclaimed the 
 scoundrel ; " and when my son was informed what was expected
 
 132 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 of him, he was indignant, told all to his employer, and quitted 
 Nantes. You will find in my pocket-book notes of all the steps 
 taken to discover his traces. The last place we ascertained he 
 had lived in was the Hue du Temple, where he was known under 
 the name of Frangois Germain: the exact address is also in my 
 pocket-book. You see I do not wish to conceal anything I 
 have told you everything I know. Now keep your promise. 
 I only ask you to have me taken into custody for this night's 
 robbery." 
 
 " And the cattle-merchant at Poissy ? " 
 
 " That affair can never be brought to light there are no 
 proofs. I own it to you, in proof of the sincerity with which 
 I am speaking, but before any other person I should deny all 
 knowledge of the business." 
 
 " You confess it, then, do you ? " 
 
 " I was destitute, without the smallest means of living the 
 Chouette instigated me to do it: but now I sincerely repent 
 ever having listened to her. I do, indeed. Ah ! would you 
 but generously save me from the hands of justice, I would 
 promise you most solemnly to forsake all such evil practices for 
 the future." 
 
 " Be satisfied, your life shall be spared ; neither will I deliver 
 you into the hands of the law." 
 
 " Do you, then, pardon me ? " exclaimed the Schoolmaster, as 
 though doubting what he heard. " Can it be ? Can you be so 
 generous as to forgive ? " 
 
 " I both judge you and award your sentence," cried Rodolph, 
 in a solemn tone. " I will not surrender you to the power of 
 the laws, because they would condemn you to the galleys or the 
 scaffold; and that must not be. No, for many reasons. The 
 galleys would but open a fresh field for the development of your 
 brutal strength and villainy, which would soon be exercised in 
 endeavoring to obtain domination over the guilty or unfortunate 
 beings you would be associated with, to render yourself a fresh 
 object of horror or of dread: for even crime has its ambition, 
 and yours has long consisted in a pre-eminence in vicious deeds 
 and monstrous vices, while your iron frame would alike defy the 
 labors of the oar or the chastisement of those set over you. And 
 the strongest chains may be broken, the thickest wall pierced 
 through steep ramparts have been scaled before now and you 
 might one day burst your yoke and be again let loose upon 
 society, like an infuriated beast, marking your passage with 
 murder and destruction; for none would be safe from your 
 Herculean strength, or from the sharpness of your knife:
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 133 
 
 therefore such consequences must be avoided. But since the 
 galleys might fail to stop your infamous career, how is society 
 to be preserved from your brutal violence ? The scaffold comes 
 next in consideration " 
 
 " It is my life, then, you seek ! " cried the ruffian. " My life ! 
 Oh, spare it!" 
 
 " Peace, coward ! Hope not that I mean so speedy a termina- 
 tion to your just punishment. No, your eager craving after a 
 wretched existence would prevent you from suffering the agony 
 of anticipated death, and, far from dwelling upon the scaffold 
 and the block, your guilty soul would be filled with schemes of 
 escape and hopes of pardon : neither would you believe you were 
 truly doomed to die till in the very grasp of the executioner; and 
 even in that terrible moment it is probable that, brutalized by 
 terror, you would be a mere mass of human flesh, offered up by 
 justice as an expiatory offering to the manes of your victims. 
 That mode of settling your long and heavy accounts will not half 
 pay the debt. No, poor, wretched, trembling craven ! we must 
 devise a more terrific method of atonement for you. At the scaf- 
 fold, I repeat, you would cling to hope while one breath remained 
 within you ; wretch that you are, you would dare to hope ! you, 
 who have denied all hope and mercy to so many unhappy beings ! 
 No, no ! unless you repent, and that with all your heart, for 
 the misdeeds of your infamous life, I would (in this world, at 
 least) shut out from you the very faintest glimmer of hope " 
 
 " What man is this ? what have I ever done to injure him ? 
 whence comes he thus to torture me ? where am I ? " asked the 
 Schoolmaster, in almost incoherent tones, and nearly frantic with 
 terror. 
 
 Eodolph continued: 
 
 " If even you could meet death with a man's courage, I would 
 not have you ascend the scaffold : for you it would be merely the 
 arena in which, like many others, you would make a disgusting 
 display of hardened ferocity ; or, dying as you have lived, exhale 
 your last sigh with an impious scoff or profane blasphemy. That 
 must not be permitted. It is a bad example to set before a 
 gazing crowd the spectacle of a condemned being making sport 
 of the instrument of death, swaggering before the executioner, 
 and yielding with an obscene jest the divine spark infused into 
 man by the breath of a creating God. To punish the body is 
 easily done; to save the soul is the great thing to be labored for 
 and desired. ' All sin may be forgiven/ said our blessed 
 Saviour, but from the tribunal to the scaffold the passage is 
 too short time and opportunity are required to repent and
 
 134 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 make atonement: this leisure you shall have. May God grant 
 that you turn it to the right purpose ! " 
 
 The Schoolmaster remained utterly bewildered: for the first 
 time in his life, a vague and confused dread of something more 
 horrible far than death itself crossed his guilty mind he 
 trembled before the suggestions of his own imagination. 
 
 Kodolph went on : 
 
 " Anselm Duresnel, I will not sentence you to the galleys, 
 neither shall you die " 
 
 "Then do you intend sending me to hell? or what are you 
 going to do with me ? " 
 
 " Listen ! " said Rodolph rising from his seat with an air of 
 menacing authority. " You have wickedly abused the great 
 bodily strength bestowed upon you ; I will paralyze that strength : 
 the strongest have trembled before you; I will make you hence- 
 forward shrink in the presence of the weakest of beings. 
 Assassin! murderer! you have plunged God's creatures into 
 eternal night; your darkness shall commence even in this life. 
 Now this very hour your punishment shall be proportioned 
 to your crimes. But," added Rodolph, with an accent of mourn- 
 ful pity, " the terrible judgment I am about to pronounce will, 
 at least, leave the future open to your efforts for pardon and for 
 peace. I should be guilty as you are were I, in punishing you, 
 to seek only for vengeance, just as is my right to demand it: 
 far from being unrelenting as death, your sentence shall bring 
 forth good fruits for hereafter; far from destroying your soul, 
 it shall help you to seek its salvation. If, to prevent you from 
 further violating the commandments of your Maker, I forever 
 deprive you of the beauties of this outer world if I plunge 
 you into impenetrable darkness, with no other companion than 
 the remembrance of your crimes, it is that you may incessantly 
 contemplate their enormity. Yes, separated forever from this 
 external world, your thoughts must needs revert to yourself, and 
 your vision dwell internally upon the bygone scenes of your 
 ill-spent life; and I am not without hope that such a mental 
 and constantly presented picture will send the blush of shame 
 even upon your hardened features, that your soul, deadened as it 
 now is to every good and holy impulse, will become softened 
 and tender by repentance. Your language, too, will be changed, 
 and good and prayerful words take place of those daring and 
 blasphemous expressions which now disgrace your lips. You 
 are brutal and overbearing, because you are strong; you will 
 become mild and gentle when you are deprived of that strength. 
 Now your heart scoffs at the very mention of repentance, but
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 135 
 
 the day will come when, bowed to the earth with deep contrition, 
 you will bewail your victims in dust and ashes. You have 
 degraded the intelligence placed within you by a supreme power 
 you have reduced it to the brutal instincts of rapine and 
 murder; from a man formed after the image of his Creator, 
 you have made yourself a beast of prey: one day, as I trust and 
 believe, that intelligence will be purified by remorse, and 
 rendered again guiltless through divine expiation. You, more 
 inhuman than the beast which perisheth, have trampled on the- 
 tender feelings by which even animals are actuated you have 
 been the destroyer of your partner and your offspring. After 
 a long life, entirely devoted to the expiation of your crimes, you 
 may venture to implore of the Almighty the great though 
 unmerited happiness of obtaining the pardon of your wife and 
 son, and dying in their presence." 
 
 As Eodolph uttered these last words his voice trembled with 
 emotion, and he was obliged to conclude. 
 
 The Schoolmaster's terrors had, during this long discourse, 
 entirely yielded to an opinion that he was only to be subjected 
 to a long lecture on morality, and so forth, and then discharged 
 upon his own promise of amendment; for the many mysterious 
 words uttered by Eodolph he looked upon as mere vague expres- 
 sions intended to alarm him nothing more. Still further 
 reassured by the mild tone in which Bodolph had addressed 
 him, the ruffian assumed his usually insolent air and manner 
 as he said, bursting into a loud and vulgar laugh, 
 
 " Well done, upon my word ! A very good sermon, and very 
 well spoken ! Only we must recollect where we leave off in our 
 moral catechism, that we may begin all right next lesson-day. 
 Come, let us have something lively now. What do you say, 
 master; will you guess a charade or two, just to enliven us a 
 bit?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Rodolph addressed the black doctor: 
 
 " Proceed, David ! And if I do wrong, may the Almighty 
 punish me alone ! " 
 
 The Negro rang: two men entered. David pointed to a side- 
 door, which opened into an adjoining closet. 
 
 The chair in which the Schoolmaster remained bound, so as to 
 be incapable of the smallest movement, was then rolled into the 
 anteroom. 
 
 "Are you going to murder me, then? Mercy! mercy!" 
 shrieked the wretched man, as he was being removed. 
 
 " Gag him ! " cried the Negro, entering the closet. 
 
 Eodolph and the Chourineur were left alone.
 
 136 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph," said the Chourineur, pale and trem- 
 bling, " M. Rodolph, what is going to be done? I never felt so 
 frightened. Pray speak: I must be dreaming, surely. What 
 have they done to the Schoolmaster? He does not cry out all 
 is so silent : it makes me more fearful still ! " 
 
 At this moment David issued from the cabinet; his com- 
 plexion had that livid hue peculiar to the Negro countenance, 
 while his lips were ashy pale. 
 
 The men who had conveyed the Schoolmaster into the closet 
 now replaced him, still bound in his chair, on the spot he had 
 previously occupied in Rodolph's presence. 
 
 " Unbind him, and remove the gag ! " exclaimed David. 
 
 There was a moment of fearful sile'nce while the two 
 attendants relieved the Schoolmaster of his gag and untied the 
 cords which bound him to the chair. As the last ligature gave 
 way he sprung up, his hideous countenance expressing rage, 
 horror, and alarm. He advanced one step with extended hands, 
 then falling back into the chair he uttered a cry of unspeakable 
 agony, and, raising his hands towards the ceiling, exclaimed, 
 with maddened fury, 
 
 "Blind, by Heaven!" 
 
 " Give him this pocket-book, David," said Rodolph. 
 
 The Negro placed a small pocket-book in the trembling hands 
 of the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " You will find in that pocket-book wherewithal to provide 
 yourself with a home and the means of living for the remainder 
 of your days. Go, seek out some safe and solitary dwelling, 
 where, by humble repentance, you may seek to propitiate an 
 offended God! You are free! Go and repent; the Lord is 
 merciful, and His ears are ever open to such as truly re- 
 pent." 
 
 " Blind ! quite blind ! " repeated the Schoolmaster, mechan- 
 ically grasping the pocket-book. 
 
 " Open the doors let him depart ! " said Rodolph. 
 
 " Blind ! blind ! " repeated the bewildered and discomfited 
 ruffian. 
 
 " You are free ; you have the means of providing for yourself : 
 begone ! " 
 
 "And whither am I to go?" exclaimed he, with the most 
 unbounded rage. " You have taken away my sight ; how, then, 
 do I know in which direction to go ? Call you not this a crime 
 thus to abuse your power over one unhappily in your hands ? thus 
 
 " To abuse my power ! " repeated Rodolph, in a solemn voice.
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 137 
 
 " And how have you employed the power granted to you ? how 
 used your superior strength ? " 
 
 " Oh, Death ! how gladly would I now accept you ! " cried the 
 wretched man. " To be henceforward at every one's mercy to 
 fear the weakest, the smallest object ! a child might now master 
 me ! Gracious God ! what will become of me ? " 
 
 " You have plenty of money." 
 
 " It will be taken from me ! " cried the ruffian. 
 
 " Mark those words ' It will be taken from me ! ' See how 
 they fill you with fear and dread ! You have plundered so 
 many, unmindful of their helpless, destitute condition, 
 begone ! " 
 
 "For the love of God," cried the Schoolmaster, in a suppliant 
 tone, " let some person lead me forth ! What will become of me 
 in the streets? Oh, in mercy kill me! take my miserable life! 
 but do not turn me out thus wretched, thus helpless ! Kill, for 
 pity's sake, and save me from being crushed beneath the first 
 vehicle I encounter ! " 
 
 " No ! Live and repent." 
 
 " Repent ! " shouted the Schoolmaster, in a fearful voice. 
 " Never ! I will live for vengeance for deep and fearful 
 vengeance ! " And again he threw himself from the chair, hold- 
 ing his clenched .fists, in a menacing attitude, towards the 
 ceiling, as though calling upon Heaven to witness the fixedness 
 of his resolve. In an instant his step faltered; he again 
 hesitated, as though fearful of a thousand dangers. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! I cannot proceed I dare not move ! And I, 
 lately so strong and so dreaded by all look at me now ! 
 Yet no one pities me no one cares for me no hand is stretched 
 out to help the wretched blind upon his lonely way ! " 
 
 It is impossible to express the stupefaction and alarm expressed 
 by the countenance of the Chourineur during this terrible scene. 
 I! is rough features exhibited the deepest compassion for his 
 fallen foe, and approaching Rodolph he said, in a low tone, 
 
 " Monsieur Rodolph, he was an accomplished villain, and has 
 only got what he richly deserves : he wanted to murder me a little 
 while ago, too. But he is now blind he does not even know how 
 to find his way out of the house, and he may be crushed to death 
 in the streets : may I lead him to some safe place, where, at least, 
 he may remain quiet for a time?" 
 
 "Nobly said!" replied Rodolph, kindly pressing the hand 
 of the Chourineur. " Go, my worthy fellow ! Go with him, by 
 all means ! "
 
 138 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 The Chourineur approached the Schoolmaster and laid his 
 hand on his shoulder: the miserable villain started. 
 
 " Who touches me ? " asked he, in a husky voice. 
 
 " It is I." 
 
 "I? who? Who are you friend or foe?" 
 
 " The Chourineur." 
 
 " And you have come to avenge yourself now you find I am 
 incapable of protecting myself, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Nothing of the sort. Here, take my arm : you cannot find 
 the way out by yourself, let me lead you there " 
 
 "You, Chourineur? You!" 
 
 " Yes, for all you doubt it : but you vex me by not seeming to 
 like my help. Come hold tight by me: I will see you all 
 right before I leave you." 
 
 " Are you quite sure you do not mean me some harm ? that you 
 are only laying a trap to ensnare me ? " 
 
 " I am not such a scoundrel as to take advantage of your 
 misfortune. But let us begone. Come on, old fellow ; it will be 
 daylight directly." 
 
 " Day ! which I shall never more behold ! Day and night to 
 me are henceforward all the same ! " exclaimed the Schoolmaster, 
 in such piteous tones that Rodolph, unable longer to endure 
 this scene, abruptly retired, followed by David, who first dis- 
 missed his two assistants. 
 
 The Chourineur and the Schoolmaster remained alone. After 
 a lengthened silence the latter spoke first, by inquiring whether 
 it were really true that the pocket-book presented to him con- 
 tained money? 
 
 " Yes, I can positively speak to its containing five thousand 
 francs," replied the Chourineur, " since I put them in it with 
 my own hand. With that sum you could easily place yourself 
 to board with some quiet, good sort of people, who would look 
 to you in some retired spot in the country, where you might 
 pass your days happily. Or would you like me to take you to 
 the ogress's ? " 
 
 " She ! she would not leave me a rap." 
 
 " Well, then, will you go to Bras Rouge ? " 
 
 " No, no ! He would poison me first and rob me afterwards." 
 
 " Well, then, where shall I take you ? " 
 
 " I know not. Happily for both you are no thief, Chourineur. 
 Here, take my pocket-book, and conceal it carefully in my waist- 
 coat, that La Chouette may not see it: she would plunder me 
 of every sous." 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! the Chouette is quite safe just now : she lies
 
 THE PUNISHMENT. 139 
 
 in the Hopital Beaujon. While I was struggling with you both 
 to-night I happened to dislocate her leg, so she's obliged to lie 
 up for the present." 
 
 " But what, in Heaven's name, shall I do with this black 
 curtain continually before my eyes? In vain I try to push it 
 away; it is still there, fixed, immovable; and on its surface I see 
 the pale, ghastly features of those " 
 
 He shuddered, and said in a low, hoarse voice, " Chourineur, 
 did I quite do for that man last night ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " So much the better," observed the robber. And then, after 
 some minutes' silence, he exclaimed, under a fresh impulse of 
 ungovernable fury, " And it is you I have to thank for all this ! 
 Rascal! scoundrel! I hate you! But for you, I should have 
 ' stiffened ' my man and walked off with his money. My very 
 blindness I owe to you: my curses upon you for your meddling 
 interference! But through you I should have had my blessed 
 eyes to see my own way with. How do I know what devil's 
 trick you are planning at this moment ?" 
 
 " Try to forget all that is past it can't be helped now ; and 
 do not put yourself in such a terrible way it is really very bad 
 for you. Come, come along now, no nonsense will you ? yes or 
 no? because I am regularly done up, and must get a short 
 snooze somewhere. I can tell you I have had a bellyful of such 
 doings, and to-morrow I shall get back to my timber-pile, and 
 earn an honest dinner before I eat it. I am only waiting to 
 take yon wherever you decide upon going, and then on goes 
 my nightcap and I goes to sleep." 
 
 " But how can I tell you where to take me, when I do not 
 
 know myself? My lodging No, no, that will not do: I 
 
 should be obliged to tell " 
 
 "Well, then, hark ye. Will you, for a day or two, make 
 shift with my crib? I may meet with some decent sort of 
 people, who, not knowing who you really are, would receive you as 
 a boarder; and we might say you were a confirmed invalid, and 
 required great care and perfect retirement. Now I think 'of it, 
 there is a person of my acquaintance, living at Port St. Nicolas, 
 has a mother, a very worthy woman, but in humble circum- 
 stances, residing at St. Mande: very likely she would be glad 
 to take charge of you. What do you say will you come or 
 not?" 
 
 " One may trust you, Chourineur : I am not at all fearful of 
 going, money and all, to your place ; happily you have kept your- 
 self honest, amidst all the evil example others have set you."
 
 14:0 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Ay, and even bore the taunts and jests you used to heap 
 upon me, because I would not turn prig like yourself." 
 
 " Alas ! who could foresee ? " 
 
 " Now, you see, if I had listened to you, instead of trying to 
 be of real service to you I should clean you out of all your 
 cash/' 
 
 "True, true. But you are a downright good fellow, and 
 have neither malice nor hatred in your heart," said the unhappy 
 Schoolmaster, in a tone of deep dejection and humility. " You 
 are a vast deal better to me than, I fear, I should have been to 
 you under the same circumstances." 
 
 " I believe you, too. Why, M. Eodolph himself told me I had 
 both heart and honor." 
 
 "But who the devil is this M. Eodolph?" exclaimed the 
 Schoolmaster, breaking out afresh at the mention of his name. 
 " He is not a man ; he is a monster a fiend a " 
 
 " Hold, hold ! " cried the Chourineur. " Now you are going 
 to have another fit, which is bad for you and very disagreeable 
 to me, because it makes you abuse my friends. Come, are you 
 ready? Shall we set forth on our journey? " 
 
 " We are going to your lodging, are we not, Chourineur ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, if you are agreeable." 
 
 " And you swear to me that you bear me no ill-will for the 
 events of the last twelve hours ? " 
 
 " Swear it ? Of course I swear it. Why, I have no ill-will 
 against you nor anybody." 
 
 " And you are certain that he (the Man, I mean) is not 
 dead?" 
 
 " I am as sure of it as that I am living myself." 
 
 " That will, at least, give me one crime the less to answer for. 
 
 If they only knew And that little old man of the Eue du 
 
 Eoule and that woman of the Canal Saint Martin But it 
 
 is useless thinking of all those things now; I have enough to 
 occupy my thoughts without trying to recall past misfortunes. 
 Blind ! blind ! " repeated the miserable wretch, as, leaning on the 
 arm of the Chourineur, he slowly took his departure from the 
 house in the Alice des Veuves.
 
 THE ISLE-ADAM. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE ISLE-ADAM. 
 
 A MONTH had elapsed since the occurrence of the events we 
 have just narrated. We now conduct the reader into the little 
 town of the Isle-Adam, situated in a delightful locality on the 
 hanks of the Oise, and at the foot of a forest. 
 
 The least things become great events in the country; and so 
 the idlers of Isle-Adam, who were on the morning before us 
 walking in the square before the church, were very anxiously 
 bestirring themselves to learn when the individual would arrive 
 who had recently become the purchaser of the most eligible 
 premises for a butcher in that town, and which were exactly 
 opposite to the church. 
 
 One of those idlers, more inquisitive than his companions, 
 went and asked the butcher-boy, who, with a merry face and 
 active hands, was very busy in completing the arrangements of 
 the shop. This lad replied that he did not know who was the 
 new proprietor, for he had bought the property through an 
 agent. At this moment two persons, who had come from Paris 
 in a cabriolet, alighted at the door of the shop. 
 
 The one was Murphy, quite cured of his wound, and the 
 other the Chourineur. At the risk of repeating a vulgar saying, 
 we will assert that the impression produced by dress is so 
 powerful, that the guest of the " cribs " of the Cite was hardly to 
 be recognized in his present attire. His countenance had under- 
 gone the same change: he had put off with his rags his savage, 
 coarse, and vulgar air ; and to see him walk with both his hands in 
 the pockets of his long and warm cost of dark broadcloth, he 
 might have been taken for one of the most inoffensive citizens 
 in the world. 
 
 "'Faith, my fine fellow, the way was long and the cold 
 excessive ; were they not ? " 
 
 "Why, I really did not perceive it, M. Murphy: I am too 
 happy, and joy keeps one warm. Besides, when I say happy, 
 why " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yesterday you came to seek for me at the Port Saint 
 Nicolas, where I was unloading as hard as I could to keep myself 
 warm. I had not seen you since the night when the white- 
 haired Negro had put out the Schoolmaster's eyes. By Jove!
 
 142 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 it quite shook me, that affair did. And M. Rodolph, what a 
 countenance! he who looked so mild and gentle! I was quite 
 frightened at that moment; I was, indeed " 
 
 "Well, what then?" 
 
 " You said to me, ' Good-day, Chourineur.' ' Good-day, M. 
 Murphy/ says I. ' What, you are up again, I see ! So much 
 the better so much the better. And M. Rodolph ? ' ' He was 
 obliged to leave Paris some days after the affair of the Allee des 
 Veuves, and he forgot you, my man.' 'Well, M. Murphy, I 
 can only say that if M. Rodolph has forgotten me, why I shall 
 be very sorry for it, that's all.' 'I meant to say, my good 
 fellow, that he had forgotten to recompense your services, but 
 that he should always remember them/ ' So, M. Murphy, those 
 words cheered me up again directly. Tonnerre! I I shall 
 never forget him. He told me I had heart and honor that's 
 enough." 
 
 " Unfortunately, my lad, Monseigneur left without giving any 
 orders about you. I have nothing but what Monseigneur gives 
 me, and I am unable to repay as I could wish all that I owe 
 you personally." 
 
 " Come, come, M. Murphy, you are jesting with me." 
 
 "But why the devil did you not come back to the Allee des 
 Veuves after that fatal night? Then Monseigneur would not 
 have left without thinking of you." 
 
 " Why, M. Rodolph did not tell me to do so, and I thought 
 that, perhaps, he had no further occasion for me." 
 
 " But you might have supposed that he would, at least, 
 desire to express his gratitude to you." 
 
 " Did you not me tell that M. Rodolph has forgotten me, M. 
 Murphy?" 
 
 " Well, well, don't let us say another word about it ; only I 
 have had a great deal of trouble to find you out. You do not 
 now go to the ogress's ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, from some foolish notions I have had." 
 
 "Very well. But to return to what you were telling 
 
 "To what, M. Murphy?" 
 
 "You told me, I am glad I have found you, and still 
 happy, perhaps " 
 
 " Oh, yes, M. Murphy ! Why, you see, when you came to 
 where I was at work at the timber-yard, you said, ' My lad, I am 
 not rich, but I can procure you a situation where your work will
 
 THE ISLE-ADAM. 143 
 
 be easier than on the Quai, and where you will gain four francs 
 a-day/ Four francs a-day ! Vive la Charte ! I could not 
 believe it : 'twas the pay of an adjutant sub-officer ! ! ! I replied, 
 * That's the very thing for me, M. Murphy ! ' but you said then 
 that I must not look so like a beggar, as that would frighten the 
 employer to whom you would take me. I answered, ' I have 
 not the means of dressing otherwise.' You said to me, ' Come 
 to the Temple/ I followed you. I chose the most spicy attire 
 that Mother Hubart had you advanced me the money to pay 
 her and in a quarter of an hour I was as smart as a landlord 
 or a dentist. You appointed me to meet you this morning at 
 the Porte Saint Denis, at daybreak: I found you there in a 
 cab, and here we are." 
 
 "Well, do you find anything to regret in all this?" 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you, M. Murphy. You see, to be dressed in 
 this way spoils a fellow; and so, you see, when I put on again 
 my old smockfrock and trousers I sha'n't like it. And then, to 
 gain four francs a-day I, who never earned but two and that 
 all at once ! why, I seem to have made too great a start all of 
 a sudden, and that it cannot last. I would rather sleep all my 
 life on the wretched straw bed in my cock-loft, than sleep five 
 or six nights only in a good bed. That's my view of the thing." 
 
 "And you are by no means peculiar in your view: but the 
 best thing is to sleep always in a good bed." 
 
 " And no mistake : it is better to have a bellyful of victuals 
 every day than to starve with hunger. Ah ! here is a butchery 
 here," said the Chourineur, as he listened to the blows of the 
 chopper which the boy was using, and observed the quarters of 
 beef through the curtains. 
 
 " Yes, my lad ; it belongs to a friend of mine. Would you 
 like to see it whilst the horse just recovers his wind ? " 
 
 " I really should, for it reminds me of my boyish days, if it 
 was only when I had Montfaugon for a slaughter-house and 
 broken-down horses for cattle. It is droll, but if I had the 
 means a butcher's is the trade in which I should set up, for I 
 like it. To go on a good nag to buy cattle at fairs to return 
 home to one's own fireside, to warm yourself if cold, or dry 
 yourself if wet to find your housekeeper, or a good, jolly, 
 plump wife, cheerful and pleasant, with a parcel of children 
 to feel in your pockets to see if you have brought them home 
 anything! And then, in the morning, in the slaughter-house, 
 to seize an ox by the horns, particularly when he's fierce nom de 
 nom! he must be fierce then to put on the ring, to cleave 
 him down, cut him up, dress him Tonnerre! that would have
 
 144 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 been my ambition, as it was the Goualeuse's to suck barley-sugar 
 when she was a little 'un. By the way, that poor girl, M. 
 Murphy not seeing her any more at the ogress's, I supposed 
 that M. Rodolph had taken her away from there. That's a good 
 action, M. Murphy. Poor child ! she never liked to do wrong 
 
 she was so young! And then the habit Ah, M. Rodolph 
 
 has behaved quite right ! " 
 
 " I am of your opinion. But will you come into the shop 
 until our horse has rested a while ? " 
 
 The Chourineur and Murphy entered the shop, and then 
 went to see the yard, where three splendid oxen and a score 
 of sheep were fastened up; they then visited the stable, the 
 chaise-house, the slaughter-house, the lofts, and the out-buildings 
 of the house, which were all in excellent order, and kept with 
 a cleanliness and care which bespoke regularity and easy 
 circumstances. 
 
 When they had seen all but the up-stairs, Murphy said : 
 
 "You must own that my friend is a lucky fellow. This 
 house and property are his, without counting a thousand crowns 
 in hand to carry on his business with ; and he is, besides, only 
 thirty-eight, strong as a bull, with an iron constitution, and 
 very fond of his business. The industrious and civil journey- 
 man that you saw in the shop supplies his place, with much 
 capability, when he goes to the fairs to purchase cattle. I say 
 again, is he not a lucky fellow?" 
 
 "He is, indeed, M. Murphy. But, you see, there are lucky 
 and unlucky people; and when I think that I am going to 
 gain four francs a-day, and know how many there are who only 
 earn the half, or even less " 
 
 " Will you come up and see the rest of the house? " 
 
 "With all my heart, M. Murphy." 
 
 " The person who is about to employ you is up-stairs/' 
 
 " The person who is going to employ me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why, then, didn't you tell me that before?" 
 
 "I'll tell you " 
 
 " One moment," said the Chourineur, with a downcast and 
 embarrassed air, taking Murphy by the arm ; " listen whilst I 
 say a word to you, which perhaps M. Rodolph did not tell you, 
 but which I ought not to conceal from the master who employs 
 me, because, if he is offended by it why then, you see why, 
 afterwards " 
 
 "What do you mean to say?" 
 
 "I mean to say "
 
 RECOMPENSE. 145 
 
 " Well, what ? " 
 
 " That I am a convict, who has served his time that I have 
 been at the Bagne," said the Chourineur, in low voice. 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Murphy. 
 
 " But I never did wrong to any one," exclaimed the Chou- 
 rineur; "and I would sooner die of hunger than rob: but I 
 have done worse than rob," he added, bending his head down; 
 " I have killed my fellow-creature in a passion. But that is 
 not all," he continued, after a moment's pause. " I will tell 
 everything to my employer: I would rather he refused at first 
 than detected afterwards. You know him, and if you think he 
 would refuse me, why, spare me the refusal and I will go as I 
 came." 
 
 "Come along with me," said Murphy. 
 
 The Chourineur followed Murphy up the staircase; a door 
 opened, and they were both in the presence of Rodolph. 
 
 " My good Murphy," said he, " leave us together awhile." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RECOMPENSE. 
 
 " VIVE LA CHARTE ! " cried the Chourineur. " How precious 
 glad I am to see you again, Mister Eodolph or, rather, my 
 lord!" 
 
 " Good-day, my excellent friend ! I am equally glad to see 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, what a joker M. Murphy is ! he told me you had gone 
 away. But stay, my lord " 
 
 Call me M. Rodolph ; I like that best." 
 
 " Well, then, M. Rodolph, I have to ask your pardon for not 
 having been to see you after the night with the Schoolmaster. I 
 see now that I was guilty of a great rudeness ; but I do not sup- 
 pose that you had any desire to see me?" 
 
 " I forgive you," said Rodolph, smiling ; and then added, 
 " Murphy has shown you all over the house ? " 
 
 " Yes, M. Rodolph ; and a fine house and fine shop it is all 
 so neat and so comfortable! Talking of comfortable, I am the 
 man that will be so, M. Rodolph ! M. Murphy is going to put 
 me in the way of earning four francs a day yes, four francs 
 a day!" 
 
 " I have something better than that to propose to you, my good 
 fellow."
 
 146 THS MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Better ! It's unpolite to contradict you, but I think that 
 would be difficult. Four francs a day ! " 
 
 " I tell you I have something better : for this house, all that 
 it contains, the shop, and a thousand crowns which are in this 
 pocket-book all are yours." 
 
 The Chourineur smiled with a stupid air, flattened his long- 
 napped between his knees, and squeezed it convulsively, evidently 
 not understanding what Eodolph said to him, although his lan- 
 guage was plain enough. 
 
 Eodolph, with much kindness, said to him: 
 
 " I can imagine your surprise : but I again repeat, this house 
 and this money are yours they are your property." 
 
 The Chourineur became purple, passed his horny hand over 
 his brow, which was bathed with perspiration, and stammered 
 out, in a faltering voice: 
 
 " What ! eh ! that is indeed my property ! " 
 
 " Yes, your property : for I bestow it all upon you. Do you 
 understand ? I give it to you." 
 
 The Chourineur rocked backwards and forwards on his chair, 
 scratched his head, coughed, looked down on the ground, and 
 made no reply. He felt that the thread of his ideas had escaped 
 him. He heard quite well what Eodolph said to him, and that 
 was the very reason he could not credit what he heard. Between 
 the depth of misery, the degradation in which he had always 
 existed, and the position in which Eodolph now placed him, 
 there was an abyss so wide that the service he had rendered to 
 Eodolph, important as it was, could not fill it up. 
 
 " Does what I give you, then, seem beyond your hopes ? " 
 inquired Eodolph. 
 
 " My lord," said the Chourineur, starting up suddenly, " you 
 offer me this house and a great deal of money to tempt me; 
 but I cannot take them: I never robbed in my life. It is, per- 
 haps, to kill: but I have too often dreamed of the sergeant," 
 added he, in a hoarse tone. 
 
 " Oh, the unfortunate ! " exclaimed Eodolph, with bitterness. 
 " The compassion evinced for them is so rare, that they can only 
 explain liberality as a temptation to crime ! " 
 
 Then addressing the Chourineur, in a voice full of gentle- 
 ness: 
 
 " You judge me wrong you mistake : I shall require from you 
 nothing but what is honorable. What I give you, I give because 
 you have deserved it." 
 
 " I ! " said the Chourineur, whose embarrassments recom- 
 menced ; " I deserve it ! How ? "
 
 RECOMPENSE. 147 
 
 " I will tell you. Abandoned from your infancy without 
 any knowledge of right or wrong, left to your natural instinct 
 shut up for fifteen years in the Bagne with the most desperate 
 villains assailed by want and wretchedness compelled by your 
 own disgrace, and the opinion of honest men, to continue to 
 haunt the low dens infested by the vilest malefactors you have 
 not only remained honest, but remorse for your crime has out- 
 lived the expiation which human justice had inflicted upon 
 you." 
 
 This simple and noble language was a new source of astonish- 
 ment for the Chourineur : he contemplated Eodolph with respect, 
 mingled with fear and gratitude, but was still unable to con- 
 vince himself that all he heard was reality. 
 
 "What, Monsieur Rodolph, because you beat me because, 
 thinking you a workman like myself because you spoke ' slang ' 
 as if you had learned it from your cradle I told you my history 
 over two bottles of wine, and afterwards I saved you from being 
 drowned you give me a house money I shall be master ! Say 
 really, M. Rodolph, once more, is it possible ? " 
 
 " Believing me like yourself, you told me your history natu- 
 rally and without concealment, without withholding either what 
 was culpable or generous. I have judged you, and judged you 
 well, and I have resolved to recompense you." 
 
 " But, M . Rodolph, it ought not to be ; there are poor laborers 
 who have been honest all their lives, and who " 
 
 " I know it, and it may be I have done for many others more 
 than I am doing for you; but if the man who lives honestly in 
 the midst of honest men, encouraged by their esteem, deserves 
 assistance and support, he who, in spite of the aversion of good 
 men, remains honest amidst the most infamous associates on 
 earth he, too, deserves assistance and support. This is not all : 
 you saved my life you saved the life of Murphy, the dearest 
 friend I have ; and what I do for you is as much the dictate of 
 personal gratitude as it is the desire to withdraw from pollution 
 a good and generous nature, which has been perverted but not 
 destroyed. And that is not all." 
 
 " What else have I done, M. Rodolph ? " 
 
 Rodolph took his hand, and, shaking it heartily, said : 
 
 " Filled with commiseration for the mischief which had befal- 
 len the very man who had tried just before to kill you, you even 
 gave him an asylum in your humble dwelling No. 9, close to 
 Notre Dame." 
 
 You knew, then, where I lived, M. Rodolph? " 
 
 " If you forget the services you have done to me, I do not.
 
 148 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 When you left my house you were followed, and were seen to 
 enter there with the Schoolmaster." 
 
 "But M. Murphy told me that you did not know where I 
 lived, M. Rodolph." 
 
 " I was desirous of trying you still further : I wished to know 
 if you had disinterestedness in your generosity, and I found 
 that, after your courageous conduct, you returned to your hard 
 daily labor, asking nothing, hoping for nothing, not even utter- 
 ing a word of reproach for the apparent ingratitude with which 
 I repaid your services ; and when Murphy yesterday proposed to 
 you employment a little more profitable than that of your 
 habitual toil, you accepted it with joy, with gratitude." 
 
 " Why, M. Rodolph, do you see, sir, 'four francs a day are 
 always four francs a day. As to the service I rendered you, why, 
 it is rather I who ought to thank you." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, M. Rodolph," he added, with a saddened air, " I 
 do not forget that, since I knew you, it was you who said to me 
 those two words ' You have both HEART and HONOR ! ' It is 
 astonishing how I have thought of that. They are only two 
 little words, and yet those two words had that effect. But, in 
 truth, sow two small grains of anything in the soil, and they 
 will put forth shoots." 
 
 This comparison, just and almost poetical as it was, struck 
 Rodolph. In sooth, two words, but two magic words for the 
 heart that understood them, had almost suddenly developed the 
 generous instincts which were inherent in this energetic na- 
 ture. 
 
 "You placed the Schoolmaster at St. Mande?" said Rodolph. 
 
 " Yes, M. Rodolph. He made me change his notes for gold, 
 and buy a belt, which I sewed round his body, and in which I 
 put his mopuses; and then, good-day ! He boards for thirty sous 
 a day with good people, to whom that sum is of much service. 
 When I have time to leave my wood-piles I shall go and see how 
 he gets on." 
 
 " Your wood-piles ! You forget your shop, and that you are 
 here at home ! " 
 
 " Come, M. Rodolph, do not amuse yourself by jesting with a 
 poor devil like me : you have had your fun in proving me, as you 
 term it. My house and my shop are songs to the same tune. 
 You said to yourself, 'Let us see if this Chourineur is such a 
 gulpin as to believe that I will make him such a present.' 
 Enough, enough, M. Rodolph : you are a wag, and there's an 
 end of the matter."
 
 RECOMPENSE. 149 
 
 r And he laughed long, loud, and heartily. 
 
 " But, once more, believe " 
 
 " If I "were to believe you, then you would say, ' Poor Chou- 
 rineur ! go ! you are a trouble to me now.' " 
 
 Rodolph began to be really troubled how to convince the 
 Chourineur, and said in a solemn, impressive, and almost severe 
 tone: 
 
 " I never make sport of the gratitude and sympathy with which 
 noble conduct inspires me. I have said this house and this es- 
 tablishment are yours, if they suit you, for the bargain is con- 
 ditional. I swear to you, on my honor, all this belongs to you; 
 and I make you a present of it, for the reasons I have already 
 given." 
 
 The dignified and firm tone, and the serious expression of the 
 features of Rodolph, at length convinced the Chourineur. For 
 some moments he looked at his protector in silence, and then 
 said, in a voice of deep emotion, 
 
 " I believe you, my lord, and I thank you much. A poor man 
 like me cannot make fine speeches, but once more, indeed, on my 
 word, I thank you very much. All I can say is, that I will 
 never refuse assistance to the unhappy; because Hunger and 
 Misery are ogresses of the same sort as those who laid hands on 
 the poor Goualeuse: and, once in that sink, it is not every one 
 that has the fist strong enough to pull you out again." 
 
 " My worthy fellow, you cannot prove your gratitude more 
 than in speaking to me thus." 
 
 " So much the better, my lord; for else I should have a hard 
 job to prove it." 
 
 " Come, now, let us visit your house : my good old Murphy 
 has had the pleasure, and I should like it also/' 
 
 Rodolph and the Chourineur came down-stairs. At the mo- 
 ment they reached the yard, the shopman, addressing the Chou- 
 rineur, said to him, respectfully, 
 
 " Since you, sir, are to be my master, I beg to tell you that 
 our custom is capital. We have no more cutlets or legs of mut- 
 ton left, and we must kill a sheep or two directly." 
 
 " Parbleu!" said Rodolph to the Chourineur; "here is a cap- 
 ital opportunity for exercising your skill. I should like to 
 have the first sample the open air has given me an appetite, and 
 I will taste your cutlets." 
 
 " You are very kind, M. Rodolph," said the Chourineur, in 
 a cheerful voice: "you flatter me, but I will do my best." 
 
 "Shall I bring two sheep to the slaughter-house, master?" 
 asked the journeyman.
 
 150 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Yes ; and bring a well-sharpened knife, not too thin in the 
 blade and strong in the back." 
 
 " I have just what you want, master. There, you could shave 
 with it. Take it " 
 
 " Tonnerre, M. Eodolph ! " said the Chourineur, taking off 
 his upper coat with haste, and turning up his shirt-sleeves, which 
 displayed a pair of arms like a prize-fighter's ; " this reminds me 
 of my boyish days and the slaughter-house. You shall see how 
 I handle a knife! Norn de nom! I wish I was at it. The 
 knife, lad! the knife! That's it; I see you know your trade. 
 This is a blade! who will have it? Tonnerre! with a tool like 
 this I could face a wild bull." 
 
 And the Chourineur brandished his knife his eyes began to 
 fill with blood; the beast was regaining the mastery: the in- 
 stinct and thirst for blood reappeared in all the fulness of their 
 fearful predominance. 
 
 The butchery was in the yard a vaulted, dark place, paved 
 with stones, and lighted by a small, narrow opening, at the top. 
 
 The man drove one of the sheep to the door. 
 
 " Shall I fasten him to the ring, master ? " 
 
 " Fasten him ! tonnerre ! and I with my knees at liberty ? 
 Oh ! no ; I will hold him here as fast as if in a vice. Give me the 
 beast, and go back to the shop." 
 
 The journeyman obeyed. Eodolph was left alone with the 
 Chourineur, and watched him attentively, almost anxiously. 
 
 " Now, then, to work ! " said he. 
 
 " Oh, I sha'n't be long. Tonnerre! you shall see how I handle 
 a knife ! My hands burn, and I have a singing in my ears ; my 
 temples beat, as they used when I was going to see red. Come 
 here, thou Ah, Madelon I let me stab you dead ! " 
 
 Then his eyes sparkled with a fierce delight, and, no longer 
 conscious of the presence of Rodolph, the Chourineur lifted the 
 sheep without an effort; with one spring he carried it off as a 
 wolf would do, bounding towards his lair with his prey. 
 
 Eodolph followed him, and leaned on one of the wings of the 
 door, which he closed. The butchery was dark : one strong ray 
 of light falling straight down lighted up, a la Rembrandt, the 
 rugged features of the Chourineur, his light hair, and his red 
 whiskers. Stooping now, holding in his teeth a long knife, which 
 glittered in the " darkness visible," he drew the sheep between 
 his legs, and, when he had adjusted it, took it by the head, 
 stretched out its neck, and cut its throat. 
 
 At the instant when the sheep felt the keen blade it gave one 
 gentle, low, and pitiful bleat, and, raising its dying eyes to the
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 151 
 
 Chourineur, two spirts of blood jetted forth into the face of its 
 slayer. The cry, the look, the blood that spouted out, made a 
 fearful impression on the man. His knife fell from his hands; 
 his features grew livid, contracted, and horrible, beneath the 
 blood that covered them; his eyes expanded, his hair stiffened; 
 and then retreating, with a gesture of horror he cried, in a 
 suffocating voice, " Oh, the sergeant ! the sergeant ! " 
 
 Eodolph hastened to him: "Recover yourself, my good fel- 
 low ! " 
 
 " There ! there ! the sergeant ! " repeated the Chourineur, re- 
 treating step by step, with his eye fixed and haggard, and point- 
 ing with his finger as if at some invisible phantom. Then utter- 
 ing a fearful cry, as if the specter had touched him, he rushed to 
 the bottom of the butchery, into the darkest corner; and there, 
 with his face, breast, and arms against the wall, as if he would 
 break through it to escape from so horrible a vision, he repeated, 
 in a hollow and convulsive tone, "Oh, the sergeant! the ser- 
 geant ! the sergeant ! " 
 
 'CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 THANKS to the care of Murphy and Rodolph, who with diffi- 
 culty calmed his agitation, the Chourineur \vas completely re- 
 stored to himself, and was alone with the prince in one of the 
 rooms on the first floor in the house. 
 
 " My lord," said he, despondingly, " you have been very kind, 
 indeed, to me ; but, hear me : I would rather be a thousand 
 times more wretched than I have yet been than become a 
 butcher." 
 
 "Yet reflect a little." 
 
 "Why, my lord, when I heard the cry of the poor animal 
 which could not make the slightest resistance; when I felt its 
 blood spring into my face hot blood, which seemed as coming 
 from a living thing; you cannot imagine what I felt: then I 
 had my dream all over again the sergeant and those poor 
 young fellows whom I cut and stabbed, who made no defense, 
 and died giving me a look so gentle, so gentle that they seemed 
 as if they pitied me ! My lord, it would drive me mad ! "
 
 152 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 And the poor fellow hid his face in his hands with a convul- 
 sive start. 
 
 " Come, come, calm yourself." 
 
 " Excuse me, my lord ; but just now the sight of the blood 
 of a knife I could not bear: at every instant it would renew 
 those dreams which I was beginning to forget. To have every 
 day my hands and feet in blood, to cut the throat of poor ani- 
 mals who do not so much as make a struggle oh, no, no ! I 
 could not for the world. I would rather lose my eyesight at 
 once, like the Schoolmaster, than be compelled to follow such a 
 business." 
 
 It is impossible to depict the energetic gesture, action, and 
 countenance of the Chourineur, as he thus expressed himselt. 
 Rodolph was deeply affected by it, and satisfied with the horrible 
 effect which the sight of the blood had caused to his protege. 
 
 For a moment the savage feeling, the bloodthirsty instinct, 
 had overcome the human being in the Chourineur; but remorse 
 eventually overwhelmed the instinct. That was as it should be, 
 and it was a fine lesson. 
 
 " Forgive me, my lord," said the Chourineur, in a faltering 
 voice ; " I make but a bad recompense for all your kindness to 
 me, but " 
 
 " Not at all, my good fellow : I told you that our bargain was 
 conditional. I selected for you the business of a butcher, be- 
 cause your inclinations and taste seemed to lie in that direc- 
 tion " 
 
 " Alas ! my lord, that's true ; and, had it not been for what 
 you know of, that would have been the trade of all others I 
 should have chosen. I was only saying so to M. Murphy a little 
 while since." 
 
 " As it was just possible that your taste did not lie that way, 
 I have thought of another arrangement for you. A person who 
 has a large tract of property at Algiers will give me up, for you, 
 one of the extensive farms he holds in that country. The lands 
 belonging to it are very fertile, and in full bearing; but I will 
 not conceal from you, this estate is situated on the boundaries of 
 the Atlas mountains that is near the outposts, and exposed to 
 the frequent attacks, of the Arabs, and one must be as much of 
 a soldier as a husbandman : it is, at the same time, a redoubt and 
 a farm. The man who occupies this dwelling in the absence 
 of the proprietor will explain everything to you : they say he is 
 honest and faithful, and you may retain him there as long as you 
 like. Once established there, you will not only increase your 
 means by your labor and ability, but render a real service to your
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 153 
 
 country by your courage. The colonists have formed a militia, 
 and the extent of your property, the number of your tenants who 
 will depend on you, will make you the chief of a very considerable 
 troop. Headed by your courage, this band may be extremely 
 useful in protecting the properties which are throughout the 
 plain. I repeat to you, that this prospect for you would please 
 me very much, in spite of, or, rather, in consequence of the 
 danger ; because you could at the same time display your natural 
 intrepidity; and because, having thus expiated, and, as I may 
 say, ransomed yourself from a great crime, your restitution to 
 society would be more noble, more complete, more heroic, if it 
 were worked out, in the midst of perils in an unconquered clime, 
 than in the midst of the quiet inhabitants of a little town. If 
 I did not first offer you this, it was because it was probable that 
 the other would suit you, and the latter is so hazardous that I 
 would not expose you to it without giving you the choice. There 
 is still time, and, if this proposition for Algiers does not suit 
 you, tell me so frankly, and we will look out for something else; 
 if not, to-morrow everything shall be signed, and you will start 
 for Algiers with a person commissioned by the former proprietor 
 of the farm to put you in full possession. Two years' rent will 
 be due, and paid to you on your arrival. The land yields three 
 thousand francs a year: work, improve it, be active, vigilant, 
 and you will soon increase your comfort and the security of 
 the colonists, whom you will aid and assist I am sure, for you 
 will always be charitable and generous; and remember, too, to be 
 rich implies that we should give much away. Although sepa- 
 rated from you, I shall not lose sight of you, and never forget 
 that I and my best friend owe our lives to you. The only proof 
 of attachment and gratitude I ask is to learn to write and read 
 as quickly as you can, that you may inform me regularly, once 
 a week, what you do, and to address yourself to me direct if you 
 need any advice or assistance." 
 
 It is useless to describe the extreme delight of the Chourineur. 
 His disposition, his instincts, are already sufficiently known to 
 the reader, so that he may understand that no proposal could 
 have been made more acceptable to him. 
 
 Next day all was arranged, and the Chourineur set out for 
 Algiers.
 
 154: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 RESEARCHES. 
 
 THE house which Rodolph had in the Alice des Veuves was 
 not his usual place of residence; he lived in one of the largest 
 mansions in the Faubourg St. Germain, situated at the end of 
 the Eue Plumet and the Boulevard des Invalides. 
 
 To avoid the honors due to his sovereign rank, the prince had 
 preserved his incognito since his arrival in Paris, his charge 
 d'affaires at the court of France having announced that his mas- 
 ter would pay his official and indispensable visits under the name 
 and title of the Count de Duren. Thanks to this usage (a very 
 common one in the northern courts), a prince may travel with 
 as much liberty as pleasure, and escape all the bore of cere- 
 monious introductions. In spite of his slight incognito, Rodolph 
 kept up in his mansion full state and etiquette. We will intro- 
 duce the reader into the hotel of the Rue Plumet, the day after 
 the Chourineur had started for Algiers. 
 
 The clock had just struck ten, A. M. In the middle of a large 
 salon on the ground-floor, and which formed the antechamber 
 to Rodolph's business-chamber, Murphy was seated before a 
 bureau, and sealing several despatches. A groom of the cham- 
 bers, dressed in black and wearing a silver chain round his neck, 
 opened the folding-doors and announced 
 
 " His Excellency M. le Baron de Graiin." 
 
 Murphy, without ceasing from his employment, received the 
 baron with a nod at once cordial and familiar. 
 
 " Monsieur le Charge d'Affaires," said he, smiling, " will you 
 warm yourself at the fire? I will be at your service in one 
 moment." 
 
 " Monsieur the Private Secretary, I await your leisure," re- 
 plied M. de Graiin, gaily, and making, with mock respect, a low 
 and respectful bow to the worthy squire. 
 
 The baron was about fifty years of age, with hair gray, thin, 
 and lightly curled and powdered. His chin, rather projecting, 
 was partly concealed in a high cravat of white muslin, starched 
 very stiffly, and of unimpeachable whiteness. His countenance 
 was expressive of great intelligence, and his carriage was dis- 
 tingue; whilst beneath his gold spectacles there beamed an eye 
 as shrewd as it was penetrating. Although it was only ten 
 o'clock in the morning, M. de Graiin wore a black coat that
 
 RESEARCHES. 155 
 
 was etiquette; and a ribbon, shot with several bright colors, was 
 suspended from his button-hole. He placed his hat on a chair 
 and took his station near the fireplace, whilst Murphy continued 
 his work. 
 
 " His royal highness, no doubt, was up the best part of the 
 night, my dear Murphy, for your correspondence appears con- 
 siderable?" 
 
 " Monseigneur went to bed at six o'clock this morning. He 
 wrote, amongst other letters, one of eight pages to the Grand 
 Marshal, and dictated to me one equally long to the Chief of 
 the Upper Council, the Prince d'Herkaiisen-Oldenzaal, his royal 
 highness's cousin." 
 
 " You know that his son, Prince Henry, has entered as lieuten- 
 ant in the guards in the service of his Majesty the Emperor of 
 Austria?" 
 
 " Yes : Monseigneur recommended him most warmly as his 
 relation ; and he really is a fine, excellent young man, handsome 
 as an angel, and as good as gold." 
 
 " The fact is, my dear Murphy, that if the young Prince Henry 
 had had his entree to the grand ducal abbey of Ste. Hermene- 
 gilde, of which his aunt is the superior, the poor nuns " 
 
 " Baron ! baron ! why " 
 
 " My dear sir, the air of Paris But let us talk seriously. 
 
 Shall I await the rising of his royal highness to communicate 
 all the particulars which I have procured ? " 
 
 " No, my dear baron. Monseigneur has desired that he should 
 not be called before two or three o'clock in the afternoon: he 
 desires, also, that you send off this morning these despatches by 
 a special courier, instead of waiting till Monday. You will en- 
 trust me with all the particulars you have acquired, and I will 
 communicate them to Monseigneur when he wakes. These are 
 his orders." 
 
 " Nothing can be better, and I think his royal highness will 
 be satisfied with what I have collected. But, my dear Murphy, 
 I hope the despatch of the special courier is not a bad sign : 
 the last despatches which I had the honor of sending to his royal 
 highness " 
 
 " Announced that all was going on well at home ; and it is 
 precisely because my lord is desirous of expressing as early as 
 possible his entire satisfaction, that he wishes a courier to be 
 despatched this very day to Prince Herkhaiisen-Oldenzaal, chief 
 of the Supreme Council." 
 
 " That is so like his royal highness : were it to blame instead 
 of commend, he would observe less haste."
 
 156 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Nothing new has transpired with us, my dear baron noth- 
 ing at all. Our mysterious adventures " 
 
 " Are wholly unknown. You know that, since the arrival of 
 his royal highness in Paris, his friends have become used to see 
 him but little in public: it is understood that he prefers se- 
 clusion, and is in the habit of making frequent excursions to 
 the environs of Paris, and, with the exception of the Countess 
 Sarah Macgregor and her brother, no person is aware of the 
 disguises assumed by his royal highness; and neither of the 
 personages I have mentioned have the smallest interest in be- 
 traying the secret." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear baron," exclaimed Murphy, heaving a deep sigh. 
 "what an unfortunate thing it is that this accursed countess 
 should be left a widow at this very important moment ! " 
 
 " She was married, I think, in 1827 or 1828 ? " 
 
 "In 1827, shortly after the death of the unfortunate child, 
 who would now be in her sixteenth or seventeenth year, and whose 
 loss his royal highness seems daily more to deplore." 
 
 " Far more so, indeed, than he appears to feel for the loss 
 of his legitimate offspring." 
 
 " And thus, my dear baron, we may account for the deep 
 interest his royal highness takes in the poor Goualeuse, arising 
 as it does from the fact that the daughter so deeply deplored 
 would, had she lived, have been precisely the same age as this 
 unfortunate young creature." 
 
 " It is, indeed, an unfortunate affair that the Countess Sarah, 
 from whom we fancied we were forever freed, should have 
 become a widow exactly eighteen months after his royal high- 
 ness had been deprived by death of the wife with whom he had 
 passed years of wedded happiness. The countess, I am per- 
 suaded, looks upon this double freedom from all marriage- 
 vows as a signal intervention of Providence to further her 
 views." 
 
 "And her impetuous passion has become more ardent than 
 ever, though she is well aware that my lord feels for her the 
 deepest aversion and well-merited contempt. Was not her 
 culpable indifference the cause of her child's death ? Did she not 
 
 cause Ah! baron," said Murphy, leaving the sentence 
 
 unfinished, " this woman is our evil genius. God grant she may 
 not reappear amongst us laden with fresh misfortunes ! " 
 
 " But still, under present circumstances, any views Countess 
 Sarah may entertain must be absurd in the greatest degree: the 
 death of the unfortunate child you just now alluded to has 
 broken the last tie which might have attached my lord to this
 
 RESEARCHES. 157 
 
 dangerous woman. She must be mad, as well as foolish, to 
 persist in so hopeless a pursuit." 
 
 " If she be mad, there is a dangerous ' method in her mad- 
 ness ' : her brother, you are aware, partakes of her ambitious 
 schemes and obstinate opinions of ultimate success. Although 
 this worthy pair have as much reason for utter despair as they 
 had eighteen years since of entire success " 
 
 " Eighteen years ! What an accumulation of evil has been 
 wrought during that period by the criminal compliance of that 
 rascally Polidori ! " 
 
 " By the way, talking of that miserable wretch, I have traced 
 that he was here about a year or two ago, suffering, no doubt, 
 from the most perfect destitution, or else subsisting by disgrace- 
 ful and dishonorable practices." 
 
 " What a pity that a man so largely endowed with penetration, 
 talent, deep learning, and natural intelligence, should sink so 
 low ! " 
 
 " The innate perversity of his character marred all these high 
 qualities. It is to be hoped he and the countess will not meet: 
 the junction of two such evil spirits is indeed to be feared, for 
 what frightful consequences might there not result from it ! 
 Now, touching the facts you have been collecting, have you them 
 about you ? " 
 
 " Here," said the baron, drawing a paper from his pocket, 
 " are the various particulars I have been enabled to collect touch- 
 ing the birth of a young girl known as La Goualeuse, and also of 
 the now residence of an individual called Frangois Germain, son 
 of the Schoolmaster." 
 
 "Be kind enough to read me the result of your inquiries, 
 my dear De Graiin. I am well aware what are his royal high- 
 ness's intentions in the matter; I shall be able to judge then 
 whether the information you possess will be sufficient to enable 
 him to carry them into effect. You have every reason to be 
 satisfied with the agent you employ, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is a rare fellow ! so precise, methodical, zealous, 
 and intelligent ! I am, indeed, sometimes obliged to moderate 
 his energy; for I am well aware there are certain points, the 
 clearing up of which his highness reserves for himself." 
 
 " And, of course, your agent is far from suspecting the deep 
 interest his royal highness has in the matter ? " 
 
 " Entirely so. My diplomatic position affords an excellent 
 pretext for the inquiries I have undertaken. M. Badinot (for 
 such is the name of the person I am speaking of) is a sharp, 
 shrewd individual, having connections, either recognized or co*-
 
 158 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 cealed, in every grade of society. He was formerly a lawyer, but 
 compelled to quit his profession from some very serious breach of 
 trust ; he has, however, retained very accurate recollections touch- 
 ing the fortunes and situations of his old clients ; he knows many 
 a secret, which he boasts, with considerable effrontery, of having 
 turned to a good account. By turns, rich and poor now suc- 
 cessful, and then a ruined man he only ceased his speculations 
 when none could be found to take part in them with him ; reduced 
 to live from day to day by expedients more or less illegal, he 
 became a curious specimen of the Figaro school so long as his 
 interest was concerned he would devote himself, soul and body, 
 to his employer ; and we are sure of his fidelity, for the simple 
 reason that he has nothing to gain, though a great deal to lose, 
 by deceiving us; and, besides, I make him careful of our 
 interests, even unknown to himself." 
 
 " The particulars he has hitherto furnished us with have been 
 very correct and satisfactory." 
 
 " Oh, he has a very straightforward manner of going to work ! 
 And I assure you, my dear Murphy, that M. Badinot is the very 
 original type of one of those mysterious existences which are to 
 be met with, and only possible, in Paris. He would greatly 
 amuse his royal highness, if it were not necessary to avoid their 
 being known to each other in this business." 
 
 "You can augment the pay of M. Badinot if you deem it 
 necessary." 
 
 " Why, really, five hundred francs a month, and his expenses, 
 amounting to nearly the same sum, appear to me quite sufficient : 
 we shall see by and by." 
 
 " And does he not seem ashamed of the part he plays ? " 
 
 " On the contrary he is not a little vain of his employment, 
 and when he brings me any particulars assumes a certain air of 
 importance he would fain pass off as due to his diplomatic func- 
 tions; for the fellow either thinks, or feigns to do so, that he is 
 deeply engaged in state affairs, and ventures to observe at times, 
 in a sort of under-tone, how very marvelous it is that such close 
 and intimate relationship should be found to exist between every- 
 day events and the destinies of kingdoms ! Yes, really, he had 
 the impudence to remark to me the other day, ' What compli- 
 cated machinery is contained in the grand machine of state 
 affairs ! Who would think now, M. le Baron, those little humble 
 notes collected by me will have their part to play in directing 
 and regulating the affairs of Europe ! ' >: 
 
 "Yes, yes, rascals generally seek to veil their mean and base 
 practices beneath some high-sounding pretext. But the notes
 
 RESEARCHES. 159 
 
 you are to give me, my dear baron, have you them with 
 you?" 
 
 " Here they are, drawn up precisely from the accounts fur- 
 nished by M. Badinot." 
 
 " Pray let me hear them : I am all attention." 
 
 M. de Graiin then read as follows: 
 
 "Note relative to Fleur-de-Marie. About the beginning of 
 the year 1827, a man named Pierre Tournemine, then under 
 sentence in the galleys at Rochefort for forgery, proposed to a 
 woman named Gervais, but also known as La Chouette, to take 
 perpetual charge of a little girl, then between five and six years 
 of age, for a sum of one thousand francs paid down. 
 
 " The bargain being concluded, the child was delivered over 
 to the woman, with whom she remained two years, when, unable 
 longer to endure the cruelty shown her, the little girl disap- 
 peared; nor did the Chouette hear anything of her for several 
 years, when she unexpectedly met with her at a small public- 
 house in the Cite, nearly seven weeks ago. The infant, now 
 grown into a young woman, then bore the appellation of La 
 Goualeuse. 
 
 " A few days previously to this meeting, the above-mentioned 
 Tournemine, who had become acquainted with the Schoolmaster 
 at the galleys of Rochefort, had sent to Bras Rouge (the regular, 
 though concealed correspondent, of every rogue and felon either 
 in prison or out of it) a lengthened detail of every particular 
 relative to the child formerly confided to the woman Gervais, 
 otherwise the Chouette. 
 
 " From this account, and the declarations of the Chouette, it 
 appeared that one Madame Seraphin, housekeeper to a notary 
 named Jacques Ferrand, had in 1827 instructed Tournemine to 
 find a person who, for the sum of one thousand francs, would be 
 willing to take the entire charge of a child of from five to six 
 years of age whom it was desired to get rid of, as has before been 
 mentioned. 
 
 " That the Chouette accepted the proposition, and received 
 both the child and the stipulated sum of money. 
 
 " The aim of Tournemine, in addressing these particulars to 
 Bras Rouge, was to enable the latter to extort money from 
 Madame Seraphin, who Tournemine considered but as the agent 
 of a third party, under a threat of revealing the whole affair un- 
 less well paid for silence. 
 
 "Bras Rouge entrusted the Chouette, long the established 
 partner in all the Schoolmaster's schemes of villainy; and this 
 explains how so important a document found its way to that
 
 160 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 monster's possession, and also accounts for the expression used by 
 the Chouette at her rencounter with the Goualeuse in the cabaret 
 of the White Babbit, when, by way of tormenting her victim, she 
 said, ' We have found out all about your parents, but you shall 
 never know who or what they are.' 
 
 " The point to be decided was as to the veracity of the cir- 
 cumstances detailed by Tournemine in his letter to the Chouette. 
 
 " It has been ascertained that Madame Seraphin and the 
 notary, Jacques Ferrand, are both living: the address of the 
 latter is Rue du Sentier, No. 41, where he passes for a person 
 of pious and austere life; at least, he is constant in his attend- 
 ance at church his attention to his professional duties, close 
 and severe, though some accuse him of following up the severity 
 of the law with unnecessary rigor. In his mode of living he 
 observes a parsimony bordering on avarice. Madame Seraphin 
 still resides with him, as manager of his household; and M. 
 Jacques Ferrand, spite of his original poverty, has invested 
 thirty-five thousand francs in the funds: the greatest part of 
 this sum having been supplied to him through a M. Charles 
 Eobert, a superior officer of the National Guard a young and 
 handsome man, in high repute with a certain class of society. 
 'Tis true that some ill-natured persons are found to assert that, 
 owing either to fortunate speculations or lucky hits upon the 
 Stock Exchange, undertaken in partnership with the above-men- 
 tioned Charles Eobert, the worthy notary could now well afford 
 to pay back the original loan with high interest ; but the rigidly 
 austere and self-denying life of this worthy man gives a flat 
 denial to all such gossiping reports, and, spite of the incredulity 
 with which he is occasionally listened to, he persists in styling 
 himself a man struggling for a maintenance. There can be no 
 manner of doubt but that Madame Seraphin, this worthy gentle- 
 man's housekeeper, could, if she pleased, throw an entire light 
 upon every circumstance connected with La Goualeuse." 
 
 " Bravo ! my dear baron," exclaimed Murphy : " nothing can 
 be better. These declarations of Tournemine carry with them 
 an appearance of truth, and it seems more than probable that 
 we may, through Jacques Ferrand, obtain the right clue to dis- 
 covering the parents of this unfortunate girl. Now tell me, 
 have you been equally successful in the information collected 
 touching the son of the Schoolmaster?" 
 
 " Perhaps, as regards him, I am not furnished with such mi- 
 nute particulars ; but, upon the whole, I think the result of our 
 inquiries very satisfactory." 
 
 " Upon my word, your M. Badinot, is a downright treasure ! "
 
 RESEARCHES. 161 
 
 " You see, Bras Kouge is the hinge upon which everything 
 turns. M. Badinot, who has several acquaintances in the police, 
 pointed him out to us as the go-between of several notorious 
 felons, and knew the man directly he was set to discover what 
 had become of the ill-fated son of Madame Georges Duresnel, 
 the unfortunate wife of this atrocious Schoolmaster." 
 
 " And it was in going to search for Bras Eouge, in his den 
 in the Cite" (Rue aux Feves, No. 13'), that my lord fell in with 
 the Chourineur and La Goualeuse. His royal highness hoped, 
 too, that the opportunity now before him, of visiting these abodes 
 of vice and wretchedness, might afford him the means of res- 
 cuing some unfortunate being from the depths of guilt and 
 misery. His benevolent anticipations were gratified, but at what 
 risk it is painful even to remember/' 
 
 " Whatever damages attended the scheme, you, at least, my 
 dear Murphy, bravely bore your share in them." 
 
 " Was not I, for that very purpose, appointed charcoal-man in 
 waiting upon his royal highness?" replied the squire, smilingly. 
 
 " Say, rather, his intrepid body-guard, my worthy friend. But 
 to touch upon your courage and devotion is only to repeat what 
 everyone knows. I will, therefore, spare your modesty, and 
 continue my relation. Here are the various particulars we have 
 been able to glean concerning Frangois Germain, son of Madame 
 Georges and the Schoolmaster, properly called Duresnel: 
 
 " About eighteen months since a young man, named Frangois 
 Germain, arrived in Paris from Nantes, where he had been em- 
 ployed in the banking-house of Noel and Co. 
 
 " It seems, both from the confession of the Schoolmaster as 
 well as from several letters found upon him, that the scoundrel 
 to whom he had entrusted his unfortunate offspring, for the 
 purpose of perverting his young mind, and rendering him one 
 day a worthy assistant to his unprincipled father in his nefar- 
 ious schemes, proposed to the young man to join in a plot for 
 robbing his employers, as well as to forge upon the firm to a 
 considerable amount. This proposition was received by the 
 youth with well-merited indignation, but, unwilling to denounce 
 the man by whom he had been brought up, he first communi- 
 cated anonymously to his master the designs projected against 
 the bank, and then privately quitted Nantes, that he might avoid 
 the rage and fury of those whose sinful practices his soul sick- 
 ened and shuddered to think of, far less to bear the idea of par- 
 ticipating in. 
 
 "These wretches, aware that they had betrayed themselves 
 to the young man, and dreading the use he might make of his
 
 162 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 information, immediately upon finding he had quitted Nantes 
 followed him to Paris, with the most sinister intentions of silenc- 
 ing him forever. After long and persevering inquiries they 
 succeeded in discovering his address, but, happily for the per- 
 secuted object of their search, he had a few days previously en- 
 countered the villain who had first sought to corrupt his prin- 
 ciples, and, well divining the motive which had brought him to 
 Paris, lost no time in changing his abode ; and so, for this time, 
 the Schoolmaster's hapless son escaped his pursuers. Still, how- 
 ever, following up the scent, they succeeded in tracing the youth 
 to his fresh abode, 17 Eue du Temple. One evening, however, 
 he narrowly escaped falling into an ambush laid for him (the 
 Schoolmaster concealed this circumstance from my lord) but 
 again Providence befriended him, and he escaped, though too 
 much alarmed to remain in his lodgings : he once more changed 
 his abode, since which time all traces of him have been lost. 
 And matters had reached thus far when the Schoolmaster re- 
 ceived the just punishment of his crimes; since which period, 
 by order of my lord, fresh inquiries have been instituted, of 
 which the following is the result. 
 
 " Frangois Germain lived for about three months at No. 17 
 Eue du Temple, a house rendered worthy of observation by the 
 habits and ingenious practices of its inhabitants. Germain was 
 a great favorite among them, by reason of his kind and amiable 
 disposition, as well as for the frank gaiety of his temper. Al- 
 though his means of livelihood appeared very slender, yet he had 
 rendered the most generous assistance to an indigent family 
 occupying the garrets of the house. In vain has been every in- 
 quiry made in the Rue du Temple touching the present residence 
 of Frangois Germain, or the profession he was supposed to fol- 
 low : everyone in the house believed him to be employed in some 
 counting-house, or office, as he went out early in the morning and 
 never returned till late in the evening. The only person who 
 really knows the present residence of the young man is a female, 
 lodging in the house No. 17 Rue du Temple a young and pretty 
 grisette, named Rigolette, between whom and Germain a very 
 close acquaintance appears to have existed. She occupies the 
 adjoining room to that which Germain tenanted, and which 
 chamber, by the by, is still vacant ; and it was under pretext of 
 inquiring about it that these particulars were obtained." 
 
 " Rigolette ! " exclaimed Murphy, after having been for several 
 minutes apparently in deep thought. " Yes, I am sure I know 
 her." 
 
 " You! Sir Walter Murphy," replied the baron, much amused.
 
 RESEARCHES. 163 
 
 "You! most worthy and respectable father of a family! you 
 know anything of pretty grisettes ! And so the name of Made- 
 moiselle Rigolette is familiar to you, is it ? Fie ! fie ! Oh, pos- 
 itively I am ashamed of you ! " 
 
 " Ton my soul, my lord compelled me to have so many strange 
 acquaintances, that such a mere trifle as this should pass for 
 nothing. But wait a bit. Yes, now I recollect perfectly, that 
 when my lord was relating the history of La Goualeuse, I could 
 not help laughing at the very odd name of Rigolette, which, as 
 far as I can call to mind, was the name of a prison acquaintance 
 of that poor Fleur-de-Marie." 
 
 "Well, then, just at this particular juncture Mademoiselle 
 Rigolette may be of the utmost service to us. Let me conclude 
 my report : 
 
 " There might possibly be an advantage in engaging the vacant 
 chamber recently belonging to Germain, in the Rue du Temple. 
 We have no instructions to proceed further in our investigations, 
 but, from some words which escaped the porteress, there is every 
 reason to believe that not only would it be possible to find in 
 this house certain indications of where the Schoolmaster's son 
 may be heard of, through the means of Mademoiselle Rigolette, 
 but the house itself would afford my lord an opportunity of 
 studying human nature amid wants, difficulties, and misery, the 
 very existence of which he is far from suspecting/' 
 
 " This you see, my dear Murphy," said M. de Graiin, finishing 
 his report and presenting it to his companion "you see evi- 
 dently that it is from the notary, Jacques Ferrand, we must hope 
 to obtain information respecting the parentage of La Goualeuse, 
 and that we must go to Mademoiselle Rigolette to trace the 
 dwelling of Frangois Germain. It seems to me a great point to 
 have ascertained the direction in which to search." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, baron ; you are quite right : and, besides, I 
 am sure my lord will find a fine field for observation in the 
 house of which you speak. But I have not yet done with you. 
 Have you made any inquiries respecting the Marquis d'Har- 
 ville?" 
 
 "I have; and, so far as concerns money matters, his royal 
 highness's fears are wholly unfounded. M. Badinot affirms (and 
 he is very likely to be well informed on the subject) that the 
 fortune of the marquis has never been in a more prosperous 
 condition, or better managed." 
 
 " Why, after having in vain exhausted every other conjecture 
 as to the secret grief which is preying upon M. d'Harville, my 
 lord imagined that it wts just probable the marquis had some
 
 164 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 pecuniary difficulties: had it proved so, he would have removed 
 them with that delicate assumption of mystery you know he so 
 frequently employs to veil his munificence. But, since even this 
 conjecture has failed, he must abandon all hope of guessing the 
 enigma; and this he will do the more reluctantly, as his great 
 desire to discover it arose out of his ardent friendship for M. 
 d'Harville." 
 
 " A friendship which is founded on a grateful recollection of 
 the important services rendered by the marquis's father to his 
 own parent. Are you aware, my dear Murphy, that at the re- 
 modeling of the States in 1815, at the Germanic confederation, 
 the father of his royal highness had a chance of being excluded, 
 from his well-known attachment to Napoleon? Thanks to the 
 friendship with which the Emperor Alexander honored him, the 
 deceased Marquis d'Harville was enabled to render most effectual 
 service to the father of our patron. The emperor, whose warm 
 regard for the late marquis had taken its date from the period of 
 that nobleman's emigration to Eussia, exerted his powerful in- 
 fluence in congress so successfully, that at the grand meeting to 
 decide the destinies of the princes of Germany, the father of 
 our noble employer was reinstated in all his pristine rights. As 
 for the friendship now subsisting between the present marquis 
 and his royal highness, I believe it commenced when, as mere 
 boys, they met together on a visit paid by the then reigning 
 Grand Duke to the late Marquis d'Harville." 
 
 " So I have heard ; and they appear to have retained a most 
 lively recollection of this happy period of their youth. Nor is 
 this all I have to say on the subject of the interest our noble 
 master takes in every matter concerning the house of D'Harville. 
 So profound is his gratitude for the services rendered to his 
 father, that all bearing the honored name of D'Harville, or be- 
 longing to the family, possess a powerful claim on the kindness 
 of the prince. Thus, not alone to her virtues or her misfortunes, 
 does poor Madame Georges owe the increasing and unwearied 
 goodness of my lord." 
 
 " Madame Georges ! " exclaimed the astounded baron. " What, 
 the wife of Duresnel, the felon known as the Schoolmaster? " 
 
 " And the mother of Frangois Germain, the youth we are seek- 
 ing for, and whom, I trust, we shall find." 
 
 " Is the relation of M. d'Harville? " 
 
 ' " She was his mother's cousin, and her most intimate friend : 
 the old marquis entertained the most perfect friendship and 
 esteem for Madame Georges." 
 
 " But how, for Heaven's sake, my dear Murphy, did it ever
 
 RESEARCHES. 165 
 
 come about that the D'Harville family ever permitted a descend- 
 ant of theirs to marry such a monster as this Duresnel ? " 
 
 " Why, thus it was. The father of this unfortunate woman 
 was a M. de Lagny, who, previous to the Revolution, possessed 
 considerable property in Languedoc, and who, having fortunately 
 escaped the proscription so fatal to many, availed himself of the 
 first tranquillity which succeeded these days of discord and 
 anarchy to establish his only daughter in marriage. Among the 
 various candidates for the hand of the young heiress was this 
 Duresnel, the representative of a wealthy and respectable family, 
 possessing powerful parliamentary influence, and concealing the 
 depravity of his disposition beneath the most specious exterior. 
 To this man was Mademoiselle de Lagny united, by desire of her 
 father : but a very short time sufficed to strip the mask from his 
 vicious character, and to display his natural propensities. A 
 gambler, spendthrift, and profligate, addicted to the lowest vices 
 that can disgrace a human being, he quickly dissipated, not only 
 his own fortune, but that of his wife also. Even the estate to 
 which Madame Georges Duresnel had retired was involved in the 
 general ruin occasioned by her worthless husband's passion for 
 play, and his dissolute mode of life ; and the unfortunate woman 
 would have been left without a shelter for herself or infant son 
 but for the kind affection of her relation, the Marquise d'Har- 
 ville, whom she loved with the tenderness of a sister. With this 
 valued friend Madame Duresnel found a welcome home, while 
 her wretched husband, finding himself utterly ruined, plunged 
 into the blackest crimes, and stopped at no means, however 
 guilty and desperate, to supply his pleasures. He became the 
 associate of thieves, murderers, pickpockets, and forgers, and ere 
 long, falling into the hands of the law, was sentenced to the 
 galleys for the term of his natural life. Yet, while suffering the 
 just punishment of his crimes, his base mind devised the double 
 atrocity of tearing the child from its miserable mother, for the 
 sake of breaking down every good principle it might have im- 
 bibed, and of training it up in vicious readiness to join his future 
 schemes of villainy. You know the rest. After the condemnation 
 of her husband, Madame Georges, without giving any reason for 
 so doing, quitted the Marquise d'Harville, and went to hide her 
 shame and her sorrows in Paris, where she soon fell into the 
 utmost distress. It would occupy too much time to tell you by 
 what train of events my lord became aware of the misfortunes 
 of this excellent woman, as well as the ties which connect her 
 with the D'Harville family: it is sufficient that he came most 
 opportunely and generously to her assistance, induced her to
 
 166 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 quit Paris and establish herself at the farm at Bouqueval, where 
 she now is, with the Goualeuse. In this peaceful retreat she has 
 found tranquillity, if not happiness; and the overlooking and 
 management of the farm may serve to recreate her thoughts, and 
 prevent them from dwelling too deeply on her past sorrows. As 
 much to spare the almost morbid sensibility of Madame Georges, 
 as because he dislikes to blazon forth his good deeds, my lord 
 has not even acquainted M. d'Harville with the fact of his having 
 relieved his kinswoman from such severe distress." 
 
 " I comprehend now the twofold interest which my lord has 
 in desiring to discover the traces of the son of this poor 
 woman." 
 
 " You may also judge by that, my dear baron, of the affection 
 which his royal highness bears to the whole family, and how 
 deep is his vexation at seeing the young marquis so sad, with so 
 many reasons to be happy." 
 
 " What can there be wanting to M. d'Harville ? He unites 
 all birth, fortune, wit, youth; his wife is charming, and as 
 prudent as she is lovely." 
 
 "True, and his royal highness only had recourse to the in- 
 quiries we have been talking over after having in vain endeavored 
 to penetrate the cause of M. d'Harville's deep melancholy: he 
 showed himself deeply affected by the kind attentions of Mon- 
 seigneur, but still has been entirely reserved on the subject of his 
 low spirits. It may be some peine de cceur." 
 
 " Yet it is said that he is excessively fond of his wife, and she 
 does not give him the least cause for jealousy. I often meet her 
 in society, and, although she is constantly surrounded by ad- 
 mirers (as every young and lovely woman is), still her reputation 
 is unsullied." 
 
 " The marquis is always speaking of her in the highest terms : 
 he has had, however, one little discussion with her on the sub- 
 ject of the Countess Sarah Macgregor." 
 
 " Has she, then, seen her ? " 
 
 " By a most unlucky chance, the father of the Marquis d'Har- 
 ville knew Sarah Seyton of Halsburg, and her brother Tom, 
 seventeen or eighteen years ago, during their residence in Paris, 
 and when they were much noticed by the lady of the English 
 ambassador. Learning that the brother and sister were going 
 into Germany, the old marquis gave them letters of introduc- 
 tion to the father of our noble lord, with whom he kept up a 
 constant correspondence. Alas! my dear De Graiin, perhaps 
 but for these introductions many misfortunes would have been 
 avoided, for then Monseigneur would not have known this
 
 RESEARCHES. 167 
 
 woman. When the Countess Sarah returned hither, knowing the 
 friendship of his royal highness for the marquis, she presented 
 herself at the Hotel d'Harville, in the hope of meeting Mon- 
 seigneur ; for she shows as much pertinacity in pursuing him as 
 he evinces resolution to avoid her." 
 
 "Only imagine her disguising herself in male attire, and 
 following him into the Cite! No woman but she would have 
 dreamt of such a thing." 
 
 " She, perhaps, hoped by such a step to touch his royal high- 
 ness, and compel him to an interview, which he has always 
 refused and avoided. To return to Madame d'Harville : her hus- 
 band, to whom Monseigneur has spoken of Sarah as she deserved, 
 has begged his wife to see her as seldom as possible; but the 
 young marchioness, seduced by the hypocritical flatteries of the 
 countess, has gone somewhat counter to the marquis's request. 
 Some trifling differences have arisen, but not of sufficient im- 
 portance to cause or explain the extreme dejection of the 
 marquis." 
 
 " Oh, the women ! the women ! My dear Murphy, I am very 
 sorry that Madame d'Harville should have formed any acquaint- 
 ance with this Sarah. So young and charming a woman must 
 suffer by the contact with such an infernal " 
 
 " Talking of infernal creatures," said Murphy, " here is a 
 communication relative to Cecily, the unworthy spouse of the 
 excellent David." 
 
 " Between ourselves, my dear Murphy, this audacious metisse * 
 well deserves the terrible punishment that her husband, our dear 
 black doctor, has inflicted on the Schoolmaster by Monseigneur's 
 order. She has also shed blood, and her unblushing infamy is 
 astounding." 
 
 " Yet she is so very handsome so seductive ! A perverted 
 mind within an attractive outside always inspires me with 
 twofold disgust." 
 
 " In this sense Cecily is doubly hateful. But I hope that this 
 despatch annuls the last orders issued by Monseigneur with 
 regard to this wretched creature." 
 
 " On the contrary, baron." 
 
 " My lord, then, desires that her escape from the fortress in 
 which she had been shut up for life may be effected ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And that her pretended ravisher should bring her to France 
 to Paris?" 
 
 * The Creole issue of a white and Quadroon slave. The metisses only 
 differ from the white by some peculiarities hardly perceptible.
 
 168 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Yes ; and, besides, this despatch orders the arrangement to 
 be carried out as soon as possible, and that Cecily be made to 
 travel hither so speedily that she may arrive here in a fortnight." 
 
 " I am lost in astonishment ! Monseigneur has always evinced 
 such a horror of her ! " 
 
 "And that horror he still experiences; if possible, stronger 
 than ever." 
 
 " And yet he causes her to be sent to him ! To be sure, it will 
 always be easy to apprehend Cecily again, if she does not carry 
 out what he requires of her. Orders are given to the son of the 
 jailer of the fortress of Geralstein to carry her off, as if he were 
 enamored of her, and every facility will, be given to him for 
 effecting this purpose. Overjoyed at this opportunity of escap- 
 ing, the metisse will follow her supposed ravisher, and reach 
 Paris; then she will always have her sentence of condemna- 
 tion hanging over her always be but an escaped prisoner, 
 and I shall be always ready, when it shall please his royal 
 highness to desire, again to lay hands upon and incarcerate 
 her." 
 
 " I should tell you, my dear baron, that when David learned 
 from Monseigneur of the proposed arrival of Cecily, he was 
 absolutely petrified, and exclaimed, ' I hope that your royal high- 
 ness will not compel me to see the monster ? ' ' Make yourself 
 easy,' replied Monseigneur; 'you shall not see her, but I may 
 require her services for a particular purpose.' David felt relieved 
 of an enormous weight off his mind. Nevertheless, I am sure 
 that some very painful reminiscences were awakened in his 
 mind." 
 
 " Poor Negro ! he loves her still. They say, too, that she is 
 yet so lovely ! " 
 
 " Charming ! too charming ! It requires the pitiless eye of a 
 Creole to detect the mixed blood in the all but imperceptible 
 shade which lightly tinges her rosy finger nails. Our fresh and 
 hale beauties of the north have not a more transparent com- 
 plexion, nor a skin of more dazzling whiteness." 
 
 " I was in France when Monseigneur returned from America, 
 accompanied by David and Cecily, and I know that that excellent 
 man was from that time attached to his royal highness by ties 
 of the strongest gratitude; but I never learned how he became 
 attached to the service of our master, and how he had married 
 Cecily, whom I saw, for the first time, about a year after his 
 marriage ; and God knows the scandal that followed ! " 
 
 "I can tell you every particular that you may wish to learn, 
 my dear baron: I accompanied Monseigneur in his voyage to
 
 HISTORY OF DA VID AND CECILY. 169 
 
 America, when he rescued David and the metisse from the most 
 awful fate." 
 
 " You are always most kind, my dear Murphy, and I am all 
 attention," said the baron. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HISTORY OF DAVID AND CECILY. 
 
 " MR. WILLIS, a rich American planter, settled in Florida," 
 said Murphy, " had discovered in one of his young black slaves, 
 named David, who was employed in the infirmary attached to his 
 dwelling, a very remarkable degree of intelligence, combined 
 with a constant and deep commiseration for the sick poor, to 
 whom he gave, with the utmost attention and care, the medicine 
 ordered by the doctors, and, moreover, so strong a prepossession 
 for the study of botany, as applied to medicine, that without any 
 tuition he had composed and classified a sort of Flora of the 
 plants round the dwelling and the vicinity. The establishment 
 of Mr. Willis, situated on the borders of the sea, was fifteen or 
 twenty leagues from the nearest town ; and the medical men of 
 the district, ignorant as they were, gave themselves no great 
 deal of care or trouble, in consequence of the long distance and 
 the difficulty in procuring any means of conveyance. Desirous 
 of remedying so extreme an inconvenience in a country subject 
 to violent epidemics, and to have at hand at all times a skilful 
 practitioner, the colonist made up his mind to send David to 
 France to learn surgery and medicine. Enchanted at this offer, 
 the young black set out for Paris, and the planter paid all the 
 expenses of his course of study. David, having for eight years 
 studied with great diligence and remarkable effect, received the 
 degree of surgeon and physician with most distinguished success, 
 and then returned to America to place himself and his skill 
 under the direction of his master." 
 
 " But David ought to have considered himself free and eman- 
 cipated, in fact and in law, when he set foot in France." 
 
 " David's loyalty is very rare : he had promised Mr. Willis to 
 return, and he did so. He did not consider as his own the in- 
 struction which he had acquired with his master's money; and, 
 besides, he hoped to improve morally as well as physically the 
 sufferings of the slaves, his former companions; he trusted to 
 become not only their doctor, but their firm friend and defender 
 with the colonist."
 
 170 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "He must, indeed, be imbued with the most unflinching 
 probity and the most intense love for his fellow-creatures to 
 return to a master an owner, after having spent eight years in 
 the midst of the society of the most democratic young men in 
 Europe." 
 
 "Judge of the man by this one trait. Well, he returned to 
 Florida, and, truth to tell, was used by Mr. Willis with con- 
 sideration and kindness, eating at his table, sleeping under his 
 roof. But this colonist was as stupid, malevolent, selfish, and 
 despotic, as most Creoles are, and he thought himself very 
 generous in giving David six hundred francs (24L) a-year salary. 
 At the end of some months a terrible typhus fever broke out in 
 the plantation : Mr. Willis was attacked by it, but soon restored 
 through the careful attentions and efficacious remedies of David. 
 Out of thirty Negroes dangerously affected by this fatal disease 
 only two perished; Mr. Willis, much gratified by the services 
 which David had so auspiciously rendered, raised his wages to 
 twelve hundred francs, to the extreme gratification of the black 
 doctor, whose fellows regarded him as a divinity amongst them, 
 for he had, with much difficulty it is true, obtained from their 
 master some few indulgences, and was hoping to procure still 
 more. In the meanwhile, he consoled these poor people, and 
 exhorted them to patience; spake to them of God, who watches 
 over the black and the white man with an equal eye; of another 
 world not peopled with masters and slaves, but with the just and 
 the unjust ; of another life in eternity, where man was no longer 
 the beast of burden the property the thing of his fellow-man, 
 but where the victims of this world were so happy that they 
 prayed in heaven for their tormentors. What shall I tell you 
 more? To those unhappy wretches who, contrary to other men, 
 count with bitter joy the hours which bring them nearer to the 
 tomb to those unfortunate creatures who looked forward only 
 to nothingness hereafter, David breathed the language and the 
 hope of a free and happy immortality; and then their chains 
 appeared less heavy and their toil less irksome. He was their 
 idol. A year passed away in this manner. Amongst the hand- 
 somest of the female slaves at the house was a metisse, about 
 fifteen years of age, named Cecily, and for this girl Mr. Willis 
 took a fancy. For the first time in his life his advances were 
 repulsed and obstinately resisted; Cecily was in love, and with 
 David, who, during the late fearful distemper, had attended her 
 with the most vigilant care. Afterwards a deep and mutual love 
 repaid him the debt of gratitude. David's taste was too refined 
 to allow him to boast of his happiness before the time when he
 
 EISTOR T OF DA VID AND CECIL T. Ifl 
 
 should marry Cecily, which was to be when she had turned her 
 sixteenth year. Mr. Willis, ignorant of their love, had thrown 
 his handkerchief right royally at the pretty metisse, and she, in 
 deep despair, sought David, and told him all the brutal attempts 
 that she had been subjected to and with difficulty escaped. The 
 black comforted her, and instantly went to Mr. Willis to request 
 her hand in marriage." 
 
 " Diable! my dear Murphy, I can easily surmise the answer of 
 the American sultan he refused ? " 
 
 " He did. He said he had an inclination for the girl himself ; 
 that in his life before he had never experienced the repulse of a 
 slave; he meant to possess her, and he would. David might 
 choose another wife or mistress, whichsoever might best suit his 
 inclination ; there were in the plantation ten capusses or metisses 
 as pretty as Cecily. David talked of his love love so long and 
 tenderly shared, and the planter shrugged his shoulders; David 
 urged, but it was all in vain. The Creole had the cool impudence 
 to tell him that it was a bad example to see a master concede to a 
 slave, and that he would not set that 'example* to satisfy a 
 caprice of David's ! He entreated supplicated, and his master 
 lost his temper. David, blushing to humiliate himself further, 
 spoke in a firm tone of his services and his disinterestedness 
 that he had been contented with a very slender salary. Mr. 
 Willis was desperately enraged, and, telling him he was a con- 
 tumacious slave, threatened him with the chain. David replied 
 with a few bitter and violent words ; and, two hours afterwards, 
 bound to a stake, his skin was torn with the lash, whilst they 
 bore Cecily to the harem of the planter in his sight." 
 
 " The conduct of the planter was brutal and horrible; it was 
 adding absurdity to cruelty, for he must after that have required 
 the man's services." 
 
 " Precisely so ; for that very day the very fury into which he 
 had worked himself, joined to the drunkenness in which the 
 brute indulged every evening, brought on an inflammatory 
 attack of the most dangerous description, the symptoms of which 
 appeared with rapidity peculiar to such affections. The planter 
 was carried to his bed in a state of the highest fever. He sent 
 off an express for a doctor, but he could not reach his abode in 
 less than six-and-thirty hours." 
 
 "Really this attack seems providential. The desperate con- 
 dition of the man was quite deserved by him." 
 
 " The malady made fearful strides. David only could save 
 the colonist, but Willis, distrustful, as all evil-doers are, 
 imagined that the black would revenge himself by administering
 
 172 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 poison; for, after having scourged him with a rod, he had thrown 
 him into prison. At last, horrified at the progress of his illness, 
 broken down by bodily anguish, and thinking that, as death also 
 stared him in the face, he had one chance left in trusting to the 
 generosity of his slave, after many distrusting doubts, Willis 
 ordered David to be unchained." 
 
 " And David saved the planter ? " 
 
 " For five days and five nights he watched and tended him as 
 if he had been his father, counteracting the disease, step by step, 
 with great skill and perfect knowledge, until, at last, he suc- 
 ceeded in defeating it, to the extreme surprise of the doctor who 
 had been sent for, and who did not arrive until the second day." 
 
 " And, when restored to health at last, the colonist " 
 
 " Not desiring to blush before his own slave, whose presence 
 constantly oppressed him with the recollection of his excessive 
 nobleness of conduct, the colonist made an enormous sacrifice to 
 attach the doctor he had sent for to his establishment, and David 
 was again conducted to his dungeon." 
 
 " Horrible ! but by no means astonishing. David must have 
 been in the eyes of his brutal master a complete living remorse." 
 
 " Such conduct was dictated alike by revenge and jealousy. 
 The blacks of Mr. Willis loved David with all the warmth of 
 gratitude, for he had saved them body and soul. They knew the 
 care he had bestowed on him when he lay tossing with fever 
 between life and death, and, shaking off the deadening apathy 
 which ordinarily besets slavery, these unfortunate creatures 
 evinced their indignation, or rather grief, most powerfully when 
 they saw David lacerated by the whip. Mr. Willis, deeply exas- 
 perated, affected to discover in this manifestation the appearance 
 of revolt, and, when he considered the influence which David had 
 acquired over the slaves, he believed him capable of placing him- 
 self at the head of a rebellion to avenge himself of his wrongs. 
 This fear was another motive with the colonist for using David 
 in the most shameful manner, and entirely preventing him from 
 effecting the malicious designs of which he suspected him." 
 
 " Considering him as actuated by an irrepressible amount of 
 terror, this conduct seems less stupid, but quite as ferocious." 
 
 "A short time after these events we arrived in America. 
 Monseigneur had freighted a Danish brig at St. Thomas's, and 
 we visited incognito all the settlements of the American coast 
 along which we were sailing. We were most hospitably received 
 by Mr. Willis, who, the evening after our arrival, after he had 
 been drinking, and as much from the excitement of wine as from 
 a desire to boast, told us. in a horrid tone of brutal jesting, the
 
 HISTORY OF DAVID AND CECILY. 173 
 
 history of David and Cecily. I forgot to say that, after having 
 maltreated the girl, he had thrown her into a dungeon also, as a 
 punishment for her disdain of him. His royal highness, on hear- 
 ing Willis's fearful narration, thought the man was either drunk 
 or a liar; but he was drunk it was no lie. To remove any and 
 all doubt, the colonist rose from the table, and desiring a slave 
 to bear a lantern and conduct us to David's cell." 
 
 "Well, what followed?" 
 
 " In my life I never saw so distressing a spectacle. Pale, wan, 
 meager, half-naked, and covered with wounds, David and the 
 unhappy girl, chained \>y the middle of the body, one at one end 
 and the other at the other end of the dungeon, looked like 
 specters. The lantern that lighted us threw over this scene a 
 still more ghastly hue. David did not utter a word when he saw 
 us ; his gaze was fixed and fearful. The colonist said to him, 
 with cruel irony, * Well, doctor, how goes it ? You, who are so 
 clever, why don't you cure yourself?' The black replied by a 
 noble word and a dignified gesture; he raised his right hand 
 slowly, his fore-finger pointed to the roof, and, without looking 
 at the colonist, said in a solemn tone, * GOD ! ' and then was 
 silent. 'God?' replied the planter, bursting into a loud fit of 
 laughter, ' tell him then tell God to come and snatch you from 
 my power ! I defy him ! ' Then Willis, overcome by fury and 
 intoxication, shook his fist to heaven, and said, in blasphemous 
 language, ' Yes, I defy God to carry off my slaves before they 
 are dead ! ' 
 
 " The man was mad as well as brutal." 
 
 " We were utterly disgusted : Monseigneur did not say a word, 
 and we left the cell. This dungeon was situated, as well as the 
 house, on the seashore. We returned to our brig, which was 
 moored a short distance off, and at one o'clock in the morning, 
 when all in the building were plunged in profound sleep, Mon- 
 seigneur went on shore with eight men well armed, and, going 
 straight to the prison, burst open the doors, and freed David and 
 Cecily. The two victims were carried on board so quietly that 
 they were not perceived; and then Monseigneur and I went to 
 the planter's house. Strange contrast! these men torture their 
 slaves, and yet do not take any precaution against them, but 
 sleep with doors and windows open. We easily got access to the 
 sleeping-room of the planter, which was lighted on the inside by 
 a small glass lamp; Monseigneur awakened the man, who sat 
 upright in his bed, his brain still disturbed by the effect of his 
 drunkenness. ' You have to-night defied God to carry off your 
 two victims before their death, and He has taken them,' said
 
 174: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Monseigneur. Then taking a bag which I carried, and which 
 contained twenty-five thousand francs in gold, he threw it on the 
 fellow's bed, and added, * This will indemnify you for the loss 
 of your two slaves to your violence that destroys I oppose a 
 violence that saves. God will judge between us/ We then 
 retreated, leaving Mr. Willis stupefied, motionless, and believing 
 himself under the influence of a dream. A few minutes later 
 and we were again on board the brig, which instantly set sail." 
 
 " It appears to me, my dear Murphy, that his royal highness 
 overpaid this wretch for the loss of his slaves ; for, in fact, David 
 no longer belonged to him." 
 
 " We calculated, as nearly as we could, the expense which his 
 studies had cost for eight years, and then the price, thrice over, 
 of himself and Cecily as slaves. Our conduct was contrary to 
 the rights of property, I know; but if you had seen in what a 
 horrible state we found these unfortunate and half-dead couple 
 if you had heard the sacrilegious defiance almost cast in the face 
 of the Almighty by this man, drunk with wine and ferocity, you 
 would comprehend how Monseigneur desired, as he said, on this 
 occasion, to act as it were in behalf of Providence" 
 
 " All this is assailable and as justifiable as the punishment 
 of the Schoolmaster, my worthy squire. And had not this 
 adventure any consequences ? " 
 
 " It could not. The brig was under Danish colors the incog- 
 nito of his royal highness was closely kept we were taken for 
 rich Englishmen. To whom could Willis have addressed his 
 complaints, if he had any to make? In fact, he had told us 
 himself, and the medical man of Monseigneur declared it in a 
 proces verbal, that the two slaves could not have lived eight days 
 longer in this frightful dungeon. It required the greatest pos- 
 sible care to snatch David and Cecily from almost certain death. 
 At last they were restored to life. From this period David has 
 been attached to the suite of Monseigneur as a medical man, and 
 is most devotedly attached to him." 
 
 " David married Cecily, of course, on arriving in Europe ? " 
 
 " This marriage, which ought to have been followed by results 
 so happy, took place in the chapel of the palace of Monseigneur ; 
 but, by a most extraordinary revulsion of conduct, hardly was 
 she in the full enjoyment of an unhoped-for position, when, for- 
 getting all that David had suffered for her and what she had 
 suffered for him, blushing in the new world to be wedded to a 
 black, Cecily, seduced by a man of most depraved morals, com- 
 mitted her first fault. It would seem as though the natural per- 
 versity of this abandoned woman, having till then slumbered,
 
 HISTOR Y OF DA VID AND CECIL T. 175 
 
 was suddenly awakened, and developed itself with fearful energy. 
 You know the rest, and all the scandal of the adventures that 
 followed. After having been two years a wife, David, whose 
 confidence in her was only equaled by his love, learned the full 
 extent of her infamy a thunderbolt aroused him from his blind 
 security." 
 
 " They say he tried to kill his wife." 
 
 " Yes ; but, through the interference of Monseigneur, he con- 
 sented to allow her to be immured for life in a prison, and it is 
 thence that Monseigneur now seeks to have her released to 
 your great astonishment, as well as mine, my dear baron. But 
 it is growing late, and his royal highness is anxious that your 
 courier should start for Geralstein with as little delay as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " In two hours' time he shall be on the road. So now, my dear 
 Murphy, farewell till the evening." 
 
 " Till the evening, adieu." 
 
 " Have you, then, forgotten that there is a grand ball at the 
 * * * Embassy, and that his royal highness will be present? " 
 
 " True. I have always forgotten that, since the absence of 
 Colonel Verner and the Count d'Harneim, I have the honor to 
 fulfil the functions of chamberlain and aide-de-camp." 
 
 " Ah, apropos of the count and the colonel, when may we 
 expect their return? Will they have soon completed their re- 
 spective missions ? " 
 
 "You know that Monseigneur will keep them away as long 
 as possible, that he may enjoy more solitude and liberty. As to 
 the errand on which his royal highness has employed each of 
 them, as an ostensible motive for getting rid of them in a quiet 
 way sending one to Avignon and the other to Strasbourg I 
 will tell you all about it some day, when we are both in a dull 
 mood ; for I will defy the most hypochondriacal person in exist- 
 ence not to burst with laughter at the narrative, as well as with 
 certain passages in the despatches of these worthy gentlemen, 
 who have assumed their pretended missions with so serious an 
 air." 
 
 " To tell the truth, I have never clearly understood why his 
 royal highness attached the colonel and the count to his private 
 person." 
 
 "Why, my dear fellow, is not Colonel Verner the accurate 
 type of military perfection? Is there, in the whole Germanic 
 confederation, a more elegant figure, more flourishing and splen- 
 did moustaches, and a more complete military figure? And 
 when he is fully decorated, screwed in, uniformed, gold-laced,
 
 176 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 plumed, etc., etc., it is impossible to see a more glorious, self- 
 satisfied, proud, handsome animal." 
 
 " True ; but it is his very good looks that prevent him from 
 having the appearance of a man of refined and acute intellect." 
 
 " Well ! and Monseigneur says that, thanks to the colonel, he 
 is in the habit of finding even the dullest people in the world 
 bearable. Before certain audiences, which are of necessity, he 
 shuts himself up with the colonel for a half-hour or so, and then 
 leaves him, full of spirits and light as air, quite ready to meet 
 bores and defy them." 
 
 " Just as the Eoman soldier who, before a forced march, used 
 to sole his sandals with lead, and so found all fatigue light by 
 leaving them off, I now discover the usefulness of the colonel. 
 But the Count d'Harneim?" 
 
 " Is also very serviceable to our dear lord; for, always hearing 
 at his side the tinkling of this old cracked bell, shining and 
 chattering continually seeing this soap-bubble so puffed up 
 with nothingness, so magnificently variegated, and, as such, por- 
 traying the theatrical and puerile phase of sovereign power his 
 royal highness feels the more sensibly the vanity of those barren 
 pomps and glories of the world, and, by contrast, has often 
 derived the most serious and happy ideas from the contempla- 
 tion of his useless and pattering chamberlain." 
 
 " Well, well ; but let us be just, my dear Murphy : tell me, in 
 what court in the world would you find a more perfect model of 
 a chamberlain? Who knows better than dear old D'Harneim 
 the numberless rules and strict observances of etiquette? Who 
 bears with more becoming demeanor an enameled cross round 
 his neck, or more majestically comports himself when the keys 
 of office are suspended from his shoulders?" 
 
 "Apropos, baron; Monseigneur declares that the shoulders of 
 a chamberlain have a peculiar physiognomy : that is, he says, an 
 appearance at once constrained and repulsive, which it is pain- 
 ful to look at; for, alas and alackaday! it is at the back of a 
 chamberlain that the symbol of his office glitters, and, as Mon- 
 seigneur avers, the worthy D'Harneim always seems tempted to 
 present himself backwards, that his importance may at once be 
 seen, felt, and acknowledged." 
 
 " The fact is, that the incessant subject of the count's medi- 
 tations is to ascertain by what fatal imagination and direction 
 the chamberlain's key has been placed behind the chamberlain's 
 back; for it is related of him that he said, with his accustomed 
 good sense, and with a kind of bitter grief, ' What, the devil ! 
 one does not open a door with one's back, at all events ! ' J:
 
 A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 177 
 
 " Baron, the courier ! the courier ! " said Murphy, pointing to 
 the clock. 
 
 " Sad old reprobate, to make me chatter thus ! it is your fault. 
 Present my respects to his royal highness," said M. de Graun, 
 taking his hat up in haste. " And now, adieu till the evening, 
 my dear Murphy." 
 
 " Till the evening, my dear baron, fare thee well. It will be 
 late before we meet, for I am sure that Monseigneur will go this 
 very day to pay a visit to the mysterious house in the Rue du 
 Temple." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 
 
 IN order to profit by the particulars furnished by Baron de 
 Graiin respecting La Goualeuse and Germain, the Schoolmaster's 
 son, it became necessary for Rodolph to visit the house in the 
 Rue du Temple, formerly the abode of that young man, whose 
 retreat the prince likewise hoped to discover through the inter- 
 vention of Mademoiselle Rigolette. Although prepared to find it 
 a difficult task, inasmuch as it was more than probable, if the 
 grisette were really sufficiently in Germain's confidence to be 
 aware of his present abode, she also knew too well his anxiety to 
 conceal it to be likely to give the desired information. 
 
 By renting the chamber lately occupied by the young man, 
 Rodolph, besides being on the spot to follow up his researches, 
 considered he should also be enabled to observe closely the differ- 
 ent individuals inhabiting the rest of the house. 
 
 The same day on which the conversation passed between the 
 Baron de Graiin and Murphy, Rodolph, plainly and unpretend- 
 ingly dressed, wended his way about three o'clock, on a gloomy 
 November afternoon, towards the Rue du Temple. 
 
 Situated in a district of much business and dense population, 
 the house in question had nothing remarkable in its appearance : 
 it was composed of a ground-floor, occupied by a man keeping a 
 low sort of dram-shop, and four upper stories, surmounted by 
 attics. A dark and narrow alley led to a small yard, or, rather, 
 a species of square well, of about five or six feet in width, com- 
 pletely destitute of either air or light, and serving as a pestilen- 
 tial receptacle for all the filth thrown by the various occupants 
 of the respective chambers from the unglazed sashes with which 
 each landing-place was provided.
 
 ITS fRB MYSTERIES OP PARIS. 
 
 At the bottom of a damp, dismal-looking staircase, a glimmer- 
 ing light indicated the porter's residence, rendered smoky and 
 dingy by the constant burning of a lamp, requisite, even at mid- 
 day, to enlighten the gloomy hole, into which Eodolph entered 
 for the purpose of asking leave to view the apartment then 
 vacant. 
 
 A lamp, placed behind a glass globe filled with water, served 
 as a reflector ; and by its light might be -seen, at the far end of 
 the lodge (as in courtesy it was styled), a bed, covered with a 
 sort of patchwork counterpane, exhibiting a mingled mass of 
 every known color and material. A walnut-tree table graced the 
 side of the room, bearing a variety of articles suited to the taste 
 and ornamental notions of its owners. First in order appeared a 
 little waxen St. John, with a very fat lamb at his feet, and a 
 large peruke of flowing white curls on his head, the whole en- 
 closed in a cracked glass-case, the joinings of which were in- 
 geniously secured by slips of blue paper; secondly, a pair of old 
 plated candlesticks, tarnished by time, and bearing, instead of 
 lights, two gilded oranges doubtless an offering to the porteress 
 on the last new-year's day ; and, thirdly, two boxes, the one com- 
 posed of variegated straw, the other covered with multitudinous 
 shells, but both smelling strongly of the galleys or house of 
 correction * (let us hope, for the sake of the morality of the 
 porteress in the Rue du Temple, that these precious specimens 
 were not presented to her from the original owners and fabri- 
 cators of them) ; and, lastly, between the two boxes, and just 
 beneath a circular clock, was suspended a pair of red morocco 
 dress-boots, small enough for the feet of fairies, bul elaborately 
 and skilfully designed and completed. This chef-d'oeuvre, as the 
 ancient masters of the craft would style them, joined to the fan- 
 tastic designs sketched on the walls representing boots and shoes, 
 abundantly indicated that the porter of this establishment de- 
 voted his time and his talents to the repairing of shoes and shoe 
 leather. 
 
 At the instant when Rodolph ventured into the smoky den, 
 Monsieur Pipelet, the porter, temporarily absent, had left his 
 better half, Madame Pipelet, as his representative. This indi- 
 vidual was seated by the stove in the center of the lodge, deeply 
 engrossed in watching the boiling of a pot placed over it. The 
 description of Madame Pipelet may be given in a few words. 
 She was the most ugly, forbidding, wrinkled, toothless old hag, 
 
 * These boxes were the exclusive manufacture of the criminals confined 
 either in the galleys or prisons, and who spent nearly all their spare hours 
 in making them.
 
 THE HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 179 
 
 9ne might meet with in the course of a long life. Her dress was 
 dirty, tawdry, and untidy; while her head-dress was composed 
 of a Brutus wig, originally of a blonde color, but changed by time 
 into every shade of red, brown, and yellow, the stiff ends of the 
 perished hair standing out like the ears of wheat in a wheat- 
 sheaf. Much did Madame Pipelet pride herself upon this taste- 
 ful covering to her sexagenarian skull; nor was it believed she 
 ever laid it aside, whether sleeping or waking. 
 
 At the sight of Rodolph the porteress inquired, in a surly tone, 
 
 " Well, and pray what do you want ? " 
 
 " I believe, madam," replied Eodolph, laying a profound 
 emphasis on the word madam, " I believe there is an apartment 
 to be let in this house?" 
 
 The deep respect implied in his voice and words somewhat 
 mollified the porteress, who answered, rather less sourly, 
 
 " Yes, there is a room to let on the fourth floor, but you can- 
 not see it now Alfred has gone out." 
 
 " You are speaking of your son, I presume, madam : may I 
 take the liberty of asking whether he is expected in shortly ? " 
 
 " I am not speaking of my son, but my husband. I suppose 
 there is no act of parliament why my Pipelet should not be called 
 'Alfred.' Is there, pray ?" 
 
 " None, certainly, madam, that I am aware of : but, with your 
 kind permission, I will await his return. I am very desirous of 
 taking the vacant chamber both the street and neighborhood 
 suit me ; and the admirable order in which the house seems kept, 
 % pleases me excessively. But, previously to viewing the lodging 
 I am anxious to take, I should be very glad to ascertain whether 
 you, madam, could do me the favor to take the management of 
 my little housekeeping off my hands? I never like to have any 
 one about me but the authorized housekeeper belonging to the 
 house, when such arrangements meet with their approbation." 
 
 This proposition, so flatteringly expressed, and the word 
 "housekeeper," completely won Madame Pipelet, who replied, 
 
 " With the greatest of pleasure, sir, I will attend to all you 
 require. I am sure I shall be proud to wait upon such a gentle- 
 man ; and, for the small charge of six francs a-month, you shall 
 be treated like a prince." 
 
 " Then, for six francs a month, I may reckon upon your 
 valuable services. Will you permit me to ask your name ? " 
 
 " Pomona-Fortunata-Anasteia Pipelet." 
 
 "Well, then, Madame Pipelet, having agreed as to your own 
 terms, will you be pleased to tell me those for the apartment I 
 wish to engage?"
 
 180 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " With the adjoining small closet, one hundred and fifty 
 francs a month not a farthing less. The principal lessee is a 
 screw a regular skinflint." 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 " Monsieur Bras Rouge." 
 
 This name, and the remembrances so unexpectedly presented 
 by it, made Rodolph start. 
 
 " I think, Madame Pipelet, you were saying that the principal 
 lessee of the house is " 
 
 " M. Bras Rouge." 
 
 "And he lives " 
 
 "Rue aux Feves, No. 13. He also keeps an estaminet near 
 the Champs Elysees." 
 
 All doubt was then at an end it was the Bras Rouge of in- 
 famous notoriety; and singular indeed did the circumstance of 
 thus coming across him strike Rodolph. 
 
 " But though M. Bras Rouge is your principal lessee, he is not, 
 I presume, the owner of the house : may I ask who is ? " 
 
 " M. Bourdon : but I have never had communication with any 
 one besides M. Bras Rouge." 
 
 With the design of still further ingratiating himself with the 
 porteress, Rodolph resumed: 
 
 " My dear madam, this cold day would make a little of some- 
 thing warm and comfortable very acceptable. Might I venture 
 to solicit the favor of your stepping as far as the spirit-shop, 
 kept so conveniently at hand, and bring a bottle of cassia and 
 two glasses? for I feel very tired, and the cold has quite seized 
 me. Stay, madam, we will have three glasses, if you please; 
 because I hope your husband will join us when he returns." 
 
 So saying, he placed a franc in the fat, dirty hand, of the 
 porteress. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, you are determined to make us all fall in love 
 with you ! " cried Madame Pipelet, nodding her approval of the 
 commission, and thereby sending the flush of pleasure into a 
 face glowing with all the fiery honors of an excited Bac- 
 chante. 
 
 "To be sure! There is nothing like a drop of really good 
 cordial such a day as this ; and they do keep most excellent here 
 at hand. I'll go of course I will: but I shall only bring a 
 couple of glasses, for Alfred and I always drink out of the same 
 glass. Poor old darling! he is so very nice and particular in 
 showing all those sort of delicate attentions to women." 
 
 " Then go along, my good Madame Pipelet, and we will wait 
 till Alfred comes."
 
 A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 181 
 
 " But, then, suppose anyone wants me whilst I am out, who 
 will mind the lodge ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I'll take care of the lodge." 
 
 The old woman departed on her agreeable errand. 
 
 At the termination of a few minutes the postman tapped at 
 the lodge window, and putting his hand into the apartment 
 presented two letters, merely saying, " Three sous." 
 
 " Six sous, you mean, for two letters," replied Rodolph. 
 
 " One is free/' answered the man. 
 
 Having paid and dismissed the postman, Rodolph mechani- 
 cally examined the two letters thus committed to his charge ; but 
 at a further glance they seemed to him worthy a more attentive 
 observation. The epistle addressed to Madame Pipelet exhaled 
 through its hot-pressed envelope a strong odor of russia leather : 
 it bore, on a seal of red wax, the initials " C. R.," surmounted 
 by a helmet, and supported by a cross of the Legion of Honor. 
 The direction was written in a firm, bold hand. The heraldic 
 device of the commingled casque and cross made Rodolph smile, 
 and confirmed him in the idea that the writer of the letter in 
 question was not a female. Who was this scented, emblazoned 
 correspondent of old Anastasia Pipelet? Rodolph felt an un- 
 definable curiosity to know. The other epistle, written upon 
 coarse and common paper, was united only by a common wafer, 
 pricked over with the point of a pin, and was addressed to " M. 
 Cesar Bradamanti, Operating Dentist." Evidently disguised, 
 the superscription was entirely composed of capital letters. 
 Whether founded on a true or false presage, this letter seemed 
 to Rodolph to wear a mournful look, as though evil or misery 
 were contained within its shabby folds. He perceived that some 
 of the letters in the direction were fainter than the others, and 
 that the paper there seemed a little rumpled : a tear had evidently 
 fallen upon it. 
 
 Madame Pipelet returned, bearing the bottle of cassia and two 
 glasses : 
 
 "I have dawdled have I not, monsieur?" said she, gaily. 
 " But let you once get into that good Pere Joseph's shop, and it 
 is hard work to get out again. Oh! that old man is a very 
 insinuating " 
 
 " Here, madam," interrupted Rodolph, " here are two letters 
 the postman left while you were gone." 
 
 " Dear me ! two letters ! Pray excuse me, monsieur. I sup- 
 pose you paid for them ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " You are very good. I tell you what, then, we will settle that
 
 182 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 out of the first money you have to pay me: how much was it? " 
 
 " Three sous," answered Eodolph, much amused at the in- 
 genious method of reimbursement employed by Madame Pipelet. 
 " But may I, without offense, observe that one of the letters is 
 addressed to you, and that you possess in the writer a correspond- 
 ent whose billets doux are marvelously well perfumed ? " 
 
 "Let us see what it is about," said the porteress, taking the 
 epistle in the scented envelope. " Yes, upon my word, it is 
 scented up like a real billet doux! Now, I should very much like 
 to know who would dare write ME a love-letter! He must be a 
 villain ! " 
 
 "And suppose it had fallen into your husband's hands, 
 Madame Pipelet?" 
 
 " Oh ! for goodness* sake don't mention that, or I shall faint 
 away in your arms! But how stupid I am! Now I know all 
 about it," replied the fat porteress, shrugging her shoulders. 
 "To be sure! to be sure! it comes from the Commandant! 
 Lord bless me, what a fright I have had ! for Alfred is as jealous 
 as a Turk." 
 
 " Here is another letter, addressed to M. Cesar Bradamanti." 
 
 " Ah ! to be sure, the dentist on the third floor. I will put it 
 in the LETTER-BOOT." 
 
 Eodolph fancied he had not caught the right words, but, to his 
 astonishment, he saw Madame Pipelet gravely throw the letter 
 alluded to into an old top-boot hanging up against the wall. He 
 looked at her with surprise. 
 
 " Do you mean," said he, at length, " to put the gentleman's 
 letter in " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that is all right," replied the porteress. " I have 
 put it in the LETTER-BOOT there, you see. So now nobody's 
 letters can be mislaid; and when the different lodgers return 
 home, Alfred or myself turn the boot upside down we sort them 
 out, and everybody gets his own." 
 
 So saying, the porteress proceeded to break the seal of the 
 letter addressed to her; which having done, she turned it round 
 and round, looked at it in every direction, then, after a short 
 appearance of embarrassment and uncertainty, she said to 
 Rodolph, 
 
 " Alfred generally reads my letters for me, because I do not 
 happen to be able to read them myself; perhaps you would not 
 mind just looking over this for me ? " 
 
 " With the utmost pleasure ! " quickly replied Rodolph, curi- 
 ous to dive into the mysteries of who Madame Pipelet's corre- 
 spondent might be ; and forthwith he read what follows, written
 
 A SO V8E IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 183 
 
 upon hot-pressed paper, stamped in its right-hand corner with 
 the helmet, the letters " C. K.," the heraldic supporters, and the 
 cross of honor. 
 
 "To-morrow (Friday), about eleven o'clock, let there be a 
 good (not an over-fierce) fire be lighted in both rooms; have 
 everything well dusted, and remove the coverings from the 
 furniture, taking especial care not to scratch the gilding, or to 
 soil or burn the carpet while lighting the fires. If I should not 
 be in about one o'clock, when a lady will arrive in a hackney- 
 coach and inquire for me by the name of M. Charles, let her be 
 shown up to the apartment; after which the key is to be taken 
 down-stairs again, and kept till my arrival." 
 
 Spite of the want of finished composition displayed in this 
 billet, Eodolph perfectly comprehended to whom and what it 
 alluded, and merely added, after perusing it, 
 
 " Who lives on the first floor, then? " 
 
 The old woman placed her yellow, shriveled finger, upon her 
 pendulous lip, and replied, by a half-malicious grin, 
 
 " Hush ! there is a woman in the way silence ! " 
 
 " Oh, my dear Madame Pipelet, I merely asked because, before 
 living in a house, one likes to know a little." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Of course, everybody likes to know all they can : 
 that is all fair enough ; and I am sure I have no objection to tell 
 you all I know myself, and that is but very little. Well, but to 
 begin. About six weeks ago a carpet-maker came here to look 
 at the first floor, which was then to let, and to ask the price, and 
 other particulars about it. Next day he came again, accom- 
 panied by a young man of fair complexion, small moustaches, 
 and wearing a cross of honor and very fine linen. The carpet- 
 maker called him Commandant." 
 
 " A military man, I suppose ? " said Eodolph. 
 
 " Military ! " exclaimed Madame Pipelet, with a chuckle. 
 " Not he ! Why, Alfred might as well call himself porter to a 
 prince." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Why, he is only in the National Guard ! The carpet-maker 
 only called him commandant to flatter him: just the same as it 
 tickles up Alfred's vanity to be styled concierge instead of porter. 
 So when the commandant (that is the only name we know him 
 by) had looked over the rooms, he said to the upholsterer, his 
 friend, ' Well, I think the place will do for me just see the 
 landlord, and arrange all about it/ 'Yes, commandant,' says 
 the other. And the very next day the upholsterer-man signed 
 the lease with M. Bras Kouge (in his own name, mind you) ;
 
 184 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 and, further, paid six months in advance, because, he said, the 
 gentleman did not wish to be bored about references. And such 
 a power of fine furniture as was sent into the first floor ! 
 iSophesus (sarcophagus) curtains, all silk ; glasses set in gold, and 
 everything you can mention, all beautiful enough to astonish 
 you ; just, for all the world, like one of them grand cafes on the 
 Boulevards ! As for the carpets ! oh ! you never trod on the like 
 of them, I'll be bound. Put your foot on them, and you'd fancy 
 you was stepping on velvet, and take it off again for fear of 
 spoiling it. When everything was completed, the commandant 
 came to look at it just to see if he could find out anything more 
 he wanted : but he could not. So then he spoke to Alfred, and 
 says he, ' Could you take charge of my rooms and keep them in 
 nice order, light fires from time to time, and get them ready for 
 me when I wish to occupy them ? I shall not be here often/ says 
 he, ' and would always write you a line before coming, to give 
 you time to prepare them.' ' Yes, commandant, I can,' answers 
 my flatterer of an Alfred. ' And what shall you charge?' 
 * Twenty francs a month, commandant,' ' Twenty francs ! ' 
 exclaimed the commandant. ' Why, porter, you are jesting, 
 surely ! ' And hereupon he began bating Alfred down in the 
 most shabby manner, trying to squeeze poor people like us out of 
 two or three miserable francs, when he had been squandering 
 thousands in fitting up his grand apartments, which, after all, 
 he did not mean to live in! However, after a deal of battling, 
 we got twelve francs a month out of him a paltry, pitiful, two- 
 farthing captain! What a difference, now, between you and 
 him ! " added the porteress, addressing Rodolph with an admir- 
 ing glance. " You don't call yourself fine names and titles 
 you only look like a plain body you must be poor, or you would 
 not perch yourself on the fourth floor; and yet you agreed with 
 me for six francs, without attempting to bate me down ! " 
 
 " And when did the commandant pay you his next visit ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you, and good fun it is, too. My gentleman must 
 have been nicely choused by somebody. Three times did he 
 write (same as to-day), ordering us to light a fire and have 
 everything ready for the reception of a lady he expected would 
 come. Come ! yes, I dare say he may expect a long time first, I 
 rather think." 
 
 " Nobody came then ? " 
 
 "Listen. The first time the commandant arrived, strutting 
 and swelling like a turkey-cock, humming and singing, after his 
 manner, all the gay tunes of the day, walking up and down his 
 fine room with his hands stuck in his pockets, and occasionally
 
 A HO USE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 185 
 
 stopping to arrange his hair before the glass, we were watching 
 him all the time. Well, this went on for two or three hours, 
 when, I suppose, he knew it was no use waiting any longer; so 
 he came down-stairs very softly, and with quite a different man- 
 ner to the pride and consequence he had marched up with. By 
 way of teasing him, Pipelet and I went out to him and said, 
 ' Commandant, there has been no lady whatever to inquire for 
 you/ ' Very well ! very well ! ' exclaimed he, half mad and half 
 ashamed of being laughed at, and, buttoning up his coat, he 
 walked off as fast as he could. The next time, before he came 
 himself, a small note was brought here by a man directed to M. 
 Charles; I strongly suspected he was done again, and Pipelet 
 and me were enjoying a hearty good laugh over it when the com- 
 mandant arrived, ' Captain,' says I, putting the back of my hand 
 up to my wig, by way of military salute, * here is a letter for you, 
 but I am afraid it contains news of a second countermarch 
 against you/ He looked at me sour as a crab, snatched the letter 
 from my hand, read it, turned scarlet as a boiled lobster, then 
 walked off pretending to whistle ; but he was finely vexed ready 
 to hang himself, I could see he was and it was rare nuts to me. 
 ' Go, and swallow that pill, my two-farthing captain,' says I to 
 myself; 'that serves you right for only giving twelve francs 
 a-month for minding your apartments/ 
 
 "And the third time?" 
 
 " Ah ! the third time I really thought it was all right. The 
 commandant arrived more stuck up with pride than ever; his 
 eyes staring with self-satisfied admiration at himself and the 
 certainty of not being disappointed this time. Let me tell the 
 truth about him; he really is a good-looking man and dresses 
 well, though he stinks of musk like a civet cat. Well, there was 
 my gentleman arrayed in all his finery, and scarcely condescend- 
 ing to look at us poor folks ; he seemed as though he conferred a 
 favor on the earth by deigning to walk on it, and went, sticking 
 his nose into the air, as if he meant to touch the clouds with it. 
 He took the key, and said to us as he passed up-stairs, in a jeer- 
 ing, self-complacent tone, as though to revenge himself for 
 having been laughed at twice before, ' You will direct the lady to 
 my apartments when she comes/ Well, Pipelet and I were so 
 anxious to see the lady he expected, though we did not much 
 reckon upon her keeping her appointment even if she ever made 
 one, that we went and hid ourselves behind the little door that 
 belongs to the alley ; and, behold ! in a short .time a blue hackney- 
 coach, with its blinds drawn down, stopped at the entrance to 
 the house. ' There she is ! ' says I to Alfred. ' There is his
 
 186 THE MT8TERIE8 OF PARIS. 
 
 madam; let's keep back a bit for fear we frighten her away/ 
 The coachman got off his box and opened the door. Then we 
 saw a female closely covered with a black veil and carrying a 
 muff; she had apparently been crying, for she kept her handker- 
 chief to her face; for when the steps were let down, instead of 
 alighting she said some few words to the driver, who, much 
 surprised, shut the door up again." 
 
 " Then the lady did not get out? " 
 
 " No ! she threw herself back in the coach and pressed her 
 handkerchief tightly to her eyes. I rushed out, and before the 
 coachman had time to get on his seat again I called out, 
 ' Halloo ! there, coachy ! are you going back again ? ' ' Yes/ says 
 he. ' Where ? ' says I. * Where I came from,' answers he. ' And 
 where did you come from ? ' asks I again. ' From the Eue Saint 
 Dominique, corner of the Eue Belle Chasse.' " 
 
 Kodolph started at these words. His dearest friend, the Mar- 
 quis d'Harville, who, as elsewhere stated, had been for some time 
 laboring under a deep melancholy none could penetrate, lived 
 in the very place just mentioned by Madame Pipelet. Could 
 this mysterious female in the blue fiacre be the Marquise d'Har- 
 ville ? and was it from the lightness and frivolity of her conduct 
 that the mind of her excellent husband was bowed down by doubts 
 and misgivings? These painful suggestions crowded on Ro- 
 dolph's mind, but, although well acquainted with all the various 
 guests received by the marquise, he could recollect no one answer- 
 ing the description of the commandant; added to which, any 
 female might have taken a hackney-coach from that spot without 
 necessarily living in the street. There was really nothing to 
 identify the unknown of the blue fiacre with Madame d'Harville, 
 and yet a thousand vague fears and painful suspicions crossed 
 his mind : his uneasy manner and deep abstraction did not escape 
 the porteress. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, sir ? " asked she at length. 
 
 "I was wondering what could have induced the lady, after 
 coming to the very door, to change her mind so suddenly." 
 
 " There is no saying : some sudden thought dread or fear 
 for we poor women are but weak, cowardly things," said the 
 porteress, assuming a timid, frightened manner. " Well, I think 
 if it had been myself now coming secretly to visit Alfred, I 
 should have had to try back a great many times before I could 
 have screwed up my courage to venture in. But, then, as for 
 visiting your great dons in this kind of way, I never could have 
 done such a thing. No, never ! I am sure there is nobody under 
 the face of heaven can say I ever give them the least freedom,
 
 A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 187 
 
 1 should think not, indeed, while my poor dear old darling of a 
 husband is left." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, Madame Pipelet ; but about the young 
 person you were describing in the blue fiacre ? " 
 
 "Oh! mind I don't know whether she was young or old, I 
 could not even catch a glimpse of the tip of her nose ; all I can 
 say is she went as she came, and that is all about it. As for 
 Alfred and me, we were better pleased than if we had found ten 
 francs/' 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " By enjoying the rage and confusion of the commandant 
 when he found himself a third time disappointed; but, instead 
 of going and telling him at once that his * madam ' had been and 
 gone, we allowed him to fume and fret for a whole hour. Then 
 I went softly up-stairs with only my list slippers on. I reached 
 his door, which I found half shut; as I pushed against it, it 
 creaked; the staircase is black as night, and the entrance to the 
 apartment quite as obscure. Scarcely had I crept into the room 
 when the commandant caught me in his arms, saying in a 
 languishing voice, ' My dearest angel ! what makes you so late ? ' ' 
 
 Spite of the serious nature of the thoughts crowding upon his 
 mind, Rodolph could not restrain a smile as he surveyed the 
 grotesque periwig and hideously wrinkled, carbuncled visage, of 
 the heroine of this comic scene. 
 
 Madame Pipelet, however, resumed her narration with a 
 mirthful chuckle that increased her ugliness: 
 
 " That was a go ! wasn't it ? but stop a bit. Well, I did not 
 make the least reply, but, almost keeping in my breath, I waited 
 to see what would be the end of this strange reception. For a 
 minute or two the commandant kept hugging me up, then, all 
 of a sudden, the brute pushed me away, exclaiming with as much 
 disgust as though he had touched a toad, 'Who the devil are 
 you ? ' ' Me, commandant the porteress Madame Pipelet ; 
 and, as such, I will thank you to keep your hands off my waist, 
 and not to call me your angel and scold me for being late. Sup- 
 pose Alfred had heard you, a pretty business we should have 
 made of it!' 'What the deuce brings you here? 7 cried he. 
 ' Merely to let you know the lady in the hackney-coach has just 
 arrived. ' Well, then, you stupid old fool ! show her up directly. 
 Did I not te*ll you to do so ? ' ' Yes, commandant ; you said I 
 was to show her up/ ' Then why do you not obey me ? ' ' Be- 
 cause the lady ' ' Speak out, woman ! if you can/ ' The 
 
 lady has gone again/ ' Something you have said or done, then, 
 to offend her, I am sure ! ' roared he in a perfect fury. ' Not at
 
 188 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 all, commandant. The lady did not alight, but when the coach 
 stopped and the driver opened the door, she desired him to take 
 her back to where she came from.' ' The vehicle cannot have got 
 far by this time/ exclaimed the commandant, hastening towards 
 the door. ' It has been gone upwards of an hour,' answered I, 
 enjoying his fury and disappointment. ' An hour ! an hour ! and 
 what, in the devil's name, hindered you from letting me know 
 this sooner ? ' ' Because, commandant, Alfred and I thought we 
 would spare you as long as we could the tidings of this third 
 break-down, which we fancied might be too much for you, 
 Come, thinks I, there is something to make you remember fling- 
 ing me out of your arms, as though it made you sick to touch 
 me. ( Begone ! ' bawled out the commandant, ' you hideous old 
 hag! you can neither say nor do the thing that is right.' And 
 with this he pulled off his dressing-gown and threw his beautiful 
 Greek cap, made of velvet embroidered with gold, on the ground : 
 it was a real shame, for the cap was a downright beauty ; and as 
 for the dressing-gown, oh my! it would set anybody longing. 
 Meanwhile the commandant kept pacing the room, with his eyes 
 glaring like a wild beast and glowing like two glow-worms." 
 " But were you not afraid of losing his employ ? " 
 " He knew too well what he was about for that ; we had him 
 in a fix, we knew where his ' madam ' lived, and had he said any- 
 thing to us, we should have threatened to expose the whole affair. 
 And who do you think for his beggarly twelve francs would have 
 undertaken to attend to his rooms a stranger? No! that we 
 would have prevented; we would soon have made the place too 
 hot to hold any person he might appoint poor, shabby fellow 
 that he- is ! What do you think? he actually had the meanness to 
 examine his wood and put out the quantity he should allow to 
 be burnt while he was away. He is nothing but an upstart, I 
 am sure a nobody, who has suddenly tumbled into money he 
 does, not know how to spend properly a rich man's head and a 
 beggar's body, who squanders with one hand and nips and 
 pinches with the other. I do not wish him any harm, but it 
 amuses me immensely to think how he has been befooled ; and he 
 will still go on believing and expecting from day to day, because 
 he is too vain to imagine he is being laughed at. At any rate, 
 if the lady ever comes in reality, I will let my friend the oyster- 
 woman next door know; she enjoys a joke as well as I do, and 
 is quite as curious as myself to find out what sort of person she 
 is, whether fair or dark, pretty or plain. And who knows? 
 this woman may be cheating some easy-going simpleton of a 
 husband for the sake of our twopenny-halfpenny of a command-
 
 A SOUSE IN TEE RUE DU TEMPLE. 189 
 
 ant ! Well, that is no concern of mine, but I am sorry, too, for 
 
 the poor, dear, deceived individual, whoever he may be. bear 
 
 me! dear me! my pot is boiling over excuse me a minute, I 
 must just look to it. Ah ! it is time Alfred was in, for dinner is 
 quite ready, and tripe, you know, should never be kept waiting. 
 This tripe is done to a turn. Do you prefer the thick or thin 
 tripe? Alfred likes it thick. The poor darling has been sadly 
 out of spirits lately, and I got this dainty dish to cheer him up a 
 bit; for, as Alfred says himself, that for a bribe of good thick 
 tripe he would betray France itself his beloved France. Yes, 
 the dear old pet would change his country for such fine fat tripe 
 as this, he would." 
 
 While Madame Pipelet was thus delivering her domestic 
 harangue upon the virtues of tripe and the powerful influence it 
 possessed over even the patriotism of her husband, Rodolph was 
 buried in the deepest and most somber reflections. The female, 
 whose visit to the house had just been detailed, be she the Mar- 
 quise d'Harville or any other individual, had evidently long 
 struggled with her imprudence ere she had brought herself to 
 grant a first and second rendezvous, and then, terrified at the 
 probable consequences of her imprudence, a salutary remorse 
 had, in all probability, prevented her from fulfilling her danger- 
 ous engagement. It might be that the fine person this M. 
 Charles was described as possessing had captivated the senses of 
 Madame d'Harville, whom Eodolph knew well as a woman of 
 deep feeling, high intellect, and superior taste, of an elevated 
 turn of mind, and a reputation unsullied by the faintest breath 
 of slander. After long and mature consideration, he succeeded 
 in persuading himself that the wife of his friend had nothing to 
 do with the unknown female in the blue fiacre. Madame Pipelet, 
 having completed her culinary arrangements, resumed her con- 
 versation with Rodolph. 
 
 "And who lives on the second floor?" inquired he of the 
 porteress. 
 
 "Why, Mother Burette does, a most wonderful woman at 
 fortune-telling ; bless you ! she can read in your hand the same 
 a? a book, and many quite first-rate people come to her to have 
 the cards consulted when they are anxious about any particular 
 matter. She earns her weight in gold, and that is not a trifle, 
 for she is a rare bundle of an old body. However, telling for- 
 tunes is only one of her means of gaining a livelihood." 
 
 " Why, what does she do besides ? " 
 
 " She keeps what you would call a pawnbroker's shop upon a 
 small scale."
 
 190 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " I see ; your second-floor lodger lends out again the money 
 she derives from her skill in foretelling events by reading the 
 cards." 
 
 " Exactly so ; only she is cheaper and more easy to deal with 
 than the regular pawnbrokers: she does not confuse you with a 
 heap of paper tickets and duplicates nothing of the sort. Now 
 suppose: Some one brings Mother Burette a shirt worth three 
 francs; well, she lends ten sous upon condition of being paid 
 twenty at the end of the week, otherwise she keeps the shirt for- 
 ever: that is simple enough, is it not? always in round figures, 
 you see, a child could understand it. And the odd things she 
 has brought her as pledges you would scarcely believe. You can 
 hardly guess what she sometimes is asked to lend upon: I saw 
 her once advance money upon a gray parrot that swore like a 
 trooper the blackguard did." 
 
 " A parrot ? but to what amount did she advance money ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you : the parrot was well known, it belonged to a 
 Madame Herbelot, the widow of a factor, living close by ; and it 
 was also well understood that Madame Herbelot valued her par- 
 rot as much as she did her life. Well, Mother Burette said to her, 
 ' I will lend you ten francs on your bird, but if by this day week 
 at twelve o'clock I do not receive twenty francs with interest (it 
 would amount to that in round numbers) ; if I am not paid my 
 twenty francs, with the expenses of his keep, I shall give your 
 Polly a trifling dose of arsenic mixed with his food. She knew 
 her customer well, bless you! However, by this threat Mother 
 Burette received her twenty francs at the end of seven days, 
 and Madame Herbelot got back her disagreeable screaming 
 parrot." 
 
 " Mother Burette has no other way of living besides the two 
 you have named, I suppose?" 
 
 " Not that I know of. I don't know, however, what to say of 
 some rather sly and secret transactions, carried on in a small 
 room she never allows anyone to enter, except M. Bras Eouge 
 and an old one-eyed woman, called La Chouette." 
 
 Rodolph opened his eyes with unmixed astonishment as these 
 names sounded on his ear, and the porteress, interpreting the 
 surprise of her future lodger according to her own notions, said, 
 
 " That name would make anyone stare with astonishment. 
 Certainly, La Chouette is uncommonly odd : is it not ? " 
 
 " It is, indeed. Does the woman who is so styled come here 
 frequently?" 
 
 " We saw her the day before yesterday, for the first time these 
 six weeks. She was rather lame, I observed."
 
 A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 191 
 
 " And what do you suppose she wants with the fortune-telling 
 woman ? " 
 
 " That I do not know ; at least, as to what takes place in the 
 little room I was telling you of, where La Chouette alone is 
 admitted with M. Bras Rouge and Mother Burette. I have, 
 however, particularly observed, that on those occasions the one- 
 eyed woman always has a large bundle with her in her basket, 
 and that M. Bras Rouge also carries a parcel of some size beneath 
 his cloak, and that they always return empty-handed." 
 
 " And what can these packets contain ? " 
 
 " The Lord above knows, for I don't ; only they kick up the 
 devil's own row with them, whatever they are. And then such 
 whiffs of sulphur, charcoal, and melted lead, as you go up the 
 stairs; and blow, blow, blow, like a smith's forge. I verily 
 believe Mother Burette has dealings with the old one, and prac- 
 tices magic in this private apartment; leastways, that is what 
 M. Cesar Bradamanti, our third-floor lodger, said to me. A 
 very clever individual is M. Cesar. When I say an ' individual/ 
 I mean an Italian, though he speaks as good French as you or 
 me, excepting his accent, and that is nothing. Oh, he is very 
 clever, indeed ! knows all about physic ; and pulls out teeth, not 
 for the sake of the money but the honor of his profession yes, 
 really, sir, for downright honor. Now, suppose you had six de- 
 cayed teeth and he says the same thing to all who choose to 
 listen to him well, then he will take out five for nothing, and 
 only charge you for the sixth. Besides which, he sells all manner 
 of remedies for all sorts of complaints diseases of the lungs, 
 coughs, colds, every complaint you can name : but then he makes 
 his own drugs, and he has for his assistant the son of onr princi- 
 pal lessee, little Tortillard. He says that his master is going to 
 buy himself a horse and a red coat, and to sell his drugs in the 
 market-places, and that young Tortillard is to be dressed like a 
 page and be at the drum, to attract customers." 
 
 " This seems to me a very humble occupation for the son of 
 your principal lessee." 
 
 " Why, his father says unless he gets a pretty strong hand over 
 him, and a tolerably powerful taste of whip-cord, in the way of a 
 sound thrashing, every now and then, he is safe to come to the 
 scaffold. And he is about the ugliest, most spiteful, ill-disposed 
 young rascal, one would wish to meet : he has played more than 
 one abominable trick upon poor M. Cesar Bradamanti, who is the 
 best creature possible ; for he cured Alfred of a rheumatic attack, 
 and I promise you we have not forgotten it. Yet there are some 
 people wicked enough to But, no I will not tell you: it
 
 192 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 would make the hair of your head stand on end. As Alfred says, 
 if it were true it would send him to the galleys." 
 
 " Why, what do they accuse him of ? " 
 
 " Oh, I really cannot tell you ! I can't, indeed ; for it is 
 
 " Then we will drop the subject." 
 
 " And to say such things of a young man ! Upon my life and 
 soul, it is too bad." 
 
 " Pray, Madame Pipelet, do not give yourself the trouble of 
 saying any more about it : let us speak of other matters." 
 
 " Why, I don't know but, as you are to live in the house, it is 
 only fair and right to prepare you for any falsehoods you may 
 hear. I suppose you are sufficiently 'well off to make the ac- 
 quaintance of M. Cesar Bradamanti, and unless you are put on 
 your guard against these reports, they might lead to your break- 
 ing off with him. So, just put your ear down and I'll whisper 
 what it is people say about him." 
 
 And the old woman, in a low tone, muttered a few words as 
 Eodolph inclined his head: he started from her, with mingled 
 disgust and horror. 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed he. " Surely human nature is not 
 capable of such crimes ! " 
 
 " Shocking ! is it not ? But treat it as I do all scandal and 
 lies. What, do you think the man who cured Alfred's rheuma- 
 tism who draws five teeth out of six for nothing who has 
 testimonies (testimonials) from every prince and king in the 
 world and, above all, pays as he goes, down on the nail, would 
 go for to do such things? Not he! I'll stake my blessed life 
 upon it." 
 
 While Madame Pipelet thus vented her indignant opinion 
 concerning the reports in circulation, Eodolph recalled to his 
 memory the letter he had seen addressed to the quack-dentist; 
 he remembered the counterfeited writing and the coarse, common 
 paper, stained with tears, which had well-nigh obliterated part 
 of the address too well did he see in the mysterious grief- 
 stained epistle the opening of a drama of deep and fearful im- 
 port; and while these sad presages filled his mind, a powerful 
 impression whispered within him that the dreadful doings 
 ascribed to the Italian were not altogether unfounded. 
 
 " Oh ! I declare, here comes Alfred ! " exclaimed the porteress. 
 " Now he will tell you his opinion of all these spiteful stories 
 about poor M. Bradamanti. Bless you ! Alfred thinks him as 
 innocent as a lamb, ever since he cured his rheumatics." 
 
 M. Pipelet entered the lodge with a grave, magisterial air.
 
 A HOUSE IN THE HUE DU TEMPLE. 193 
 
 He was about sixty years of age, comfortably fat, with a large, 
 broad countenance, strongly resembling in its cast and style the 
 faces carved upon the far-famed nutcrackers of Nuremberg; a 
 nose, of more than ordinary proportions, helping to complete the 
 likeness. An old and dingy-looking hat, with a very deep brim, 
 surmounted the whole. Alfred, who adhered to this upper orna- 
 ment as tenaciously as his wife did to her Brutus wig, was 
 further attired in an ancient green coat, with immense flaps 
 turned up with grease if so might be described the bright and 
 shiny patches of long-accumulated dirt, which had given an 
 entirely different hue to some portions of the garment. But, 
 though clad in a hat and coat esteemed by Pipelet and his wife 
 as closely resembling full-dress, Alfred had not laid aside the 
 modest emblem of his trade, but from his waist uprose the buff- 
 colored triangular front of his leather apron, partly concealing a 
 waistcoat boasting nearly as great a variety of colors as did the 
 patchwork counterpane of Madame Pipelet. 
 
 The porter's recognition of Rodolph as he entered was gracious 
 in the extreme ; but, alas ! he smiled a melancholy welcome, and 
 his countenance and languid air marked a man of secret sorrow. 
 
 " Alfred,'* said Madame Pipelet, when she had introduced her 
 two companions, "here is a gentleman after the apartment on 
 the fourth floor, and we have only been waiting for you to drink 
 a glass of cordial he sent for." 
 
 This delicate attention won for Rodolph the entire trust and 
 confidence of the melancholy porter, who, touching the brim of 
 his hat, said, in a deep bass voice worthy of being employed in a 
 cathedral, 
 
 " We shall give the gentleman every satisfaction as porters, 
 and, doubtless, he will act the same by us as a lodger: 'birds of 
 a feather flock together/ as the proverb says." Then, interrupt- 
 ing himself, M. Pipelet anxiously added: "Providing, sir, you 
 are not a painter ! " 
 
 " Xo, I am no painter, but a plain merchant's clerk." 
 
 " My most humble duty to you, sir. I congratulate you that 
 Xature did not make you one of those monsters called artists." 
 
 " Artists, monsters ! " returned Rodolph. " Tell me, pray, 
 why you style them so." 
 
 Instead of replying, M. Pipelet elevated his clasped hands 
 towards the ceiling, and allowed a heavy sound, between a grunt 
 and a groan, to escape his overcharged breast. 
 
 " You must know, sir," said Madame Pipelet, in a low tone, to 
 Rodolph, rt that painters have embittered Alfred's life : they have 
 worried my poor old dear almost out of his senses, and made him
 
 194 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 half-stupefied, as you see him now." Then speaking loud, she 
 added, in a caressing tone, " Oh, never mind the blackguard, 
 there's a dear ! but try and forget all about it, or you will be ill, 
 and unable to eat the nice tripe I have got for your dinner." 
 
 " Let us hope I shall have courage and firmness enough for all 
 things," replied M. Pipelet, with a dignified and resigned air: 
 " but he has done me much harm ; he has been my persecutor, 
 almost my executioner, long have I suffered, but now I despise 
 him ! Ah ! " said he, turning to Kodolph, " never allow a painter 
 to enter your doors, they are the plague the ruin the destruc- 
 tion of a house ! " 
 
 " You have, then, had a painter lodging with you, I pre- 
 sume ? " 
 
 " Unhappily, sir, I did have one," replied M. Pipelet, with 
 much bitterness, " and that one named Cabrion. Ah ! " 
 
 At the recollections brought back by this name, the porter's 
 declaration of courage and endurance utterly failed him, and 
 again his clenched fists were raised, as though to invoke the 
 vengeance he had so lately described himself as despising. 
 
 " And was this individual the last occupant of the chamber 
 I am about engaging ? " inquired Rodolph. 
 
 " No, no ! the last lodger was an excellent young man named 
 M. Germain. No, this Cabrion had the room before he came. 
 Ah ! sir, since Cabrion left, he has all but driven me stark staring 
 mad ! " 
 
 " Did you, then, so much regret him ? " asked Rodolph. 
 
 " Regret him ! regret Cabrion ! " screamed the astounded 
 porter : " why, only imagine, M. Bras Rouge paid him two quar- 
 ters' rent to induce him to quit the place, for, unluckily, he had 
 taken his apartments for a term. What a scamp he was ! You 
 have no idea of the horrible tricks he played off upon all the 
 lodgers as well as us. Why, just to give you one little proof of 
 his villainy, there was hardly a single wind instrument he did not 
 make use of as a sort of annoyance to the lodgers; from the 
 French horn to the flageolet, he made use of all, and even carried 
 his rascality so far as to play false and to keep blowing the same 
 note for hours together : it was enough to worry one out of one's 
 senses. Well, I suppose there were upwards of twenty different 
 petitions sent to our chief lessee, M. Bras Rouge, to turn the 
 beggar out ; and, at last, he was only got rid of by paying him 
 two quarters' rent rather droll, is it not, for a landlord to pay 
 his lodger ? But, bless you ! the house was so upset by him that 
 he might have had any price so he would but take himself off: 
 however, he did go. And now you suppose we were clear of M.
 
 A HOUSE IN TIIE RUE DU TEMPLE. 195 
 
 Cabrion ? I'll tell you. Next night, about eleven o'clock, I was 
 in bed, when rap, rap, rap, comes to the gate; I pulls up the 
 string somebody walks up to my door, ' How do you do, por- 
 ter ? says a voice ; ' will you oblige me with a lock of your hair ? ' 
 ' Somebody has mistaken the door/ says my wife. So I calls 
 out to the stranger, ' You are wrong, friend, you want next door.' 
 'I think not,' returns the voice; 'this is No. 17, is it not? and 
 the porter's name is Pipelet? I'm all right; so please to open 
 the door and oblige me with a lock of your beautiful hair/ ' My 
 name is Pipelet, certainly,' answers I. 'Well, then, friend 
 Pipelet, Cabrion has sent me for a piece of your hair; he says 
 he must and he will have it." 
 
 As Pipelet uttered the last words he gave his head a mournful 
 shake, and, folding his arms, assumed an attitude of martyrlike 
 resolution. 
 
 " Do you perceive, sir ? he sends to me, his mortal enemy, 
 whom he overwhelmed with insults and continually outraged in 
 every way, to beg a lock of my hair, a favor which even ladies 
 have been known to refuse to a lover ! " 
 
 " But, supposing this Cabrion had been as good a lodger as 
 was M. Germain," replied Eodolph, with some difficulty pre- 
 serving the gravity of countenance, " do you think you might 
 have accorded him the favor ? " 
 
 " Not to the best lodger that treads shoe-leather would I grant 
 a similar request," replied the man in the flapped hat, waving it 
 majestically over his brows as he spoke ; " it is contrary to my 
 principles and habit to give my hair to anyone, only I should 
 have refused with the most scrupulous regard to politeness." 
 
 " That is not all," chimed in the porteress. " Only conceive, 
 sir, the abominable conduct of 'that Cabrion, who, from morning 
 to night, at all hours and at all times, sends a swarm of vaga- 
 bonds like himself to ask Alfred for a lock of his hair always 
 for Cabrion ! " 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur," sighed out poor Pipelet, " had I committed 
 the most atrocious crimes, my sleep could not have been rendered 
 more broken and unref reshing ; scarcely do I fall into a doze 
 than I wake starting with the idea of being called by that 
 cursed Cabrion! I suspect everybody, in each person who 
 approaches me I see an emissary from my persecutor come to 
 request a lock of my hair. I am losing my good spirits, my tem- 
 per, and becoming gloomy, suspicious, peevish, and ill-natured. 
 This infernal Cabrion has murdered my whole life ! " 
 
 And Pipelet heaved so profound a sigh, that his hat, vibrating 
 for some time from the consequences of the convulsive shake
 
 196 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 of the head occasioned thereby, fell forward and completely 
 veiled his care-stricken features. 
 
 " I can well understand, now," said Rodolph, " that you are 
 not particularly partial to painters; but I suppose the M. Ger- 
 main you were praising so highly made up for the bad treatment 
 you received from M. Cabrion ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, sir ; as I told you, M. Germain was a delightful 
 young man, so honorable and kind-hearted, open as the day, and 
 ever ready to serve and oblige; he was cheerful and merry as 
 need be, but then he always kept his high spirits within proper 
 bounds instead of worrying people to death by his unmeaning 
 hoaxes, like that Cabrion, who I wish was at the devil ! " 
 
 " Come, come, my good Monsieur Pipelet, I must not let you 
 thus excite yourself; and who, now, is the person fortunate 
 enough to possess such a pattern of a lodger as this M. Germain 
 seems to have been ? " 
 
 " That is more than I can tell you ; no one knows whither 
 he has gone, nor are they likely, except, indeed, through Made- 
 moiselle Rigolette." 
 
 " And who is Mademoiselle Rigolette ? " demanded Rodolph. 
 
 " Why, she is a needlewoman, also living on the fourth floor," 
 cried Madame Pipelet; "another pattern lodger, always pays 
 her rent in advance, and keeps her little chamber so nice and 
 clean ; then she is well behaved to everyone, so merry and happy, 
 like a bird, though, poor thing ! very like a caged bird, obliged to 
 work early and late to earn two francs a day, and often not half 
 that let her try ever so hard." 
 
 " How does it happen that Mademoiselle Rigolette should be 
 the only person intrusted with the secret of M. Germain's pres- 
 ent abode ? " 
 
 " Why, when he was going away, he came to us and said," re- 
 turned Madame Pipelet, " * I do not expect any letters ; but if, 
 by chance, any should come, please to give them to Mademoiselle 
 Rigolette/ And she is well worthy of his confidence, if his letters 
 were filled with gold ; don't you think so, Alfred ? " 
 
 " The fact is," said the porter, in a severe tone, " that I know 
 no harm of Mademoiselle Rigolette, excepting her permitting 
 herself to be wheedled over by that vile scamp, Cabrion." 
 
 " But you know, Alfred, that nothing more than a few harm- 
 less attentions passed between them," interrupted the porteress; 
 " for, though Mademoiselle Rigolette is as merry as a kitten, she 
 is as prudent and correct as I am myself. You should see the 
 strong bolts she has inside her door ; and if her next-door neigh- 
 bor will make love to her, that is not her fault: it follows as a
 
 A HOUSE IN TUB RUE DU TEMPLE. 197 
 
 matter of course when people are so close to each other. It was 
 just the same with the traveling-clerk we had here before 
 Cabrion, and so it was when M. Germain took the room this 
 abominable painter occupied. So, as I say, there is no blame 
 to Mademoiselle Rigolette; it arises out of the two rooms join- 
 ing one another so closely, naturally that brings about a little 
 flirtation, but nothing more." 
 
 " So, then, it becomes a matter of course, does it," said Ro- 
 dolph, " that every one who occupies the apartment I am to have 
 should make love to Mademoiselle Rigolette?" 
 
 " Why, of course, monsieur ; how can you be good neighbors 
 without it, don't you see? Now, imagine yourself lodging in 
 the very next room to a nice, pretty, obliging young person, like 
 Mademoiselle Rigolette; well, then, young people will be young 
 people, sometimes you want a light, sometimes a few live coals 
 to kindle up your fire, maybe a little water, for one is sure al- 
 ways to find plenty of fresh spring-water at Mademoiselle Rig- 
 olette's, she is never without it, it is her only luxury, she is 
 like a little duck, always dabbling in it ; and if she does happen 
 to have a little leisure, such a washing down of floors and clean- 
 ing of windows ! never the least soil or neglect about either her- 
 self or her apartment, and so you will find." 
 
 " And so M. Germain, by reason of his close proximity to 
 Mademoiselle Rigolette, became what you style upon perfectly 
 neighborly terms with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, bless you, yes ! why, the two seemed cut out for each 
 other, so young and so good-looking ! It was quite a pleasure to 
 look at them as they came down-stairs of a Sunday to take the 
 only walk, poor things ! they could afford themselves throughout 
 the week ; she dressed in a smart little cap and a gown that cost, 
 probably, not more than twenty-five sous the ell, but made by 
 herself, and that so tastily that it became her as much as though 
 it had been of satin; he, mind ye, dressed and looking like a 
 regular gentleman." 
 
 " And M. Germain has not been to see Mademoiselle Rigolette, 
 I suppose, since he quitted the house ? " 
 
 " No, monsieur ; unless on Sunday, for Mademoiselle Rigolette 
 has no time during the other six days of the week to think of 
 sweethearting. Why, the poor girl rises at five or six o'clock, 
 and works incessantly till ten or eleven o'clock at night, never 
 once leaving her room except for a few minutes in the morning, 
 when she goes out to buy food for herself and her two canary- 
 birds ; and the three eat but very little, just a penn'orth of milk, 
 a little bread, some chickweed,' birdseed, and clear fresh water,
 
 198 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 and the whole three of them sing away as merrily as though they 
 fared ever so sumptuously. And Ma'amselle Rigolette is kind 
 and charitable, too, as far as lays in her power; that is to say, 
 she gives her time, her sleep, and her services: for, poor girl! 
 she can scarcely manage to keep herself by working closely for 
 twelve hours a day. Those poor, unfortunate creatures in the 
 attics, whom M. Bras Rouge is going to turn into the strets in 
 two or three days' time, if even he wait so long, why Made- 
 moiselle Eigolette and M. Germain sat up with the children 
 night after night ! " 
 
 " You have a distressed family, then, here ? " 
 
 " Distressed ! oh, God bless you, my good sir, I think we have, 
 indeed. Why, there are five young children, an almost dying 
 mother, an idiotic grandmother, and their only support a man 
 who, though he slaves like a negro, cannot even get bread enough 
 to eat and a capital workman he is, too ; three hours' sleep out 
 of the twenty-four is all he allows himself, and what sleep it 
 is ! broken by his children crying for food, by the groans of 
 his sick wife tossing on her miserable straw bed, or the idiotic 
 screams of the poor, bed-ridden, old grandmother, who some- 
 times howls like a wolf from hunger, too for, poor creature ! 
 she has not sense or reason to know better, and when she gets 
 very hungry you may hear cries and screams all down the stair- 
 case." 
 
 "Horrible!" exclaimed Rodolph, with a shudder; "and does 
 no one afford them any assistance ? " 
 
 " Truly, sir, we do all we can ; we are but poor ourselves ; 
 however, since the commandant has allowed me his paltry twelve 
 francs a month for looking after his apartments, I have managed 
 once a week to make a little broth for these poor unfortunate 
 creatures. Mademoiselle Rigolette deprives herself of her night's 
 rest, and sits up, poor girl! (though it burns her candles), con- 
 triving out of one bit and the other of her cutting out to make 
 up a few clothes for the children; sometimes from the morsels 
 left of her work she manages a small nightcap or gown ; and M. 
 Germain, who had not a franc more than he knew what to do 
 with, used to pretend, from time to time, that he had received a 
 present of a few bottles of wine from his friends; and Morel 
 (that is the name of the workman with the sick family) was 
 sure to be invited to share it with him ; and it was really wonder- 
 ful to see how refreshed and strengthened poor Morel used to 
 seem after M. Germain had made him take a good pull at his 
 wine, to put, as he used to say, a little life and soul into his 
 half-exhausted body."
 
 A HO USE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 199 
 
 "And the surgeon-dentist, what did he do for this wretched 
 family?" 
 
 " M. Bradamanti ? " said the porter ; " ah ! he cured my rheu- 
 matism, and I owe him my eternal gratitude; but from that 
 very day I said to my wife, ' Anastasia, M. Bradamanti/ hum ! 
 hum! did I not say so, Anastasia?" 
 
 " Exactly ; that is precisely what you did say." 
 
 " But I want to know what this M. Bradamanti did to assist 
 the poor starving beings in your garrets ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, monsieur, when I mentioned to M. Brada- 
 manti the misery and utter destitution of poor Morel, by the 
 way, he first began the conversation by complaining that the 
 raving and screaming of the old idiot woman throughout the 
 night for food prevented him from sleeping, and that he found 
 it very unpleasant; however, he listened to my description of 
 the state the whole family was in, and then he said, ' Well, if 
 they are so much distressed, you may tell them that if they 
 want any teeth drawn, I will excuse their paying even for the 
 sixth.'" 
 
 " I tell you what, Madame Pipelet," said Eodolph, " I have 
 a decidedly bad opinion of this man. Ajid your female pawn- 
 broker, was she more charitable ? " 
 
 " Very much after the fashion of M. Bradamanti," said the 
 porteress ; " she lent a few sous upon their wretched clothes ; 
 every garment they had has passed into her hands, and even 
 their last mattress: but they were not long coming to the last, 
 for they never had but two." 
 
 " But she gave them no further aid ? " 
 
 " Help them, poor creatures ! not she. Mother Burette is as 
 great a brute in her way as her lover, M. Bras Rouge, is in his ; 
 for between you and I," added the porteress, with an uncom- 
 monly knowing wink of the eye and sagacious shake of the head, 
 " there is something rather tender going on between these two." 
 
 " Really ! " cried Rodolph. 
 
 " I think so I do upon my life. And why not ? why, the 
 folks in Saint Martin are as loving as the rest of the world; 
 are they not, my old pet ? " 
 
 A melancholy shake of the head, which produced a corre- 
 sponding motion in the huge black hat, was M. Pipelet's only an- 
 swer. As for Madame Pipelet, since she had begun expressing 
 sympathy for the poor sufferers in the attics, her countenance 
 had ceased to strike Rodolph as repulsive, and he even thought 
 it wore an agreeable expression. 
 
 "And what is this poor Morel's trade?"
 
 200 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " A maker of false jewelry ; he works by the piece : but, dear 
 me ! that sort of work is so much imitated and so cheaply got up 
 
 that For a man can but work his best, and he cannot do 
 
 more than he can ; besides, when you have got to find bread for 
 seven persons without reckoning yourself, it is rather a hard job I 
 take it. And though his eldest daughter does her best to assist 
 the family, she has but very little in her power." 
 
 "How old is this daughter?" 
 
 " About eighteen, and as lovely a young creature as you would 
 see in a long summer's day. She lives as servant with an old 
 miserly fellow, rich enough to buy and sell half Paris a notary, 
 named M. Jacques Ferrand." 
 
 " M. Jacques Ferrand ! " exclaimed Eodolph, surprised at the 
 fresh coincidence which brought under his notice the very in- 
 dividual from whom, or from whose confidential housekeeper, 
 he expected to glean so many particulars relative to La Goua- 
 leuse. M. Jacques Ferrand, who lives in the Eue du Sentier, 
 do you mean?" inquired he. 
 
 " The very same ; are you acquainted with him ? " 
 
 " Not at all ; but he does the law business for the firm I belong 
 to." 
 
 " Ah ! then you must know that he is a regular money-grub- 
 bing old usurer; but, then, let me do the man justice. He is 
 strictly religious, and devout as a monk; never absent from mass 
 or vespers, making his Easter offerings, and going regularly to 
 confession. If he ever enjoys himself, it is only along with the 
 priests, drinking holy water, and eating blessed bread. Oh ! he 
 is almost a saint from the strictness of his life; but, then, his 
 heart is as hard as iron, and as stern and rigid towards others as 
 he is severe towards himself. Why, poor Louise, daughter to 
 our sick lodger, has been his only servant for the last eighteen 
 months. And what a good girl she is ! gentle as a lamb in temper 
 and disposition, but willing as a horse to work; and he only 
 gives this poor thing, who slaves herself to death for him, 
 eighteen francs a month, not a farthing more, I give you my 
 word ; and out of this she only keeps back six francs for her own 
 maintenance, and hands over the other twelve to her starving 
 family : that has been all their dependence for some time past ; 
 but when seven persons have to live upon it, it does not go 
 . far." 
 
 " But what does the father earn, I mean provided he is in- 
 dustrious ? " 
 
 " Industrious ! God bless you, he has always overworked him- 
 self ; he is the soberest, steadiest creature alive; and I verily be-
 
 A HO USE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE. 201 
 
 lieve, that if he had the promise of obtaining any favor he liked 
 to ask of Heaven, it would be that the day might be made 
 doubly as long as it now is that he might earn bread enough 
 to stop the cries of his starving brats." 
 
 " Then the father cannot earn enough if he were to try ever 
 so hard, it seems ? " 
 
 " Why, the poor man was ill a-bed for three months, and that 
 threw them all behind; his wife's health was quite ruined by the 
 fatigue of nursing him and the severe want she experienced of 
 common necessaries for herself and family. She now lies in a 
 dying state; they have had nothing for all that period besides 
 Louise's wages and what they could obtain from Mother Burette 
 upon the few wretched articles they could dispose of. True, 
 the master for whom Morel had worked advanced them a trifle, 
 out of respect for a man he had always found punctual and honest 
 when he could work. But, la! eight people only to be found 
 in bread, that is what I say, just imagine how hard it must 
 be to keep life and soul together upon such small means; and 
 if you could only see the hole they are all huddled together 
 
 in But do not let us talk any more about that, monsieur, 
 
 for our dinner is ready, and the very thought of their wretched 
 garret turns my stomach. However, happily, M. Bras Rouge is 
 going to clear the house of them, when I say happily, I don't 
 mean it ill-naturedly in the least; but since these poor Morels 
 have fallen into such misery, and it is quite out of our power 
 to help them, why let them go and be miserable elsewhere, it will 
 be a heartache the less for us all." 
 
 " But, if they are turned out from here, where will they go 
 to?" 
 
 "Truly, I don't know." 
 
 " And how much can this poor workman earn daily when in 
 health, and without any calls upon his time or attention?" 
 
 " Why, if he had not to attend to his old mother, nurse his 
 sick wife, and look after the five children, he could earn his three 
 or four francs a day, because he works like a downright slave; 
 but now that, at least, three-quarters of his time are taken up 
 with the family, he can hardly manage to earn forty sous." 
 
 " That is little, indeed, poor creatures ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is easy to say poor creatures, but there are so many 
 equally poor creatures, that as we can do nothing for them, it 
 is no use to worry ourselves about it is it, Alfred? And, talk- 
 ing of consoling ourselves, there stands the cassia, and we have 
 never thought of tasting it." 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Madame Pipelet, after what I have
 
 202 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 just heard I have no inclination to partake of it. You and M. 
 Pipelet must drink my health in it when I am gone." 
 
 " You are extremely kind, sir," said the porter ; " but will 
 you not like to see the rooms up-stairs ? " 
 
 "I shall be glad to do so, if perfectly convenient; and, if 
 they suit, I will engage them at once and leave a deposit." 
 
 The porter, followed by Eodolph, emerged from the gloomy 
 lodge, and proceeded up-stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE FOUR STORIES. 
 
 THE damp, dark staircase, looked still more gloomy through 
 the fog of a November day. The entrance to each separate set 
 of apartments in this house bore its own peculiar and distinc- 
 tive character to the observant eye. Thus, the door conducting 
 to those of the commandant bore evidences of having been re- 
 cently painted in close imitation of ebony, being further set off 
 with a brass knob rubbed up to a most dazzling brightness, while 
 a gay-colored bell-rope, finished by an enormous tassel of scarlet 
 silk, contrasted strongly with the mean and shabby wall against 
 which it hung. 
 
 The door of the flight above, where dwelt the female money- 
 lender and dealer in divination, was singularly characterized by 
 the appearance of that mystical symbol of deep wisdom and 
 oracular knowledge, an owl, which, stuffed to resemble life as 
 closely as the artist could contrive it, was nailed on a small 
 bracket just above the doorway; while a sort of small wicket, 
 latticed with wire-work, enabled all visitors to be duly scruti- 
 nized ere they were admitted. 
 
 The dwelling of the Italian charlatan, who was said to pursue 
 such fearful avocations, had, likewise, its whimsical mode of 
 designating the pursuits of its occupant, whose name, traced 
 in large letters formed of horses' teeth upon a square black- 
 board, was nailed to the entrance-door; while, instead of adopt- 
 ing the classical agency of a deer's foot or a hare's pad for the 
 handle of his bell, there hung dangling from the cord the hand 
 and arm of a dried ape, the withered limb, the shriveled hand, 
 with its five fingers, each so distinctly preserved, and the articu- 
 lation of every joint so clearly defined, the tiny tips bearing the 
 nails long and taper as those of a human creature, presented a
 
 THE FOUR STOK1ES. 203 
 
 close and hideous resemblance to the hand and arm of a child. 
 
 As Rodolph passed before a door so singularly indicative of 
 all his worst suspicions, he fancied he could detect the sound 
 of smothered sobs from within. Then rose up a cry so full of 
 agony, of convulsive, irrepressible misery, a cry as if wrung 
 from a breaking heart or the last wail of expiring nature, that 
 the whole house seemed to re-echo it. Eodolph started: then, 
 by a movement more rapid than thought itself, he rushed to the 
 door and violently pulled the bell. 
 
 " What is the matter, sir ? " inquired the astonished porter. 
 
 "That cry!" said Rodolph; "did you not hear it?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I heard it; I dare say it is some person whose 
 teeth M. Bradamanti is taking out; perhaps he may be taking 
 out several, and it is painful ! " 
 
 This explanation, though a probable one, did not satisfy 
 Eodolph as to the horrid scream which still resounded in his 
 ears. Though he had rung the bell with considerable violence, 
 no person had as yet replied to his summons : he could distinctly 
 hear the shutting of several doors, and then, behind a small oval 
 glass let in beside the door, and on which Rodolph had mechan- 
 ically kept his eye fixed, he saw the haggard, cadaverous counte- 
 nance of a human being ; a mass of reddish hair strongly mixed 
 with gray, and a long beard of the same hue, completed the 
 hideous ensemble: the face was seen but for an instant, and 
 vanished as quickly as though it had been a mere creation of 
 fancy, leaving Rodolph in a state of perturbation impossible to 
 describe. 
 
 Short as had been the period of this apparition's visit, he had 
 yet in those brief instants recalled features precisely similar and 
 forever engraven on his memory, the eyes shining with the 
 color and brilliancy of the aqua marina beneath their bushy 
 sandy eyebrows, the livid complexion, the nose thin, projecting 
 and curving like an eagle's beak, with its nostrils so curiously 
 expanded and carved out till they exposed a portion of the nasal 
 cartilage, resembled closely a certain Polidori, whose name had 
 been so unceremoniously committed by Murphy, in his conversa- 
 tion with Graiin, to regions not mentionable to polite ears. 
 Though Rodolph had not seen Polidori during the last sixteen 
 or seventeen years, he had a thousand reasons for keeping every 
 feature well in his remembrance. The only thing that told 
 against the identity of the individual he believed existed under 
 the disguised name of this quack-dentist was the circumstance 
 of his having red hair, while the Polidori of Rodolph's acquaint- 
 ance had almost black. That Rodolph experienced no wonder
 
 204 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 (always supposing his conjectures as to the identity correct) 
 at finding a man whose profound learning, rare talent, and vast 
 intelligence he well knew, sunk to such degradation it might 
 even be infamy, was because he knew equally well that all these 
 high attainments and noble gifts were allied to such, ntire per- 
 versity such wild and irregular passions, inclinati* 3 so cor- 
 rupt, and, above all, an affected scorn and contempt for the 
 opinion of the world, which might lead this man when want 
 and misery overtook him to seek, from choice, the lowest and 
 least honorable paths of subsistence, and to enjoy a sort of 
 malevolent satisfaction in the idea of him the talented, the 
 learned, burying all these precious treasures beneath the ignoble 
 calling to which he had devoted his' vast powers of mind and 
 body. Still, be it remembered that, spite of the close resem- 
 blance between the charlatan surgeon-dentist and the Polidori 
 of bygone years, there still existed discrepancies so great that 
 Eodolph balanced, in deep uncertainty, respecting their proving 
 to be one and the same person. 
 
 At length, turning to Pipelet, he inquired, 
 
 " How long has this M. Bradamanti been an inmate of this 
 house ? " 
 
 " About a year, sir, as nearly as I can remember, yes, it is 
 a year: I recollect he took the lodgings in the January quarter. 
 Oh ! he is a very regular and exact lodger ; he cured me of a 
 desperate attack of rheumatism." 
 
 " Madame Pipelet was telling me of the reports which are 
 circulated of him." 
 
 " How could she be so foolish ? " 
 
 " Nay, pray do not fear me ! I assure you I may safely be 
 trusted." 
 
 " But really, sir," rejoined Pipelet, " I do not think there is 
 the least dependence to be placed in such reports. I do not 
 believe them, for one. I never can believe them; my modesty 
 would not let me," added M. Pipelet, turning very red, and 
 preceding his new lodger to the floor above. 
 
 The more resolved upon clearing up his doubts in proportion 
 to the very great annoyance he felt that the residence of Polidori 
 in the same house would prove to him, and becoming momenta- 
 rily more disposed to affix a painful solution to the enigma of 
 the piercing cry he had heard from the apartments of the Italian, 
 Eodolph bound himself by a rigid promise to investigate the 
 matter, so as to place it beyond the power of a doubt, and fol- 
 lowed the porter to the upper floor, where was situated the 
 chamber he was desirous of engaging.
 
 THE LABORATORY OF POLIDORI
 
 THE FOUR STORIES. 205 
 
 It was easy to ascertain the abode of his next-door neighbor, 
 Mademoiselle Eigolette. Thanks to the charming gallantry of 
 the painter, Pipelet's mortal foe, the door of her chamber was 
 ornamented after the manner of Watteau, with a panel design 
 representing about half-a-dozen fat, little, chubby Loves, grouped 
 round a space painted sky-blue, and on which was traced, in 
 pink letters, " Mademoiselle Rigolette, Dressmaker" These 
 plump little Cupids had all a task to perform besides encircling 
 this important announcement. One held the thimble of Made- 
 moiselle Rigolette upon his tiny finger ; another held her scissors ; 
 a third was provided with a smoothing-iron for her use; whilst 
 a fourth held up a mirror, as if to tempt the young sempstress to 
 forsake her work for the more gratifying view of her own pretty 
 countenance. The whole was surrounded with a well-chosen 
 wreath of flowers, whose gay colors contrasted agreeably with 
 the sea-green color of the door; the whole offering a very un- 
 favorable contrast to the mean and shabby-looking staircase. At 
 the risk of opening anew the bleeding wounds of Alfred, Rodolph 
 ventured to observe, while pointing to the door of Mademoiselle 
 Rigolette, 
 
 " This, I suppose, is the work of M. Cabrion ? " 
 
 " It is ; he destroyed the painting of the door by daubing it 
 over with a parcel of fat indecent children he called his loves. 
 Had it not been for the entreaties of Mademoiselle Rigolette, 
 and the weakness of M. Bras Rouge, I would have scratched it all 
 off, as well as this palette filled with horrid monsters, with 
 their equally abominable master, whom you can see drawn 
 amongst them. You may know him by his steeple-crowned hat." 
 
 And there, sure enough, on the door of the room Rodolph was 
 about to hire, might be seen a palette surrounded by all kinds 
 of odd and whimsical creatures, the witty conceit of which might 
 have done honor to Callot. Rodolph followed the porter into a 
 tolerably good-sized room, accessible by a small entrance-closet, 
 or antechamber, having two windows opening into the Rue du 
 Temple. Some fantastic sketches from the pencil of M. Cabrion, 
 on the second door, had been scrupulously respected by M. Ger- 
 main. Rodolph saw too many reasons for desiring to obtain 
 this lodging to hesitate further; therefore, modestly placing a 
 couple of francs in the hand of the porter, he said, 
 
 "This chamber will exactly suit me. Here is a deposit to 
 complete the bargain. To-morrow I will send in my furniture ; 
 but let me beg of you not to destroy the merry creatures painted 
 on the palette at the entrance. It is really very droll ! Don't 
 you think so?"
 
 206 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Droll ! " groaned poor Pipelet ; " not I ! Ah, sir ! how would 
 you like to dream night after night that you were being hunted 
 by a legion of little ugly devils like these on the door, with 
 Cabrion at their head urging them on, and then fancying you 
 are trying to get away, and cannot ? Oh ! I have woke all in a 
 perspiration from such dreams hundreds of times since that 
 infamous Cabrion began persecuting me." 
 
 " Why, honestly speaking, I cannot say the chase would be 
 a very agreeable one, even though but a dream. However, tell 
 me, have I any need to see M. Bras Eouge your great man 
 here about renting this apartment ? " 
 
 " None whatever, sir. He rarely comes near the place, except 
 when he has any private matters to arrange with Mother Burette. 
 I am the only person to treat with about hiring apartments. I 
 must heg the favor of your name." 
 
 "Rodolph." 
 
 "Rodolph what?" 
 
 " Plain Eodolph, M. Pipelet nothing more, if you please." 
 
 " Just as you please, sir. I did not ask from curiosity. Every 
 man has a right to his own free will, as well as to decide upon 
 the name he chooses to be called." 
 
 " What do you think, M. Pipelet, as to the propriety of my 
 going to-morrow, as a new neighbor of Morel's, to inquire 
 whether I can be of any service to them ? Since my predecessor, 
 M. Germain, was permitted to assist them according to his 
 means, why should they not accept of what trifling help I can 
 afford?" 
 
 " Why, sir, I see no harm in your going to call on the Morels, 
 because it may please the poor things; but I hardly see much 
 good it can do, as they are so shortly to be turned out of the 
 house." Then, as if suddenly struck with a new idea, M. Pipelet 
 exclaimed, winking at Rodolph with what he intended should be 
 a very facetious and penetrating look, " I see, I see you mean 
 to begin making acquaintance with the lodgers at the top of 
 the house, that you may be able to work your way down to Made- 
 moiselle Rigolette. Ah! I've found you out, you see pretty 
 girl " 
 
 " Well, I think you have discovered my intentions, so I will 
 confess at once that I mean to try and be on friendly terms with 
 my agreeable neighbor." 
 
 " There is no harm in that, sir it is customary ; only all cor- 
 rect, all right and honorable you understand. Between you 
 and me, I strongly suspect Mademoiselle Rigolette heard us 
 coming up-stairs, and that she is watching to have a look as we
 
 THE FOUR STORIES. 207 
 
 go down. I will make a noise purposely in locking the door; 
 if you look sharp, you will see her as we pass the landing." 
 And, true to the porter's suspicions, the door so tastefully en- 
 livened by the fat Cupids, a la Watteau, was seen to open gently, 
 and Rodolph had a brief view of a little turned-up nose, and a 
 pair of large, staring black eyes, peeping through the narrow 
 space ; but, as he slackened his steps, the door was hastily shut. 
 " I told you she was watching us," said the porter. Then added, 
 "Excuse me one instant, sir; I want to step up to my ware- 
 house." 
 
 "Where is that?" 
 
 " At the top of this ladder is the landing-place, on which the 
 door of Morel's garret opens, and in the wainscoting of this 
 landing is a small dark cupboard, where I keep my leather, and 
 the wall is so full of cracks, that when I am in this hole I 
 can see and hear everything, the same as if I was in Morel's 
 room. Not that I wish to spy what the poor creatures are about, 
 God knows quite the contrary. But please to excuse me for a 
 few minutes, sir, whilst I fetch my bit of leather. If you will 
 have the goodness to go down-stairs, I will rejoin you." 
 
 And, so saying, Pipelet commenced ascending the steep ladder 
 communicating with his warehouse, as he styled it a some- 
 what perilous feat for a person of his age. 
 
 Rodolph, thus left alone, cast another glance towards the 
 chamber of Mademoiselle Rigolette, remembering with deep in- 
 terest all he had heard of her being the favorite companion of 
 the poor Goualeuse, and recalling also the information she was 
 said to possess touching the residence of the Schoolmaster's son, 
 when the sound of some person quitting the apartments of the 
 quack-doctor below attracted his attention, and he could dis- 
 tinctly hear the light step of a female, with the rustling of a 
 silk dress. Rodolph paused till the sounds had died away, and 
 then descended the stairs. Something white had fallen about 
 half-way down; it had evidently been dropped by the person 
 who had just quitted Polidori. Rodolph picked it up, and 
 carried it to one of the narrow windows which lighted the stair- 
 case. It was a pocket-handkerchief, of the finest cambric, 
 trimmed with costly lace, and bearing in one corner the initials 
 " L. N." beautifully embroidered, and surmounted with a ducal 
 coronet. The handkerchief was literally soaked in tears. 
 
 Rodolph's first impulse was to follow' the person from whose 
 hand this mute evidence of deep woe had fallen, with the view 
 of restoring it, but, reflecting that such a step might be mis- 
 taken for impertinent curiosity, he determined to preserve it
 
 208 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 carefully, as the first link in an adventure he found himself 
 almost involuntarily engaged, and from which he augured a pain- 
 ful and melancholy termination. As he returned to the porteress, 
 he inquired whether a female had not just come down-stairs. 
 
 "A female! No, indeed, sir it was a fine, tall, slender- 
 looking lady, not a female, and covered over with a thick black 
 veil. She has come from M. Bradamanti. Little Tortillard 
 fetched a coach for her, and she has just driven away in it. 
 What struck me was the impudence of that little beggar to seat 
 himself behind the coach. I dare say, though, it was to see 
 where the lady went to, for he is as mischievous as a magpie, and 
 as prying as a ferret, for all his club-foot." 
 
 " So then," thought Eodolph, " the- name and address of this 
 unhappy lady will soon be known to this impostor, since it is, 
 doubtless, by his directions she is followed and watched by this 
 imp of an emissary." 
 
 " Well, sir, and what do you think of the apartment ? will it 
 suit you ? " inquired Madame Pipelet. 
 
 " Nothing could have suited me better. I have taken it, and 
 to-morrow I shall send in my furniture." 
 
 " Well, then, thank God for a good lodger ! I am sure it was 
 a lucky chance for us sent you here." 
 
 " I hope you will find it so, madam. I think it is well under- 
 stood between us that you undertake to manage all my little 
 domestic matters for me. I shall come and superintend the re- 
 moval of my goods. Adieu ! " 
 
 So saying, Eodolph left the lodge. The results of his visit 
 to the house in the Eue du Temple were highly important, both 
 as regarded the solution of the deep mystery he so ardently 
 desired to unravel, and also as affording a wide field for the 
 exercise of his earnest endeavors to do good and to prevent evil. 
 After mature calculation, he considered himself to have achieved 
 the following results : 
 
 First, he had ascertained that Mademoiselle Eigolette was in 
 possession of the address of Germain, the Schoolmaster's son. 
 Secondly, a young female, who, from appearances, might un- 
 happily be the Marquise d'Harville, had made an appointment 
 with the commandant for the morrow, perhaps to her own 
 utter ruin and disgrace; and Eodolph had (as we have before 
 mentioned) numerous reasons for wishing to preserve the honor 
 and peace of one for whom he felt so lively an interest, as he 
 took in all concerning M. d'Harville. An honest and industrious 
 artisan, crushed by the deepest misery, was, with his whole 
 family, about to be turned into the streets through the means
 
 
 TOM AND SARAH. 209 
 
 of Bras Rouge. Further, Rodolph had undesignedly caught a 
 glimpse of an adventure in which the charlatan Caesar Brada- 
 manti (possibly Polidori) and a female, evidently of rank and 
 fashion, were the principal actors. And, finally, La Chouette, 
 having lately quitted the hospital, where she had been since 
 the affair in the Allee des Veuves, had reappeared on the stage, 
 and was evidently engaged in some underhand proceedings with 
 the fortune-teller and female money-lender who occupied the 
 second floor of the house. 
 
 Having carefully noted down all these particulars, Rodolph 
 returned to his house, Rue Plumet, deferring till the following 
 day his visit to the notary, Jacques Ferrand. 
 
 It will be no doubt fresh in the memory of our readers, that 
 on this same evening Rodolph was engaged to be present at a 
 
 grand ball given by the ambassador of . Before following 
 
 our hero in this new excursion, let us cast a retrospective glance 
 on Tom and Sarah, personages of the greatest importance in 
 the development of this history. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TOM AND SARAH. 
 
 SARAH SEYTON, widow of Count Macgregor, and at this 
 time thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, was of an excellent 
 Scotch family, daughter of a baronet, and a country gentleman. 
 Beautiful and accomplished, an orphan at seventeen years old, 
 she had left Scotland with her brother, Thomas Seyton of 
 Halsbury. The absurd predictions of an old Highland nurse 
 had excited almost to madness the two leading vices in Sarah's 
 character pride and ambition: the destiny predicted for her, 
 and in which she fully believed, was of the highest order, in 
 fact, sovereign rank. The prophecy had been so often repeated, 
 that the young Scotch girl eventually fully credited its fulfil- 
 ment ; and she constantly repeated to herself, to bear out her 
 ambitious dream, that a fortune-teller had thus promised a 
 crown to the handsome and excellent creature who afterwards 
 sat on the throne of France, and who was queen as much by her 
 pi-aces and her kind heart as others have been by their grandeur 
 and majesty. 
 
 Strange to say, Thomas Seyton, as superstitious as his sister, 
 encouraged her foolish hopes, and resolved on devoting his life
 
 210 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 to the realization of Sarah's dream, a dream as dazzling as it 
 was deceptive. However, the brother and sister were not so 
 blind as to believe implicitly in this Highland prophecy, and to 
 look absolutely for a throne of the first rank in a splendid disdain 
 of secondary royalties or reigning principalities ; on the contrary, 
 so that the handsome Scotch lassie should one day encircle her 
 imperial forehead with a sovereign crown, the haughty pair 
 agreed to condescend to shut their eyes to the importance of the 
 throne they coveted. By the assistance of the Almanack, de 
 Gotha for the year of grace 1819, Seyton arranged, before he 
 left Scotland, a sort of synopsis of the ages of all the kings- 
 and ruling powers in Europe then unmarried. 
 
 Although very ridiculous, yet the brother and sister's ambition 
 was freed from all shameful modes: Seyton was prepared to aid 
 his sister Sarah in snatching at the thread of the conjugal 
 band by which she hoped eventually to fasten a crown upon her 
 brows. He would be her participator in any and all stratagems 
 which could tend to consummate this end; but he would rather 
 have killed his sister than see her the mistress of a prince, 
 even though the liaison should terminate in a marriage of 
 reparation. 
 
 The matrimonial inventory that resulted from Seyton and 
 Sarah's researches in the Almanack de Gotha was satisfactory. 
 The Germanic Confederation furnished forth a numerous con- 
 tingent of young presumptive sovereigns. Seyton was not 
 ignorant of the sort of German wedlock which is called a " left- 
 handed marriage/* to which, as being legitimate to a certain 
 extent, he would, as a last resource, have resigned his sister. 
 To Germany, then, it was resolved to bend their steps, in order to 
 commence this search for a royal spouse. 
 
 If the project appears improbable, such hopes ridiculous, let 
 us first reply by saying that unbridled ambition, excited by 
 superstitious belief, rarely claims for itself the light of reason 
 in its enterprises, and will dare the wildest impossibilities; yet, 
 when we recall certain events, even in our own times, from high 
 and most reputable morganatic marriages between sovereigns 
 and female subjects, down to the loving elopement of Miss 
 Penelope Smith and the Prince of Capua, we cannot refuse 
 some chance of fortunate result to the imagination of Seyton 
 and Sarah. Let us add that the lady united to a very lovely per- 
 son singular abilities and very varied talents ; whilst there were 
 added a power of seduction the more dangerous as it was united 
 to a mind unbending and calculating, a disposition cunning and 
 selfish, a deep hypocrisy, a stubborn and despotic will, all 

 
 TOM AMD SARAH. 211 
 
 covered by the outward show of a generous, warm, and impas- 
 sioned nature. 
 
 In her appearance there was as much deceit as in her mind. 
 Her full and dark eyes, now sparkling, now languishing, beneath 
 her coal-black brow could well dissimulate all the warmth of 
 love and desire. Yet the burning impulses of love never throbbed 
 beneath her icy bosom : no surprise of the heart or of the senses 
 ever intervened to disturb the cold and pitiless calculations 
 of this woman crafty, selfish, and ambitious. When she 
 reached the Continent, she resolved, in accordance with her 
 brother's advice not to commence her conjugal and regal 
 campaign until she had resided some time in Paris, where she 
 determined to complete her education, and rub off the rust of 
 her native country, by associating with a society which was 
 embellished by all that was elegant, tasteful, and refined. 
 Sarah was introduced into the best society and the highest circles, 
 thanks to the letters of recommendation and considerate 
 patronage of the English "ambassador's" lady and the old 
 Marquis d'Harville, who had known Tom and Sarah's father 
 in England. 
 
 Persons of deceitful, calculating, and cold dispositions, acquire 
 with great facility language and manners quite in opposition 
 to their natural character, as with them all is outside, surface, 
 appearance, varnish, bark; or they soon find that, if their real 
 characters are detected, they are undone: so, thanks to the sort 
 of instinct of self-preservation with which they are gifted, they 
 feel all the necessity of the moral mask, and so paint and cos- 
 tume themselves with all the alacrity and skill of a practised 
 comedian. Thus, after six months' residence in Paris, Sarah 
 was in a condition to contest with the most Parisian of Parisian 
 women, as to the piquant finish of her wit, the charm of her 
 liveliness, the ingenuousness of her flirtation, and the exciting 
 simplicity of her looks, at once chaste and passionate. 
 
 Finding his sister in full panoply for his campaign, Seyton 
 left with her for Germany, furnished with the best letters of 
 introduction. The first state of the German Confederation 
 which headed Sarah's " road-book " was the Grand Duchy of 
 Gerolstein, thus styled in the diplomatic and infallible Almanack 
 de Gotha for the year of grace 1819. 
 
 Genealogy of the Sovereigns of Europe and their Families. 
 " GEROLSTEIN. 
 
 " Grand Duke : MAXIMILIAN RODOLPH, 10th December, 1764. Succeeded 
 hia father, CHARLES FREDERIC RODOLPH, 21st April, 1785. Widower
 
 212 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 January 1808, by decease of his wife, LOUISA AMELIA, daughter of 
 JOHN AUGUSTUS, Prince of BUKGLEN. 
 
 " Son : GUSTAVUS RODOLPH, born 17th April, 1803. 
 
 ''Mother: Dowager Grand Duchess JUDITH, widow of the Grand Duke, 
 CHARLES FREDERIC KODOLPU, 21st April, 1785." 
 
 Seyton, with much practical good sense, had first noted down 
 on his list the youngest princes whom he coveted as brothers-in- 
 law, thinking that extreme youth is more easily seduced than 
 ripened age. Moreover, we have already said that the brother 
 and sister were particularly recommended to the reigning Duke 
 of Gerolstein by the old Marquis d'Harville, caught, like the 
 rest of the world, by Sarah, whose beauty, grace, and, above all, 
 delightful manners, he could not sufficiently admire. 
 
 It is superfluous to say that the presumptive heir of the 
 Grand Duchy of Gerolstein was Gustavus RODOLPH: he was 
 hardly eighteen when Tom and Sarah were presented to his 
 father. The arrival of the young Scotch lady was an event in 
 the German court, so quiet, simple, and almost patriarchal in 
 its habits and observances. The Grand Duke, a most worthy 
 gentleman, governed his states with wise firmness and paternal 
 kindness. Nothing could exceed the actual and moral happiness 
 of the principality whose laborious and steady population, 
 by their soberness and piety, presented a pure specimen of the 
 German character. This excellent people enjoyed so much real 
 felicity, and were so perfectly contented with their condition, 
 that the enlightened care of the Grand Duke was not much 
 called into action to preserve them from the mania of constitu- 
 tional innovations. As far as modern discovery went, and those 
 practical suggestions which have a wholesome influence over the 
 well-being and morals of his people, the Grand Duke was always 
 anxious to acquire knowledge himself, and apply it invariably 
 for the use and benefit of his people, his residents at the capitals 
 of the different states of Europe having little else to occupy 
 themselves whilst on their mission but to keep their master fully 
 informed as to the rise and progress of science and all the arts 
 which are connected with public welfare and public utility. 
 
 We have said that the Duke felt as much affection as gratitude 
 for the old Marquis d'Harville, who, in 1815, had rendered him 
 immense service ; and so, thanks to his powerful recommendation, 
 Sarah of Halsbury and her brother were received at the court 
 of Gerolstein with every distinction, and with marked kindness. 
 A fortnight after her arrival, the young Scotch girl, endued 
 with so profound a spirit of observation, had easily penetrated 
 the firm character and open heart of the Grand Duke. Before 

 
 TOM AND SARAH. 213 
 
 she began to seduce his son, a thing of course, she had wisely 
 resolved to discover the disposition of the father. Although he 
 appeared to dote on his son, she was yet fully convinced that this 
 father, with all his tenderness, would never swerve from certain 
 principles, certain ideas as to the duty of princes, and would 
 never consent to what he would consider, a mesalliance for his 
 son, and that not through pride, but from conscience, reason, and 
 dignity. A man- of this firm mold, and the more affectionate 
 and good in proportion as he is firm and determined, never 
 abates one jot of that which affects his conscience, his reason, 
 and his dignity. 
 
 Sarah was on the point of renouncing her enterprise in the 
 face of obstacles so insurmountable; but, reflecting that, as 
 Rodolph was very young, and his gentleness and goodness, his 
 character at once timid and meditative, were generally spoken 
 of, she thought she might find compensation in the feeble and 
 irresolute disposition of the young prince, and therefore per- 
 sisted in her project, and again revived her hopes. 
 
 On this new essay, the management of herself and brother 
 were most masterly. The young lady knew full well how to 
 propitiate all around her, and particularly the persons who might 
 have been jealous or envious of her accomplishments, and 
 she caused her beauty and grace to be forgotten beneath the veil 
 of modest simplicity with which she covered them. She soon 
 became the idol, not only of the Grand Duke, but of his 
 mother, the Dowager Grand Duchess Judith, who, in spite of, 
 or through, her ninety years of age, loved to excess everything 
 that was young and charming. 
 
 Sarah and her brother often talked of their departure, but 
 the sovereign of Gerolstein would never consent to it; and that 
 he might completely attach the two to him, he pressed on Sir 
 Thomas Seyton the acceptance of the vacant post of his " first 
 groom of the chamber/' and entreated Sarah not to quit the 
 Grand Duchess Judith, as she could not do without her. After 
 much hesitation, overcome by the most pressing entreaties, 
 Sarah and Seyton accepted such brilliant offers, and decided on 
 establishing themselves at the court of Gerolstein, where they 
 had been for two months. 
 
 Sarah, who was an accomplished musician, knowing the taste 
 of the Grand Duchess for the old masters, and, above all, for 
 Gluck, sent for the chef-d'oeuvre of this attractive composer, 
 and fascinated the old princess by her unfailing complaisance, 
 as well as the remarkable skill with which she sang those old airs, 
 so beautiful in their melody, so expresssive in their character.
 
 214: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 As for Seyton, he knew how to make himself very useful in 
 the occupation which had been conferred upon him. He was a 
 good judge of horses, was orderly and firm in his conduct and 
 arrangements, and so, in a short time, completely remodeled 
 the stables of the Grand Duke, which, up to that time, had been 
 neglected, and become disorganized. 
 
 The brother and sister were soon equally beloved, feted, and 
 admired in this court. The master's preference soon commands 
 the preference of those below him. Sarah required, in aid of 
 her future projects, too much aid not to employ her insinuating 
 powers in acquiring partisans. Her hypocrisy, clothed in most 
 attractive shapes, easily deluded the simple-hearted Germans, 
 and the general feeling soon authorized the extreme kindness of 
 the Grand Duke. 
 
 Thus, then, our designing pair were established at the court 
 of Gerolstein, agreeably and securely placed without any ref- 
 erence to Rodolph. By a lucky chance, some days after the ar- 
 rival of Sarah, the young prince had gone away to the inspection 
 of troops, with an aide-de-camp and the faithful Murphy. This 
 absence, doubly auspicious to the views of Sarah, allowed her to 
 arrange at her ease the principal threads of the fillet she was 
 weaving, without being deterred by the presence of the young 
 prince, whose too open admiration might, perhaps, have 
 awakened the suspicions of the Grand Duke. On the contrary, 
 in the absence of his son, he did not, unfortunately, reflect that 
 he was admitting into the closest intimacy a young girl of sur- 
 passing beauty and of lively wit, as Rodolph must discover at 
 every moment of the day. 
 
 Sarah was perfectly insensible to a reception so kind and 
 generous to the full confidence with which she was introduced 
 into the very heart of this sovereign family. Neither brother 
 nor sister paused for a moment in their bad designs; they de- 
 termined upon a principle to bring trouble and annoyance into 
 this peaceable and happy court; they calmly calculated the 
 probable results of the cruel divisions they should establish be- 
 tween a father and son up to that period so tenderly united. 
 
 A few words concerning Rodolph's early days may be neces- 
 sary. During his infancy, he had been extremely delicate. His 
 father reasoned thereon in this strange manner. English 
 country gentlemen are generally remarkable for their robust 
 health. This advantage results generally from their bodily
 
 TOM AND BARAff. 215 
 
 training, which is simple, rural, and develops their full vigor. 
 Rodolph must leave the hands of women; his temperament is 
 delicate, and, perhaps, by accustoming this child to live like the 
 son of an English farmer (with some few exceptions), I shall 
 strengthen his constitution. 
 
 The Grand Duke sent to England for a man worthy of the 
 trust, and capable of directing such a course of bodily culture, 
 and Sir Walter Murphy, an athletic specimen of a Yorkshire 
 country gentleman, was entrusted with this important charge. 
 The direction which he gave to the mind and body of the young 
 prince were such as entirely coincided with the views and wishes 
 of the Grand Duke. Murphy and his pupil lived for many years 
 in a beautiful farm-house, situated in the midst of woods and 
 fields, some leagues from the capital of Gerolstein, and in a most 
 picturesque and salubrious spot. Rodolph, free from all eti- 
 quette, and employed with Murphy in out-door labor propor- 
 tionate to his age, lived the sober, manly, and regular life of the 
 country, having for his pleasure and amusement the violent 
 exercises of wrestling, pugilism, riding on horseback, and hunt- 
 ing. In the midst of the pure air of the meadows, woods, and 
 mountains, he underwent an entire change, and grew up as 
 vigorous as a young oak; his pale cheek became suffused with 
 the ruddy glow of health ; always lithe and active, he under- 
 went now the most severe fatigues, his address, energy, and 
 courage supplying what was deficient in his muscular power; 
 so that, when only in his fifteenth or sixteenth year, he was al- 
 ways the conqueror in his contests with young men his superiors 
 in age. 
 
 His scientific education necessarily suffered from the prefer- 
 ence given to his physical training, and Rodolph's knowledge 
 was very limited ; but the Grand Duke very wisely reflected that, 
 to have a well-informed mind, it must be supported by a strong 
 physical frame, and that, this acquired, the intellectual faculties 
 would develop themselves the more rapidly. 
 
 The kind Walter Murphy was by no means a sage, and could 
 only convey to Rodolph some primary instructions; but no one 
 knew better than he how to inspire his pupil with the feeling of 
 what is just, loyal, and generous, and a horror of everything 
 that was mean, low, and co'ntemptible. These repugnances, 
 these powerful and wholesome admonitions, took deep and last- 
 ing root in the very soul of Rodolph ; and although, in after 
 life, these principles were violently shaken by the storm of pas- 
 sions, yet they were never eradicated from his heart. The levin 
 bolt strikes, splits, and rends the deeply-planted tree; but the
 
 216 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 sap still maintains its hold in the roots, and a thousand green 
 branches spring fresh from what was taken for a withered and 
 dead tree. 
 
 Murphy, then, gave to Eodolph, if we may use the expression, 
 health to both body and mind; he made him robust, active, and 
 daring, with a love for all that was good and right, and a hatred 
 for whatsoever was wicked and bad. Having fulfilled his task 
 to admiration, the squire, called to England on very important 
 business, left Germany for some time, to the great regret of 
 Rodolph, who loved him extremely. 
 
 His son's health having been so satisfactorily established, the 
 Grand Duke turned his most serious attention to the mental 
 education of his dearly-beloved son. A certain Doctor Caesar 
 Polidori, a renowned linguist, a distinguished chemist, learned 
 historian, and deeply versed in the study of all the exact and 
 physical sciences, was entrusted with the charge of cultivating 
 and improving the rich but virgin soil so carefully and well pre- 
 pared by Murphy. This time the Grand Duke's choice was a 
 most unfortunate one, or, rather, his religious feelings were in- 
 famously imposed upon by the person who introduced the Doc- 
 tor to him, and caused him to think on Polidori as the preceptor 
 of the young prince. Atheist, cheat, and hypocrite, full of 
 stratagem and trick, concealing the most dangerous immorality, 
 the most hardened skepticism, under an austere exterior, pro- 
 foundly versed in the knowledge of human nature, or, rather, 
 only having tried the worst side the disgraceful passions of 
 humanity Doctor Polidori was the most hateful Mentor that 
 could have been entrusted with the education of a young man. 
 
 Rodolph left with the deepest regrets the independent and 
 animating life which he had hitherto led with Murphy to go and 
 become pale with the study of books, and submit himself to the 
 irksome ceremonies of his father's -court, and he at once enter- 
 tained a strong prejudice against his tutor. It could not be 
 otherwise. 
 
 On quitting his young friend, the poor squire had compared 
 him, and with justice, to a young wild colt, full of grace and 
 fire, carried off from his native prairies, where he had dwelt, 
 free as air, and joyous as a bird, to be bridled and spurred, that 
 he might under that system learn how to moderate and 
 economize those powers which, hitherto, he had only employed 
 in running and leaping in any way he pleased. 
 
 Rodolph began by telling Polidori that he had no taste for 
 study, but that he greatly preferred the free exercise of his arms 
 and legs, to breathe the pure air of the fields, to traverse the
 
 TOM AND SARAH. 217 
 
 woods and the mountains, and that a good horse and a good 
 gun were preferable to all the books in the universe. The Doc- 
 tor was prepared for this antipathy, and was secretly delighted 
 at it, for, in another way, the hopes of this man were as ambiti- 
 ous as those of Sarah. Although the grand-duchy of Gerol- 
 stein was only a secondary state, Polidori indulged the idea of 
 being one day its Richelieu, and of making Rodolph play the 
 part of the do-nothing prince. But, desirous above all things 
 of currying favor with his pupil, and of making him forget 
 Murphy, by his own concession and compliance, he concealed 
 from the Grand Duke the young prince's repugnance for study, 
 and boasted of his application to, and rapid progress in, his 
 studies; whilst some examinations arranged between himself 
 and Rodolph, which had the air of being impromptu questions, 
 confirmed the Grand Duke in his blind and implicit confidence. 
 By degrees, the dislike which Rodolph at first entertained for 
 the Doctor changed, on the young prince's part, into a cool 
 familiarity, very unlike the real attachment he had for Murphy. 
 By degrees, he found himself leagued with Polidori (although 
 from very innocent causes) by the same ties that unite two 
 guilty persons. Sooner or later, Rodolph was sure to despise a 
 man of the age and character of the Doctor, who so unworthily 
 lied to excuse the idleness of his pupil. This Polidori knew; 
 but he also knew that if we do not at once sever our connections 
 with corrupt minds in disgust, by degrees, and in spite of our 
 better reason, we become familiar with and too frequently ad- 
 mire them, until, insensibly, we hear without shame or re- 
 proach those things mocked at and vituperated which we 
 formerly loved and revered. Besides, the Doctor was too cun- 
 ning all at once to shock certain noble sentiments and convic- 
 tions which Rodolph had derived from the admirable lessons of 
 Murphy. After having vented much raillery on the coarseness 
 of the early occupations of his young pupil, the Doctor, laying 
 aside his thin mask of austerity, had greatly aroused the curi- 
 osity and heated the fancy of the young prince, by exaggerated 
 descriptions, strongly drawn and deeply colored, of the pleasures 
 and gallantries which had illustrated the reigns of Louis XIV., 
 the Regent, and especially Louis XV., the hero of Caesar Poli- 
 dori. He assured the misled boy, who listened to him with a 
 fatal earnestness, that pleasures, however excessive, far from de- 
 moralizing a highly accomplished prince, often made him merci- 
 ful and generous, inasmuch as fine minds are never more 
 predisposed to benevolence and clemency than when acted upon 
 by their own enjoyments. Louis XV. the bien dime, the well-
 
 218 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 beloved, was an unanswerable proof of this. 'And then, added 
 the Doctor, how entirely have the greatest men of all ages and 
 all countries abandoned themselves to the most refined epicure- 
 anism from Alcibiades to Maurice of Saxony, from Anthony 
 to the great Conde, from Caesar to Vendome ! Such conversa- 
 tions must make deep and dangerous impressions on a young, 
 ardent, and virgin mind, and such theories could not be without 
 their results. 
 
 In the midst of this well regulated and virtuous court, accus- 
 tomed, after the example of its ruler, to honest pleasures and 
 harmless amusements, Kodolph, instructed by Polidori, dreamt 
 of the dissipated nights of Versailles, the orgies of Choisy, the 
 attractive voluptuousness of the Parc-au-Cerfs, and also, from 
 time to time, of some romantic amours contrasting with these. 
 Neither had the Doctor failed to prove to Rodolph that a prince 
 of the Germanic Confederation should not have any military 
 pretension beyond sending his contingent to the Diet. The feel- 
 ing of the time was not warlike. According to the Doctor, to 
 pass his time delightfully and idly amongst women and the re- 
 finements of luxury, to repose from time to time from the 
 animation of sensual pleasures, amidst the delightful attractions 
 of the fine arts, to hunt occasionally, not as a Nimrod, but as 
 an intelligent epicurean, and enjoy the transitory fatigues which 
 make idleness and repose taste but the sweeter, this, this was 
 the only life which a prince should think of enjoying, who (and 
 this was his height of happiness) could find a prime minister 
 capable of devoting himself boldly to the distressing and over- 
 whelming burden of state affairs. 
 
 Rodolph, in abandoning himself to ideas which were free 
 from criminality, because they did not spring from the circle 
 of fatal probabilities, resolved that when Providence should call 
 to himself the Grand Duke, his father, he would devote him- 
 self to the life which CaBsar Polidori had painted to him under 
 such brilliant and attractive colors, and to have as his prime 
 minister one whose knowledge and understanding he admired, 
 and whose blind complaisance he fully appreciated. It is use- 
 less to say that the young prince kept the most perfect silence 
 upon the subject of those pernicious hopes which had been ex- 
 cited within him. Knowing that the heroes of the Grand 
 Duke's admiration were Gustavus Adolphus, Charles XII., and 
 the great Frederic (Maximilian Rodolph had the honor of be- 
 longing to the royal house of Brandenburg), Rodolph thought, 
 reasonably enough, that the prince, his father, who professed so 
 profound an admiration for these king-captains, always booted
 
 TOM AND SARAH. 219 
 
 and spurred, continually mounted on their chargers, and engaged 
 in making war, would consider his son out of his senses if he be- 
 lieved him capable of wishing to displace the Tudescan gravity 
 of his court by the introduction of the light and licentious man- 
 ners of th? Regency. 
 
 A year eighteen months passed away. At the end of this 
 time Murphy returned from England, and wept for joy on again 
 embracing his young pupil. After a few days, although unable 
 to discover the reason of a change which so deeply afflicted him, 
 the worthy squire found Rodolph chilled and constrained in his 
 demeanor towards him, and almost rude when he recalled to 
 him his sequestered and rural life. Assured of the natural kind 
 heart of the young prince, and warned by a secret presentiment, 
 Murphy thought him for a time perverted by the pernicious in- 
 fluence of Doctor Polidori, whom he instinctively abhorred, and 
 resolved to watch very narrowly. The Doctor, for his part, 
 was very much annoyed by Murphy's return, for he feared his 
 frankness, good sense, and keen penetration. He instantly re- 
 solved, therefore, cost what it might, to ruin the worthy Eng- 
 lishman in Rodolph's estimation. It was at this crisis that 
 Seyton and Sarah were presented and received at the court of 
 Gerolstein with such extreme distinction. We have said that 
 Rodolph, accompanied by Murphy, had been absent from the 
 court on a journey for some weeks. During this absence the 
 Doctor was by no means idle. It is said that intriguers dis- 
 cover and recognize each other by certain mysterious signs, 
 which allow of them observing each other until their interests 
 decide them to form a close alliance, or declare unremitting 
 hostility. 
 
 Some days after the establishment of Sarah and her brother 
 at the court of the Grand Duke, Polidori became a close ally of 
 Seyton's. The Doctor confessed to himself, with delectable 
 cynicism, that he felt a natural affinity for rogues and villains, 
 and so he said that, without pretending to discover the end 
 which Sarah and her brother desired to achieve, he was attracted 
 towards them by a sympathy so strong, as to lead him to imagine 
 that they plotted some devilish purpose. Some questions of 
 Seyton's as to the disposition and early life of Rodolph, ques- 
 tions which would have passed without notice with a person less 
 awake to all that occurred than the Doctor, in a moment en- 
 lightened him as to the ulterior aims of the brother and sister ; 
 all he doubted was, that the aspirations of the Scotch lady were 
 at the same time honorable as well as ambitious. The arrival 
 of this lovely young woman appeared to Polidori a godsend.
 
 220 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Eodolph's mind was already inflamed with amorous imag- 
 inings; Sarah might become, or be made, the delicious reality 
 which should substantiate so many glorious dreams. It was not 
 to be doubted but that she would secure an immense influence 
 over a heart submitted to the witching spell of a first-love. The 
 Doctor instantly laid his plan to direct and secure this influence, 
 and to make it severe also as the means of destroying Murphy's 
 power and reputation. Like a skilful intriguer, he soon in- 
 formed the aspiring pair that they must come to an understand- 
 ing with him, as he alone was responsible to the Grand Duke for 
 the private life of the young prince. 
 
 Sarah and her brother understood him in a moment, although 
 they had not told the Doctor a syllable of their secret designs. 
 On the return of Rodolph and Murphy, all three, combined by 
 one common intent, tacitly leagued against the squire, their most 
 redoubtable enemy. 
 
 What was to happen did happen. Rodolph saw Sarah daily 
 after his return, and became desperately enamored. She soon 
 told him that she shared his love, although she foresaw that this 
 love would create great trouble. He could never be happy; the 
 distance that separated them was too wide! She then recom- 
 mended to Rodolph the most profound discretion, for fear of 
 arousing the Grand Duke's suspicions, as he would be inexorable, 
 and deprive them of their only happiness that of seeing each 
 other every day. The young prince promised to be cautious, and 
 conceal his love. The Scotch maiden was too ambitious, too 
 self-possessed, to compromise and betray herself in the eyes of 
 the court; and Rodolph, perceiving the necessity of dissimula- 
 tion, imitated Sarah's prudence. The lovers' secret was care- 
 fully preserved for some time; nor was it until the brother and 
 sister saw the unbridled passion of their dupe reach its utmost 
 excess, and that his infatuation, which he could hardly restrain, 
 threatened to burst forth afresh, and destroy all, that they re- 
 solved on their final coup. The Doctor's character, authorizing 
 the confidence, besides the morality which invested it, Seyton 
 opened to him on the necessity of a marriage between Rodolph 
 and Sarah, otherwise, he added, with perfect sincerity, he and 
 his sister would instantly leave Gerolstein. Sarah participated 
 in the prince's affection, but, preferring death to dishonor, she 
 could only be the wife of his highness. 
 
 This exalted flight of ambition stupefied the Doctor, who had
 
 TOM AND SARAH. 221 
 
 never imagined that Sarah's imagination soared so high. A 
 marriage surrounded by numberless difficulties and dangers ap- 
 peared impossible to Polidori, and he frankly told Seyton the 
 reasons why the Grand Duke would never submit to such a 
 union. Seyton agreed in the importance of the reasons, but 
 proposed, as a mezzo termini which should meet all objections, 
 a marriage, which, although secret, should be legal, and only 
 avowed after the decease of the Grand Duke. Sarah was of a 
 noble and ancient house, and such a union was not without 
 precedent. Seyton gave the prince eight days to decide; his 
 sister could not longer endure the cruel anguish of uncertainty, 
 and, if she must renounce Rodolph's love, she must act up to her 
 painful resolve as promptly as might be. 
 
 Certain that he could not mistake Sarah's views, the Doctor 
 was sorely perplexed. He had three ways before him, to in- 
 form the Grand Duke of the matrimonial project, to open 
 Eodolph's eyes as to the maneuvers of Tom and Sarah, to lend 
 himself to the marriage. But to inform the Grand Duke would 
 be to alienate from him forever the heir presumptive to the 
 throne. To enlighten Eodolph on the interested views of Sarah 
 was to expose himself to the reception which a lover is sure to 
 give when she whom he loves is depreciated in his eyes; and 
 then, what a blow for the vanity or the heart of the young 
 prince, to let him know that it was for his royal rank alone that 
 the lady was desirous to wed him ! On the other hand, by lend- 
 ing himself to this match, Polidori bound Eodolph and Sarah 
 to him by a tie of the strongest gratitude, or, at least, by the 
 complicity of a dangerous act. No doubt, all might be dis- 
 covered, and the Doctor exposed to the anger of the Grand 
 Duke, but then the marriage would have been concluded, the 
 union legal. The storm would blow over, and the future 
 sovereign of Gerolstein would become the more bound to 
 Polidori, in proportion as the Doctor had undergone greater 
 dangers in his service. After much consideration, therefore, he 
 resolved on serving Sarah, but with a certain qualification, which 
 we will presently refer to. 
 
 Eodolph's passion had reached a height almost of frenzy. 
 Violently excited by constraint, and the skilful management of 
 Sarah, who pretended to feel still more than he did the insur- 
 mountable obstacles which honor and duty placed between them 
 and their liberty, in a few days more the young prince would 
 have betrayed himself. Thus, when the Doctor proposed that 
 he must never see his enchantress again, or possess her by a 
 secret marriage, Eodolph threw himself on Polidori's neck,
 
 222 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 called him his saviour, his friend, his father; he only wished 
 that the temple and the priest were at hand, that he might 
 marry her that instant. The Doctor resolved (for reasons of 
 his own) to undertake the management of all. He found a 
 priest witnesses; and the union (all the formalities of which 
 were carefully scrutinized and verified by Seyton) was secretly 
 celebrated during a temporary absence of the Grand Duke at a 
 conference of the Germanic Diet. The prophecy of the Scotch 
 soothsayer was fulfilled Sarah wedded the heir to a throne. 
 
 Without quenching the fire of his love, possession rendered 
 Kodolph more circumspect, and cooled down that violence which 
 might have compromised the secret of his passion for Sarah; 
 but, directed by Seyton and the Doctor, the young couple man- 
 aged so well, and observed so much circumspection towards each 
 other, that they eluded all detection. 
 
 An event, impatiently desired by Sarah, soon turned this calm 
 into a tempest she was about to become a mother. It was then 
 that this woman evinced all those exactions which were so new 
 to, and so much astonished, Rodolph. She protested, with 
 hypocritical tears streaming from her eyes, that she could no 
 longer support the constraint in which she lived; a constraint 
 rendered the more insupportable by her pregnancy. In this 
 extremity she boldly proposed to the young prince to tell all to 
 his father, who was, as well as the Dowager Grand Duchess, 
 fonder than ever of her. No doubt, she added, he will be very 
 angry, greatly enraged, at first, but he loves his son so tenderly, 
 so blindly, and had for her (Sarah) so strong an affection, that 
 his paternal anger would gradually subside, and she would at 
 last take in the court of Gerolstein the rank which was due to 
 her, she might say in a double sense, because she was about to 
 give birth to a child, which would be the heir presumptive to 
 the Grand Duke. These pretensions alarmed Eodolph : he knew 
 the deep attachment which his father had for him, but he also 
 well knew the inflexibility of his principles with regard to all 
 the duties of a prince. To all these objections Sarah replied, 
 unmoved, 
 
 " I am your wife, in the presence of God and men. In a short 
 time, I shall no longer be able to conceal my situation; and I 
 ought not to blush at that of which I am, on the contrary, so 
 proud, and would desire openly to acknowledge," 
 
 The expectation of posterity had redoubled Rodolph's tender- 
 ness for Sarah, and, placed between the desire to accede to her 
 wishes and the dread of his father's wrath, he experienced the 
 bitterest anguish. Seyton sided with his sister.
 
 TO M AND SARAH. 223 
 
 " The marriage is indissoluble/' said he to his royal brother- 
 in-law; "the Grand Duke may exile you from his court you 
 and your wife, nothing more ; but he loves you too much to have 
 recourse to such an extremity. He will endure what he cannot 
 prevent." 
 
 These reasons, strong enough in themselves, did not soothe 
 Rodolph's anxieties. At this juncture, Seyton was charged by 
 the Grand Duke with an errand to visit several breeding studs 
 in Austria. This mission, which he could not refuse, would 
 only detain him about a fortnight : he set out with much regret, 
 and in a very important moment for his sister. She was 
 chagrined, yet satisfied, at the departure of her brother, for she 
 would lose his advice; but then he would be safe from the 
 Grand Duke's anger if all were discovered. Sarah promised to 
 keep Seyton fully informed, day by day, of the progress of 
 events, so important to both of them ; and, that they might cor- 
 respond more surely and secretly, they agreed upon a cipher, of 
 which Polidori also held the key. This precaution alone proves 
 that Sarah had other matters to tell her brother of besides her 
 love for Rodolph. In truth, this selfish, cold, ambitious woman 
 had not felt the ice of her heart melt even by the beams of the 
 passionate love which had been breathed to her. Her maternity 
 was only with her a means of acting more effectually on 
 Rodolph, and had no softening effect on her iron soul. The 
 youth, headlong love, and inexperience of the prince, who was 
 hardly more than a child, and so perfidiously ensnared into an 
 inextricable position, hardly excited an interest in the mind of 
 this selfish creature; and, in her confidential communications 
 with him, she complained, with disdain and bitterness, of the 
 weakness of this young man, who trembled before the most 
 paternal of German princes, who lived, however, very long! In 
 a word, this correspondence between the brother and sister 
 clearly developed their unbounded selfishness, their ambitious 
 calculations, their impatience, which almost amounted to homi- 
 cide, and laid bare the springs of that dark conspiracy crowned 
 by the marriage of Rodolph. One of Sarah's letters to her 
 brother was abstracted by Polidori, the channel of their mutual 
 communications ; for what purpose, we shall see hereafter. 
 
 A few days after Sey ton's departure, Sarah was at the evening 
 court of the Dowager Grand Duchess. Many of the ladies pres- 
 ent looked at her with an astonished air, and whispered to their 
 neighbors. The Grand Duchess Judith, in spite of her ninety 
 years, had a quick ear and a sharp eye, and this little whisper- 
 ing did not escape her. She made a sign to one of the ladies in
 
 224 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 waiting to come to her, and from her she learned that every- 
 body was remarking that the figure of Miss Sarah Seyton of 
 Halsbury was less slender, less delicate in its proportions, than 
 usual. The old princess adored her young protegee, and would 
 have answered to God himself for Sarah's virtue. Indignant 
 at the malevolence of these remarks, she shrugged her shoulders, 
 and said aloud, from the end of the saloon in which she was 
 sitting, 
 
 " My dear Sarah, come here." 
 
 Sarah rose. It was requisite to cross the circle to reach the 
 place where the princess was seated, who was anxious most 
 kindly to destroy the rumor that was circulated, and, by the 
 simple fact of thus crossing the room, confound her calumni- 
 ators, and prove triumphantly that the fair proportions of her 
 protegee had lost not one jot of their symmetry and delicacy. 
 Alas ! the most perfidious enemy could not have devised a better 
 plan than that suggested by the worthy princess in her desire 
 to defend her protegee. Sarah came towards her, and it re- 
 quired all the deep respect due to the Grand Duchess to repress 
 the murmur of surprise and indignation when the young lady 
 crossed the room. The nearest-sighted persons saw what Sarah 
 would no longer conceal, for her pregnancy might have been 
 hidden longer had she but have chosen; but the ambitious 
 woman had sought this display in order to compel Rodolph to 
 declare his marriage. The Grand Duchess, who, however, would 
 not be convinced in spite of her eyesight, said, in a low voice, to 
 Sarah, 
 
 " My dear child, how very ill you have dressed yourself to-day 
 you whose shape may be spanned by ten fingers. I hardly 
 know you again." 
 
 We will relate hereafter the results of this discovery, which 
 led to great and terrible events. At this moment, we will con- 
 tent ourselves with stating, what the reader has no doubt al- 
 ready guessed, that Fleur-de-Marie was the fruit of the secret 
 marriage of Rodolph and Sarah, and that they both believed 
 their daughter dead. 
 
 It has not been forgotten that Rodolph, after having visited 
 the house in the Rue du Temple, had returned home, and in- 
 tended, in the evening, to be present at a ball given by the 
 
 ambassadress. It was to this fete that we shall follow his royal 
 highness the reigning Grand Duke of Gerolstein, GUSTAVDS 
 RODOLPH, traveling in France under the name of the Count de 
 Duren.
 
 THE BALL. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 As the eleventh hour of the night sounded from the different 
 clocks in Paris, the gates of an hotel in the Rue Pluraet were 
 thrown open by a Swiss in rich livery, and forthwith issued a 
 magnificent dark blue Berlin carriage, drawn by two superb 
 long-tailed gray horses; on the seat, which was covered by a 
 rich hammercloth, trimmed with a mossy silk fringe, sat a 
 portly-looking coachman, whose head was ornamented by a three- 
 cornered hat, while his rotund figure looked still more impos- 
 ing in his dress livery-coat of blue cloth, trimmed up the seams 
 with silver lace, and thickly braided with the same material: 
 the whole finished by a splendid sable collar and cuffs. Behind 
 the carriage stood a tall powdered lackey, dressed in a livery of 
 blue turned up with yellow'and silver; and by his side was a 
 chasseur, whose fierce-looking mustaches, gaily embroidered 
 dress and hat, half concealed by a waving plume of blue and 
 yellow feathers, completed a most imposing coup-d'ceil. 
 
 The bright light of the lamps revealed the costly satin lining 
 of the interior of the vehicle we are describing, in which were 
 seated Rodolph, having on his right hand the Baron de Graiin, 
 and opposite to him the faithful Murphy. 
 
 Out of deference for the sovereign represented by the am- 
 bassador to whose ball he was then proceeding, Rodolph wore no 
 other mark of distinction than the diamond order of * * * * 
 
 Round the neck of Sir Walter Murphy, and suspended by a 
 broad orange ribbon, hung the enameled cross of the grand 
 commander of the Golden Eagle of Gerolstein; and a similar 
 insignia decorated the Baron de Graiin, amidst an infinite num- 
 ber of the crosses and badges of honor belonging to all countries, 
 depending by a gold chain placed in the two full button-holes 
 of the diplomatist's coat. 
 
 "I am delighted," said Rodolph, "with the very favorable 
 accounts I have received from Madame Georges respecting my 
 poor little protegee at the farm of Bouqueval. David's care 
 and attention have worked wonders. Apropos of La Goualeuse: 
 what do you think, Sir Walter Murphy, any of your Cite ac- 
 quaintances would say at seeing you so strangely disguised, as 
 at present they would consider you, most valiant charcoal-man, 
 to be ? they would be somewhat astonished, I fancy."
 
 226 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Much in the same degree as the surprise your royal highness 
 would excite among your new acquaintances in the Rue du 
 Temple, were you to proceed thither, as now attired, to pay a 
 friendly visit to Madame Pipelet, and to inquire after the health 
 of Cabrion's victim, the poor melancholy Alfred ! " 
 
 " My lord has drawn so lively a sketch of Alfred, attired in 
 his long-skirted green coat and bell-crowned hat," said the 
 baron, " that I can well imagine him seated in magisterial 
 dignity in his dark and smoky lodge. Let me hope that your 
 royal highness's visit to the Eue du Temple has fully answered 
 your expectations, and that you are in every way satisfied with 
 the researches of my agent ? " 
 
 " Perfectly so," answered Rodolph. " My success was even 
 beyond my expectations." 
 
 Then, after a moment's painful silence, and to drive away the 
 train of thought conjured up by the recollection of the probable 
 guilt of Madame d'Harville, he resumed, in a tone more gay, 
 
 " I am almost ashamed to own to so much childishness, but 
 I confess myself amused with the contrast between my treating 
 Madame Pipelet in the morning to a glass of cordial, and then 
 proceeding in the evening to a grand fete, with all the pomp 
 and prestige of one of those privileged beings who, by the grace 
 of God, ' reign over this lower world. Some men of small 
 fortune would speak of my revenues as those of a miUionnaire," 
 added Rodolph, in a sort of parenthesis, alluding to the limited 
 extent of his estates. 
 
 " And many millionnaires, my lord, might not have the rare, 
 the admirable good sense, of the man of narrow means." 
 
 " Ah, my dear De Graiin, you are really too good, much too 
 good ! you really overwhelm me," replied Rodolph, with an 
 ironical smile, while the baron glanced at Murphy with the con- 
 sciousness of a man who had just discovered he has been saying 
 a foolish thing. 
 
 " Really, my dear De Graiin," resumed Rodolph, " I know not 
 how to acknowledge the weight of your compliment, or how to 
 repay such delicate flattery in its own way." 
 
 " My lord, let me entreat of you not to take the trouble," ex- 
 claimed the baron, who had for the instant forgotten that 
 Rodolph, who detested every species of flattery, always revenged 
 himself by the most unsparing raillery on those who, directly 
 or indirectly, addressed it to him. 
 
 " Nay, baron, I cannot allow myself to remain in your debt. 
 You have praised my understanding I will, in return, admire 
 your countenance; for by my honor, as I sit beside you, you
 
 THE BALL. 227 
 
 look like a youth of twenty. Antinoiis himself could not boast 
 of finer features, or a more captivating expression." 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! I cry your mercy ! " 
 
 " Behold him, Murphy, and say whether Apollo could display 
 more graceful limbs, more light, and youthful proportions ! " 
 
 " I beseech you, my lord, to pardon me, from the recollection 
 of how long it is since I have permitted myself to utter the 
 slightest compliment to your royal highness/' 
 
 " Observe, Murphy, this band of gold which restrains, with- 
 out concealing, the locks of rich black hair flowing over this 
 graceful neck, and " 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! for pity's sake spare me ! I repent, 
 most sincerely, of my involuntary fault," said the unfortunate 
 baron, with an expression of comic despair on his countenance 
 truly ludicrous. 
 
 It must not be forgotten that the original of this glowing 
 picture was at least fifty years of age; his hair gray, frizzled 
 and powdered ; a stiff, white cravat round his throat ; a pale, 
 withered countenance; and golden spectacles upon the horny 
 bridge of his sharp, projecting nose. 
 
 "Pardon, my lord! pardon, for the baron," exclaimed the 
 squire, laughing. "I beseech you not to overwhelm him be- 
 neath the weight of your mythological allusions. I will be an- 
 swerable to your royal highness that my unlucky friend here 
 will never again venture to utter a flattery, since so truth is 
 translated in the new vocabulary of Gerolstein." 
 
 " What ! old Murphy, too ? * Are you going to join in the 
 rebellion against sincerity ? " 
 
 " My lord, I am so sorry for the position of my unfortunate 
 vis-a-vis, that 1 beg I may divide his punishment with him." 
 
 " Charcoal-man in ordinary, your disinterested friendship 
 does you honor. But seriously now, my dear De Graiin, how 
 have you forgotten that I only allow such fellows as D'Harneim 
 and his train to flatter, for the simple reason that they know 
 not how to speak the truth? That cuckoo-note of false praise 
 belongs to birds of such feather as themselves, and the species, 
 they claim relationship with ; but for a person of your mind and 
 good taste to descend to its usage oh, fie ! baron, fie ! " 
 
 " It is all very well, my lord," said the baron, sturdily ; " but 
 I must be allowed to say (with all due apology for my boldness), 
 that there is no small portion of pride in your royal highness's 
 aversion to receive even a just compliment." 
 
 " Well said, baron ! Come, I like you better now you speak 
 plain truths. But tell me how you prove your assertion?"
 
 228 TUB MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Why, just so, my lord : because you repudiate it upon the 
 same principle that might induce a beautiful woman, well aware 
 of her charms, to say to one of her most enthusiastic admirers, 
 * I know perfectly well how handsome I am, and therefore your 
 approval is perfectly uncalled for and unnecessary. What is 
 the use of reiterating what everybody knows? Is it usual to 
 proclaim in the open streets that the sun shines, when all may 
 see and feel certain of his midday brightness ? " ; 
 
 " Now, baron, you are shifting your ground, and becoming 
 more dangerous as you become more abroit ; and, by way of vary- 
 ing your punishment, I will only say that the infernal Polidori 
 himself could not have more ingeniously disguised the poisonous 
 draught of flattery, when seeking to persuade some poor victim 
 to swallow it." 
 
 " My lord, I am now effectually silenced." 
 
 " Then," said Murphy (and this time with an air of real 
 seriousness), "your royal highness has now no doubt as to its 
 being really Polidori you encountered in the Eue du Temple ? " 
 
 " I have ceased to have the least doubt on the subject, since I 
 learned through you that he had been in Paris for some time 
 past." 
 
 " I had forgotten, or, rather, purposely omitted to mention 
 to your lordship," said Murphy in a sorrowing tone, " a name 
 that never failed to awaken painful feelings; and knowing as I 
 do how justly odious the remembrance of this man was to your 
 royal highness, I studiously abstained from all reference to it." 
 
 The features of Rodolph were again overshadowed with gloom, 
 and, plunged in a deep reverie, he continued to preserve unbroken 
 the silence which prevailed until the carriage stopped in the 
 courtyard of the embassy. The windows of the hotel were 
 blazing with a thousand lights, which shone brightly through the 
 thick darkness of the night, while a crowd of lackeys, in full- 
 dress liveries, lined the entrance-hall, extending even to the 
 saloons of reception, where the grooms of the chamber waited to 
 announce the different arrivals. 
 
 M. le Comte * * * *, the ambassador, with his lady, had 
 purposely remained in the first reception-room until the arrival 
 of Rodolph, who now entered, followed by Murphy and M. de 
 Graiin. 
 
 Rodolph was then in his thirty-sixth year, in the very prime 
 and perfection of manly health and strength. His regular and 
 handsome features, with the air of dignity pervading his whole 
 appearance, would have rendered him, under any circumstances, 
 a strikingly attractive man; but, combined with the eclat of high
 
 THE BALL. 229 
 
 birth and exalted rank, he was a person of first-rate importance 
 in every circle in which he presented himself, and whose 
 notice was assiduously sought for. Dressed with the utmost 
 simplicity, Rodolph wore a white waistcoat and cravat; a blue 
 coat, buttoned up closely, on the right breast of which sparkled 
 a diamond star, displayed to admiration the light yet perfect 
 proportions of his graceful figure, while his well-fitting pan- 
 taloons, of black kerseymere, defined the finely formed leg and 
 handsome foot in its embroidered stocking. 
 
 From the rareness of the Grand Duke's visits to the haut 
 monde, his arrival produced a great sensation, and every eye was 
 fixed upon him from the moment that, attended by Murphy and 
 Baron de Graiin, he entered the first salon at the embassy. An 
 attache, deputed to watch for his arrival, hastened immediately 
 to apprise the ambassadress of the appearance of her illustrious 
 guest. Her excellency instantly hurried, with her noble hus- 
 band, to welcome their visitor, exclaiming, 
 
 " Your royal highness is, indeed, kind, thus to honor our poor 
 entertainment." 
 
 " Nay, madam," replied Rodolph, gracefully bowing on the 
 hand extended to him, "your ladyship is well aware of the 
 sincere pleasure it affords to pay my compliments to yourself; 
 and as for M. le Comte, he and I are two old friends, who are 
 always delighted to meet. Are we not, my lord ? " 
 
 " Your royal highness, in deigning to continue to me so 
 flattering a place in your recollection, makes it still more impos- 
 sible for me ever to forget your many acts of condescending kind- 
 ness." 
 
 " I assure you, Monsieur le Comte, that in my memory the 
 past never dies ; or, at least, the pleasant part of it ; for I make 
 it a strict rule never to preserve any reminiscences of my friends 
 but such as are agreeable and gratifying." 
 
 " Your royal highness has found the secret of being happy in 
 your thoughts, and rendering others so at the same time," 
 rejoined the ambassador, smiling with gratified pride and 
 pleasure at a conference so cordially carried on before a gather- 
 ing crowd of admiring auditors. 
 
 " Thus, then, madame," replied Rodolph, " will your flattering 
 reception of to-night live long in my memory; and I shall 
 promise myself the happiness of recalling this evening's fete, 
 with its tasteful arrangements and crowd of attending beauties. 
 Ah, Madame la Comtesse, who like you can effect such a union 
 of taste and elegance as now sparkles around us ? " 
 
 " Your royal highness is too indulgent."
 
 230 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " But I have a very important question to ask you : Why is it 
 that, lovely as are your fair guests, their charms are never seen 
 to such perfection as when assembled beneath your hospitable 
 roof?" 
 
 "Your royal highness is pleased to view our fair visitants 
 through the same flattering medium with which you are 
 graciously pleased to behold our poor endeavors for your and 
 their amusement," answered the ambassador, with a deferential 
 bow. 
 
 " Your pardon, count," replied Rodolph, " if I differ with 
 you in opinion. According to my judgment, the cause proceeds 
 wholly from our amiable hostess, Madame 1'Ambassadrice." 
 
 " May I request of your royal highness to solve this enigma ? " 
 inquired the countess, smilingly. 
 
 " That is easily given, madame, and may be found in the 
 perfect urbanity and exquisite grace with which you receive your 
 lovely guests, and whisper to each a few charming and encourag- 
 ing words, which, if the least bit exceeding strict truth," said 
 Eodolph, smiling with good-tempered satire, " renders those who 
 are even praised above their merits more radiant in beauty 
 from your kind commendations, while those whose charms admit 
 of no exaggeration are no less radiant with the happiness of 
 finding themselves so justly appreciated by you : thus each 
 countenance, thanks to the gentle arts you practise, is made 
 to exhibit the most smiling delight, for perfect content will set 
 off even homely features. And thus I account for why it is 
 that woman, all lovely as she is, never looks so much so as when 
 seen beneath your roof. Come, M. 1'Ambassadeur, own that I 
 have made out a good case, and that you entirely concur with 
 me in opinion." 
 
 " Your royal highness has afforded me too many previous 
 reasons to admire and adopt your opinions for me to hesitate 
 in the present instance." 
 
 "And for me, my lord," said the countess, "at the risk of 
 being included among those fair ladies who get a little more 
 praise or flattery (which was it your highness styled it?) than 
 they deserve, I accept your very flattering explanation with as 
 much qualified pleasure as if it were really founded on truth." 
 
 " In order more effectually to convince you, madame, that 
 nothing is more correct than all I have asserted, let us make 
 a few observations touching the fine effect of praise in animating 
 and lighting up the countenance." 
 
 " Ah ! my lord, you are laying a very mischievous snare for 
 me/' said the countess, smiling.
 
 THE BALL. 231 
 
 " Well, then, I will abandon that idea ; but upon one condition, 
 that you honor me by taking my arm. I have been told wonder- 
 ful things of a ' Winter Garden ' a work from Fairyland. May 
 I put up my humble petition to be allowed to see this new 
 wonder of a 'hundred and one nights? " : 
 
 " Oh, my lord, with the utmost pleasure. But I see that 
 your highness had received a most exaggerated account. 
 Perhaps you will accompany me, and judge for yourself. Only 
 in this instance I would fain hope that your habitual indulgence 
 may induce you to feel as little disappointment as possible at 
 finding how imperfectly the reality equals your expectations." 
 
 The ambassadress then took the offered arm of Rodolph, and 
 proceeded with him to the other salons, while the count remained 
 conversing with the Baron de Graiin and Murphy, whom he had 
 been acquainted with for some time. 
 
 And a more beautiful scene of enchantment never charmed 
 the eye than that presented by the aspect of the winter garden, 
 to which Rodolph had conducted his noble hostess. Let the 
 reader imagine an enclosure of about forty feet in length, and 
 thirty in width (leading out of a long and splendid gallery), 
 surmounted by a glazed and vaulted roof, the building being 
 securely covered in for about fifty feet. Round the parallelogram 
 it described, the walls were concealed by an infinite number of 
 mirrors, over which was placed a small and delicate trellis of 
 fine green rushes, which, thanks to the strong light reflected on 
 the highly polished glass, resembled an arbor, and were almost 
 entirely hidden by a thick row of orange-trees, as large as those 
 of the Tuileries, mixed with camelias of equal size; while the 
 golden fruit and verdant foliage of the one contrasted beautifully 
 with the rich clusters of waxen flowers, of all colors, with which 
 the other was loaded. The remainder of the garden was thus 
 devised : 
 
 Five or six enormous clumps of trees, and Indian or other 
 tropical shrubs, planted in immense cases filled with peat earth, 
 were surrounded by alleys paved with a mosaic shell-work, and 
 sufficiently wide for two or three persons to walk abreast. It 
 is impossible to describe the wondrous effect produced by this 
 rich display of tropical vegetation in the midst of a European 
 winter, and almost in the very center of a ballroom. Here 
 might be seen gigantic bananas stretching their tall arms to the 
 glass roof which covered them, and blending the vivid green of 
 their palms with the lanceolated leaves of the large magnolias 
 some of which already displayed their matchless and odoriferous 
 flowers with their bell-shaped calices, purple without and silvery
 
 232 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 white within, from which started -forth the little gold-threaded 
 stamens. At a little distance were grouped the palm and date- 
 trees of the Levant : the red macaw, and fig-trees from India ; all 
 blooming in full health and vigor, and displaying their foliage 
 in all its luxuriance, gave to the tout ensemble a mass of rich, 
 brilliant tropical verdure, which, glittering among the thousand 
 lights, sparkled with the colors of the emerald. 
 
 Along the trellising, between the orange-trees, and amid the 
 clumps, were trained every variety of rare climbing plants: 
 sometimes hanging their long wreaths of leaves and flowers in 
 graceful festoons, then depending like blooming serpents from 
 the tall boughs now trailing at their -roots then ambitiously 
 scaling the very walls, till they hung their united tresses round 
 the transparent and vaulted roof from which again they floated 
 in mingled masses, waving in the pure light breeze loaded with 
 so many odors. The winged pomegranate, the passion-flower, 
 with its large purple flowers striated with azure, and crowned 
 with its dark violet tuft, waved in long spiral wreaths over the 
 heads of the admiring crowd, then, as though fatigued with 
 the sport, threw their colossal garlands of delicate flowers across 
 the hard prickly leaves of the gigantic aloes. 
 
 The bignonia of India, with its long cup-shaped flower of dark 
 sulphur color, and slight slender leaves, was placed beside the 
 delicate flesh-colored petals of the stephanotis, so justly appreci- 
 ated for its exquisite perfume ; the two stems mutually clinging 
 to each other for support, and mingling their leaves and flowers 
 in one confused mass, disposed them in elegant festoons of 
 green fringe, spangled with gold and silver spots round the 
 immense velvet foliage of the Indian fig. Further on, started 
 forth, and then fell again in a sort of variegated and floral 
 cascade, immense quantities of the stalks of the asclepias, whose 
 leaves, large, umbellated, and in clusters of from fifteen to 
 twenty star-shaped flowers, grew so thickly, so evenly, that 
 they might have been mistaken for bouquets of pink enamel 
 surrounded with leaves of fine green porcelain. The borders of 
 the cases containing the oranges and camelias were filled with 
 the choicest cape heaths, the tulips of Thol, the narcissus of 
 Constantinople, the hyacinths, irides, and cyclamina of Persia; 
 forming a sort of natural carpet, presenting one harmonious 
 blending of the loveliest tints. 
 
 Chinese lanterns of transparent silk, some pale blue, others 
 pink, partly concealed amid the foliage, threw a soft and gentle 
 light over this enchanting scene; nor could a more ingenious 
 idea have been resorted to than in the happy amalgamation of
 
 THE BALL. 233 
 
 these two colors, by which a charming, and almost unearthly light 
 was produced, combining the clear cerculean blue of a summer's 
 night with the rose-colored coruscations emitted from sparkling 
 rays of an aurora borealis. 
 
 The entrance to this immense hot-house was from a long 
 gallery glittering with gold, with mirrors, crystal vases filled 
 with the choicest perfumes, and brilliantly lighted, and also 
 raised a few steps above the fairy palace we have been endeavor- 
 ing to describe. The dazzling brightness of the approach served 
 as a sort of penumbra, in which were indistinctly traced out the 
 gigantic exotics discernible through a species of arch, partly con- 
 cealed by two crimson velvet curtains looped back with golden 
 cords so as to give a dim and misty view of the enchanted land 
 that lay beyond. An imaginative mind might easily have 
 persuaded himself he stood near a huge window opening on some 
 beautiful Asiatic landscape during the tranquillity of a summer's 
 twilight. 
 
 The sounds of the orchestra, weakened by distance, and broken 
 by the joyous hum proceeding from the gallery, died languidly 
 away among the motionless foliage of the huge trees. Insensibly 
 each fresh visitant to this enchanting spot lowered his voice 
 until his words fell in whispers; for the light genuine air, 
 embalmed with a thousand rich odors, appeared to cast a sort 
 of somnolency over the senses; every breath seemed to speak 
 of the clustering plants whose balmy sweetness filled the 
 atmosphere. Certainly two lovers, seated in some corner of 
 this Eden, could conceive no greater happiness to be enjoyed on 
 earth, than thus dreamily to rest beneath the trees and flowers 
 of this terrestrial paradise. 
 
 At the end of this winter garden were placed immense divans 
 beneath canopies of leaves and flowers ; the subdued light of the 
 hot-house forming a powerful contrast with the gallery, the 
 distance seemed filled with a species of gold-colored shining fog, 
 in the midst of which glittered and flickered, like a living 
 embroidery, the dazzling and varied robes of the ladies, com- 
 bined with the prismatic scintillations of the congregated mass of 
 diamonds and precious stones. Rodolph's first sensation upon 
 arriving at this enchanting triumph of art over nature was 
 that of most unfeigned surprise. 
 
 "This is, indeed, a wonderfully beautiful carrying out of a 
 poetical idea," said he, almost involuntarily; then, turning to 
 the ambassadress, he exclaimed, " Madame, till now, I had not 
 deemed such wonders practicable. We have not in the scene 
 before us a mere union of unbounded expense with the most
 
 234: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 exquisite taste, but you give us poetry in action. Instead of 
 writing as a master poet, or painting as a first-rate artist, you 
 create that which they would scarcely venture to dream of." 
 
 " Your royal highness is too indulgent." 
 
 " Nay, hut candidly, all must agree that the mind which 
 could so faithfully depict this ravishing scene, with its charm 
 of colors and contrasts beyond us, the loud notes of joy and 
 mirthful revelry, here the soft silence and sweet gentle murmurs 
 of distant voices, that lull the spirit into a fancied flight beyond 
 this fitful existence, surely, surely, without suspicion of flattery, 
 it may be said of the planner and contriver of all this, such a 
 one was born a poet and a painter combined." 
 
 " The praises of your royal highness are so much the more 
 dangerous from the skill and cleverness with which they are 
 uttered, and which makes us listen to them with delight, even 
 in defiance of our sternest resolutions. But allow me to call 
 your royal highness's attention to the very lovely person who is 
 approaching us. I must have you admit that the Marquise 
 d'Harville must shine pre-eminently beautiful any and every 
 where. Is she not graceful ? and does not the gentle elegance of 
 her whole appearance acquire a fresh charm, from the contrast 
 with the severe yet classic beauty by whom she is accompanied ? " 
 
 The individuals thus alluded to were the Countess Sarah 
 Macgregor and the Marquise d'Harville, who were at this 
 moment descending the steps which led from the gallery to the 
 winter garden. Neither was the panegyric bestowed by the 
 ambassadress on Madame d'Harville at all exaggerated. No 
 words can accurately describe the loveliness of her person, and 
 the Marquise d'Harville was then in the first bloom of youth- 
 ful charms; but her beauty, delicate and fragile as it was, 
 appeared less to belong to the strict regularity of her features 
 than to the irresistible expression of sweetness and universal 
 kindness, which imparted a charm to her countenance impossible 
 to resist, or to describe ; and this peculiar charm served invariably 
 to distinguish Madame d'Harville from all other fashionable 
 beauties; for goodness of heart and kindliness of disposition 
 are but rarely seen as the prevailing passions revealed in a face 
 as fair, as young, high-born, and ardently worshiped by all, 
 as was the Marquise d'Harville, who shone forth in all her 
 luster as the brightest star in the galaxy of fashion. Too wise, 
 virtuous, and right-minded, to listen to the host of flatterers by 
 whom she was surrounded, Madame d'Harville smiled as grate- 
 fully on all as though she could have given them credit for 
 speaking the truth, had not her own modest opinion of her
 
 THE BALL. 235 
 
 just claims to such homage have forbidden her accepting of 
 praise she never could have deserved. Wholly indifferent to 
 flattery, yet sensibly alive to kindness, she perfectly distinguished 
 between sympathy and insincerity. Her acute penetration, 
 correct judgment, and lively wit, unmixed by the slightest ill- 
 nature, made her wage an early, though good-tempered war, 
 with those vain and egotistical beings who crowd and oppress 
 society with the view of monopolizing general attention, and, 
 blinded by their own self-love, expect one universal deference and 
 submission. 
 
 " Those kind of persons," said Madame d'Harville one day, 
 laughingly, " appear to me as if their whole life were passed in 
 dancing ' Le Cavalier Seul' before an invisible mirror/' 
 
 An unassuming and unpretending person, however reserved 
 and, consequently unpopular, he might be with others, was sure 
 to find a steady friend and partial observer in Madame 
 d'Harville. 
 
 This trifling digression is absolutely essential to the right 
 understanding of facts of which we shall speak hereafter. 
 
 The complexion of Madame d'Harville was of the purest 
 white, tinged with the most delicate carnation ; her long tresses 
 of bright chestnut hair floated over her beautifully formed 
 shoulders, white and polished as marble. It would be an impos- 
 sible task to describe her large dark gray eyes, fringed with 
 their thick lashes, and beaming with angelic sweetness ; her coral 
 lips, with their gentle smile, gave to her eyes the indefinable 
 charm that her affable and winning mode of expressing herself 
 derived from their mild and angelic expression of approving 
 goodness. We will not further delay the reader by describing 
 the perfection of her figure, nor dwell upon the distinguished 
 air which marked her whole appearance. She wore a white 
 crape dress, trimmed with the natural flowers of the camelia, 
 intermixed with its own rich green leaves. Here and there a 
 diamond sparkled among the waxy petals, as if a dew-drop 
 fresh from its native skies had fallen there. A garland of the 
 same flowers, equally ornamented with precious stones, was 
 placed with infinite grace upon her fair and open brow. 
 
 The peculiar style of the Countess Sarah Macgregor's beauty 
 served to set off the fair feminine loveliness of her companion. 
 Though turned thirty-five years of age, Sarah looked much 
 younger. Nothing appears to preserve the body more effectually 
 from all the attacks of sickness or decay than a cold-hearted, 
 egotistical disregard of every one but ourselves; it encrusts the 
 body with a cold icy covering, which alike resists the inroads of
 
 236 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 bodily or mental wear and tear. To this cause may be ascribed 
 the wonderful preservation of Countess Sarah's appearance. 
 
 The lady whose name we last mentioned wore a dress of pak 
 amber watered silk, beneath a crape tunic of the same color 
 A simple wreath of the dark leaves of the Pyrus Japonicus 
 encircled her head, and harmonized admirably with the bandeaux 
 of raven hair it confined. This classically severe mode of head" 
 dress gave to the profile of this imperious woman the character 
 and resemblance of an antique statue. Many persons, mistaking 
 their real cast of countenance, imagine some peculiar vocation 
 delineated in their traits. Thus one man, who fancies he pos- 
 sesses a warlike air, assumes the warrior; another imagines 
 
 " His eyes in a fine frenzy rolling," 
 
 marks him out as a poet; instantly he turns down his shirt- 
 collar, adopts poetical language, and writes himself poet. So 
 the self-imagined conspirator wastes days and hours in ponder- 
 ing over mighty deeds he feels called upon to do. The politician, 
 upon the same terms, bores the world and his friends with 
 his perpetual outpourings upon political economy; and the man 
 whose saintly turn of countenance persuades its owner into the 
 belief of a corresponding character within, forthwith abjures 
 the pomps and vanities of the world, and aims at reforming 
 his brethren by his pulpit eloquence. Now, ambition being 
 Sarah's ruling passion, and her noble and aristocratical 
 features well assisting the delusion, she smiled as the word 
 " diadem " crossed her thoughts, and lent a willing ear to 
 the predictions of her Highland nurse, and firmly believed 
 herself predestined to a sovereign destiny. Spite of the trifling 
 embonpoint that gave to her figure (which, though fatter than 
 Madame d'Harville's, was not less slender and nymphlike) a 
 voluptuous gracefulness, Sarah boasted of all the freshness of 
 early youth, and few could long sustain the fire of her black 
 and piercing eyes; her nose was aquiline; her finely formed 
 mouth and rich ruby lips were expressive of the highest 
 determination, haughtiness, and pride. 
 
 The marquise and Sarah had recognized Rodolph in the 
 winter-garden at the moment they were descending into it from 
 the gallery; but the prince feigned not to observe their pres- 
 ence. 
 
 " The prince is so entirely absorbed with the ambassadress," 
 said Madame d'Harville to Sarah, " that he pays not the slightest 
 attention to us/' 
 
 " You are quite mistaken, my dear Clemence," rejoined the
 
 TEE BALL. 237 
 
 countess; "the prince saw us as quickly and as plainly as we 
 saw him, but I frightened him away: you see he still bears 
 malice with me." 
 
 "I am more than ever at a loss to understand the singular 
 obstinacy with which he persists in shunning you you, formerly 
 an old friend. ' Countess Sarah and myself are sworn enemies,' 
 replied he to me once in a joking manner; 'I have made a vow 
 never to speak to her; and you may judge how sacred must be 
 the vow that hinders me from conversing with so charming a 
 lady.' And, strange and unaccountable as was this reply, I had 
 no alternative but to submit to it." 
 
 " And yet I can assure you that the cause of this deadly feud, 
 half in jest and half in earnest as it is, originates in the most 
 simple circumstance. Were it not that a third party is 
 implicated in it, I should have explained the whole to you long 
 ago. But what is the matter, my dear child? You seem as 
 though your thoughts were far from the present scene." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, I assure you," replied the marquise, 
 faintly; "but the gallery was so very hot, it gave me a violent 
 headache. Let us sit down here for a minute or two. I hope 
 and believe it will soon be better." 
 
 " You are right : see, here is a nice quiet corner, where you will 
 be in perfect safety from the researches of those who are lament- 
 ing your absence," added Sarah, pronouncing the last words with 
 marked emphasis. 
 
 The two ladies then seated themselves on a divan, almost 
 concealed beneath the clustering shrubs and overhanging plants. 
 
 " I said those, who would be lamenting your absence, my dear 
 Clemence come, own that I deserve praise for so discreetly 
 forming my speech." 
 
 The marquise blushed slightly, cast down her eyes, but spoke 
 not. 
 
 " How unreasonable you are ! " exclaimed Sarah, in a tone of 
 friendly reproach. "Can you not trust me, my dear child? 
 yes, child; for am I not old enough to be your mother ? " 
 
 "Not trust you?" uttered the marquise, sadly: "alas! have 
 I not on the contrary confessed that to you which I should 
 hardly have dared to own to myself?" 
 
 "Well, then, come, rouse yourself now, let us have a little 
 talk about HIM: and, so you have really sworn to drive him 
 to despair ? " 
 
 " For the love of Heaven," exclaimed Madame d'Harville, 
 " think what you are saying ! " 
 
 " I tell you I know him better than you do, my poor child :
 
 238 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 he is a man of cool and decided energy, who sets but little 
 value on his life; he has had misfortunes enough to make him 
 quite weary of it; and it really seems as if you daily found 
 greater pleasure in tormenting him, and playing with his 
 feelings." 
 
 " Is it possible you can really think so ? " 
 
 " Indeed, in spite of myself, I cannot refrain from entertain- 
 ing that opinion. Oh, if you but knew how over-susceptible 
 some minds are rendered by a continuance of sorrows and 
 afflictions just now I saw two large tears fall from his eyes, as 
 he gazed on you." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of what you say ? " 
 
 " Indeed I am quite certain ; and that too in a ball-room, at 
 the risk of becoming an object of general derision, if this uncon- 
 trollable misery were perceived ! Ah ! let me tell you, a person 
 must truly love to bear all this, and even to be careless about 
 concealing his sufferings from the world." 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, do not speak thus ! " replied 
 Madame d'Harville, in a voice trembling with emotion. " Alas ! 
 you have touched me nearly: I know too well what it is to 
 struggle with a hidden grief, yet wear an outward expression of 
 calmness and resignation. Alas ! alas ! 'tis the deep pity and 
 commiseration I feel for him has been my ruin," added she, 
 almost unconsciously. 
 
 "Nonsense! what an over-nice person you are, to talk of a 
 little innocent flirtation being ruinous, and that too with a man 
 so scrupulously guarded as to abstain from ever appearing in 
 your husband's presence, for fear of compromising you. You 
 must admit that M. Charles Eobert is a man of surprising 
 honor, delicacy, and real feeling. I feel the more inclined to 
 espouse his cause from the recollection that you have never met 
 him elsewhere but at my house, and because I can answer for 
 his principles, and that his devoted attachment to you can only 
 be equaled by the deep respect he bears you." 
 
 "I have never doubted the many noble qualities you have 
 so repeatedly assured me he possesses, but you know well that 
 it is his long succession of bitter afflictions which have so warmly 
 interested me in his favor." 
 
 " And well does he merit this interest, and most fully do his 
 excellent qualities absolve you of all blame in thus bestowing it. 
 Surely so fine and noble a countenance bespeaks a mind equally 
 superior to all mankind. How completely are you reminded, 
 while gazing on his tall and finely proportioned figure, of the 
 preux chevaliers of bygone days, ' sans peur et sans reproche'
 
 THE BALL. 239 
 
 I once saw him dressed in his uniform as commandant of the 
 national guard, and, handsome as he is, I really think he looked 
 surpassingly well, and I could but say to myself, that, if 
 nobility were the award of inward merit and external beauty, 
 M. Charles Robert, instead of being so called, would take 
 precedence of nearly all our dukes and peers. Would he not be 
 a fitting representative of any of the most distinguished families 
 in France ? " 
 
 " You know, my dear countess, how very little importance I 
 attach to mere birth, and you yourself have frequently reproached 
 me with being strongly inclined to republicanism," said Madame 
 d'Harville, gently smiling. 
 
 " For my own part, I always thought with you, that M. 
 Charles Robert required not the aid of rank or titles to render 
 him worthy of universal admiration. Then, what extreme talent 
 he possesses ! what a fine voice he has ! and what delightful 
 morning concerts we three have been able to achieve, owing to 
 his all-powerful assistance! Ah, my dear Clemence, do you 
 remember the first time you ever sung with him, what passionate 
 expression did he not throw into the words of that beautiful 
 duet, so descriptive of his love, and his fear of offending her who 
 was the object of it, by revealing it ? " 
 
 " Let me entreat of you," said Madame d'Harville, after a long 
 silence, "to speak of 'something else; indeed I dare not listen 
 further : what you but just now intimated of his depressed and 
 unhappy appearance has caused me much pain.'* 
 
 " Nay, my dear friend, I meant not to grieve you, but merely 
 to point out the probability that a man, rendered doubly sensitive 
 by the succession of past misfortunes, might feel his courage 
 insufficient to encounter the fresh trial of your rejection of his 
 suit, and thus be induced to end his hopeless love and his life 
 together." 
 
 " Oh, no more ! no more ! " almost shrieked Madame 
 d'Harville, interrupting Sarah ; " this fearful idea has glanced 
 across my mind already." Then, after a second silence of some 
 minutes, the marquise resumed, " Let us, as I said before, talk 
 of somebody else of your mortal enemy for instance," added 
 she, with assumed gaiety of manner ; " come, we will take the 
 prince for a fresh theme of conversation: I had not seen him, 
 previously to this evening, for a very long time. Do you know 
 that I think he looks handsomer than ever? Though all but 
 king, he has lost none of the winning sweetness and affability of 
 his manner, and, spite of my republicanism, I must confess I 
 have seldom, if ever, known so irresistible a person."
 
 24:0 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Sarah threw a side-glance of deep and scrutinizing hatred upon 
 her unconscious rival, but, quickly recovering herself, she said, 
 gaily, 
 
 " Now, my dear Clemence, you must confess to being a most 
 capricious little lady: you have regular alternating paroxysms 
 of admiration and violent dislike for the prince; why, a few 
 months ago, I mean about his first arrival here, you were so 
 captivated by him, that, between ourselves, I was half afraid you 
 had lost your heart past all hope of recall." 
 
 " Thanks to you," replied Madame d'Harville, smiling, " my 
 admiration was very short-lived; for so well did you act up to 
 your character of the prince's sworn foe, and such fearful tales 
 did you tell me of his profligacy and misconduct, that you 
 succeeded in inspiring me with an aversion as powerful as had 
 been the infatuation which led you to fear for the safety of my 
 heart ; which, by the way, I cannot think would ever have been 
 placed in any danger from the attempts of your enemy to disturb 
 its repose, since, shortly before you gave me those frightful 
 particulars of the prince's character, he had quite ceased to 
 honor me with his visits, although on the most intimate and 
 friendly terms with my husband." 
 
 "Talking of your husband, pray is he here to-night?" 
 inquired Sarah. 
 
 "No," replied Madame d'Harville, in a tone of embarrass- 
 ment ; " he preferred remaining at home." 
 
 " He seems to me to mix less and less in the world." 
 
 " He never liked what is called fashionable gaiety." 
 
 The marquise's agitation visibly increased; and Sarah, whose 
 quick eye easily perceived it, continued, 
 
 " The last time I saw him he looked -even paler than usual." 
 
 " He has been very much out of health lately." 
 
 " My dearest Clemence, will you permit me to speak to you 
 without reserve ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes! pray do!" 
 
 " How comes it that the least allusion to your husband always 
 throws you into such a state of extraordinary alarm and uneasi- 
 ness?"' 
 
 " What an idea ! is it possible you can mean it seriously ? " 
 asked poor Madame d'Harville, trying to smile. 
 
 " Indeed I am quite in earnest," rejoined her companion ; 
 " whenever you are speaking of him, your countenance assumes, 
 even in spite .of yourself but how shall I make myself under- 
 stood ? " and Sarah, with the tone and fixed gaze of one who 
 wished to read the most secret thoughts of the person she
 
 THE BALL. 241 
 
 addressed, slowly and emphatically added " A look of mingled 
 aversion and fear ! " 
 
 The fixed pallid features of Madame d'Harville at first defied 
 even Sarah's practised eye, but her keen gaze soon detected a 
 slight convulsive working of the mouth, with a tremulous move- 
 ment of the under-lip of her victim, but feeling it unsafe to* 
 pursue the subject further at this moment so as to awaken 
 the marquise's mistrust of her friendly intentions, by way, 
 therefore, of concealing her real suspicions, she continued, 
 
 " Yes, just that sort of dislike any woman would entertain for 
 a peevish, jealous, ill-tempered " 
 
 At this explanation of the countess's meaning, as regarded 
 Madame d'Harville's imagined dislike to her husband, a heavy 
 load seemed taken from her; the working of her lip ceased, and 
 she replied, 
 
 " Let me assure you M. d'Harville is neither peevish nor 
 jealous." Then, as if searching for some means of breaking a 
 conversation so painful to her feelings, she suddenly exclaimed, 
 " Ah ! here comes that tiresome friend of my husband's, the 
 Duke de Lucenay I hope he has not seen us where can he 
 have sprung from? I thought he was a thousand miles 
 off!" 
 
 " It was reported that he had gone somewhere in the East 
 for a year or two, and behold, at the end of five months, here he 
 is back again ! His unexpected arrival must have sadly annoyed 
 the Duchess de Lucenay, though poor De Lucenay is a very 
 inoffensive creature," said Sarah, with an ill-natured smile. 
 " Nor will Madame de Lucenay be the only one to feel vexation 
 at his thus changing his mind ; her friend, M. de St. Remy, will 
 duly and affectionately .sympathize in all her regrets on the 
 subject." 
 
 " Come, come ! my dear Sarah, I cannot allow you to 
 scandalize ; say that this return of M. de Lucenay is a nuisance 
 to everybody; the duke is sufficiently disagreeable for you to 
 generalize the regret his unexpected presence occasions." 
 
 " I do not slander, I merely repeat. It is also said that M. de 
 St. Remy, the model of our young elegantes, whose splendid 
 doings have filled all Paris, is all but ruined ! 'Tis true, he has 
 by no means reduced either his establishment or his expenditure : 
 however, there are several ways of accounting for that; in the 
 first place, Madame de Lucenay is immensely rich." 
 
 "What a horrible idea!" 
 
 " Still I only repeat what others say. There, the duke sees 
 us: he is coming towards us; we must resign ourselves to our
 
 242 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 fate miserable is it not? I know nothing so hard to bear as 
 that man's company; he makes himself so very disagreeable, 
 and then laughs so disgustingly loud at the silly things he says. 
 Indeed, he is so boisterous that the bare idea of him makes one 
 think of pretending to faint, or any other pretext, to avoid him. 
 Talking of fainting, pray let me beg of you, if you have the 
 least regard for your fan or essence-bottle, to beware how you 
 allow him to handle either, for he has the unfortunate habit 
 of breaking whatever he touches, and all with the most facetious 
 self-satisfied air imaginable." 
 
 Belonging to one of the first families in France, still young, 
 and with a face that would have been agreeable had it not 
 been for the almost ridiculous and disproportionate length of 
 his nose, M. de Lucenay joined to a restless love of constant 
 motion the habit of talking and laughing fearfully loud upon 
 subjects quite at variance with good taste or polished manners, 
 and throwing himself into attitudes so abrupt and awkward, 
 that it was only by recalling who he was, that his being found in 
 the midst of the most distinguished societies in Paris could be 
 accounted for, or a reason assigned for tolerating his gestures 
 and language; for both of which he had now, by dint of long 
 practise and adherence, acquired a sort of free license or 
 impunity. He was shunned like the plague, although not 
 deficient in a certain description of wit, which told here and 
 there amid the indescribable confusion of remarkable phraseology 
 which he allowed himself the use of; in fact he was one of those 
 unintentional instruments of vengeance one would always like 
 to employ in the wholesale chastisement of persons who have 
 rendered themselves either ridiculous or abhorrent. 
 
 The Duchess de Lucenay, one of the most agreeable, and, at 
 the same time, most fashionable women in Paris (spite of her 
 having numbered thirty summers), had more than once furnished 
 matter of conversation among the scandal-dealers of Paris; but 
 her errors, whatever they were supposed to be, were pardoned, 
 in consideration of the heavy drawback of such a partner as M. de 
 Lucenay. 
 
 Another feature in the character of this latter-named indi- 
 vidual was a singular affectation of the most absurd and unknown 
 expressions, relative to imaginary complaints and ridiculous 
 infirmities he amused himself in supposing you suffered from, 
 and concerning which he would make earnest inquiries, in a loud 
 voice, and in the immediate presence of a hundred persons. But 
 possessed of first-rate courage, and always ready to take the con- 
 sequences of his disagreeable jokes, M. de Lucenay had been
 
 THE BALL. 243 
 
 concerned in various affairs of honor arising out of them, with 
 varied success; coming off sometimes victor, sometimes van- 
 quished, without being in any way cured of his unpleasant and 
 annoying tricks. 
 
 All this premised, we will ask the reader to imagine the loud, 
 harsh voice of the personage we have been describing, shouting 
 from the distance at which he first recognized Madame d'Harville 
 and Sarah, 
 
 " Holla ! holla ! who is that out there? Come, who is it? let's 
 see. What ! the prettiest woman at the ball sitting out here, 
 away from everybody ! I can't have this ; it was high time I 
 returned from the other end of the world to put a stop to such 
 doings as this. I tell you what, marquise, if you persist in thus 
 concealing yourself from general view, and cheating people from 
 looking at you, I will set up a cry of fire ! fire ! that shall bring 
 everyone out of the ballroom, around you." 
 
 And then, by way of terminating his discourse, M. de Lucenay 
 threw himself almost on his back beside the two ladies, crossed 
 his left leg over his right thigh, and held his foot in his 
 hand. 
 
 " You have soon returned from Constantinople, my lord," 
 observed Madame d'Harville, fancying it was necessary to say 
 something, and, at the same time, drawing away from her 
 unpleasant neighbor with ill-concealed impatience. 
 
 " Ah, that is just what my wife said ! ' Already back, my 
 lord ? ' exclaimed she, when she saw me alight from my traveling- 
 carriage ; * why, bless me, I did not expect you so SOON ! ' And, 
 do you know, instead of flying to my arms, as if the surprise had 
 delighted her, she turned quite sulky, and refused to appear 
 with me at this, my first ball since my return! And, upon my 
 soul, I declare her staying away has caused a far greater sensa- 
 tion than my presence droll, isn't it? 'pon my life I declare I 
 can't make it out. When she is with me, nobody pays the least 
 attention to me; but when I entered the room alone to-night 
 such a crowd came humming and buzzing round me, all calling 
 out at once 'Where is Madame de Lucenay? is not she coming 
 this evening ? oh, dear, what a disappointment ! how vexatious ! 
 how disagreeable ! ' etc. etc. And then, marquise, when I come 
 where you are, and expect, after returning all the way from 
 Constantinople, you will be overjoyed to see me you look upon 
 me as if I were a dog running amidst an interesting game of 
 nine-pins ; and yet, for all I see, I am just as agreeable as other 
 people." 
 
 " And it would have been so easy for you to have continued
 
 244: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 agreeable in the East," added Madame d'Harville, slightly 
 smiling. 
 
 " Stop abroad, you mean, I suppose ; yes, I dare say. I tell 
 you I could not, and I would not; and it is not quite what I 
 like, to hear you say so ! " exclaimed M. de Lucenay, uncrossing 
 his legs, and beating the crown of his hat after the fashion of a 
 tambourine. 
 
 " Well, for Heaven's sake, my lord, be still, and do not call 
 out so very loudly," said Madame d'Harville, angrily, " or really 
 you will compel me to change my place." 
 
 " Change your place ! Ah to be sure ! you want to take my arm, 
 and walk about the gallery a little; come along then, I'm 
 ready." 
 
 " Walk with you ! certainly not ! And pray let me beg of you 
 not to meddle with that bouquet and have the goodness not to 
 touch the fan either, you will only break it, as you always do." 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! talking of breaking fans, I am unlucky. 
 Did my wife ever show you a magnificent Chinese fan, given 
 to her by Madame de Vaudemont ? Well, I broke that ! " And, 
 having delivered himself of these comforting words, M. de 
 Lucenay again threw himself back on the divan he had been 
 lounging on, but, with his accustomed gauclierie, contrived to 
 pitch himself over the back of it, on to the ground, grasping in 
 his hand a quantity of the floating wreaths of climbing plants 
 which depended from the boughs of the trees under which the 
 party was sitting, and which he had been, for sometime, amus- 
 ing himself with essaying to catch, as, moved by the light breeze 
 admitted into the place, they undulated gracefully over his 
 head. The suddenness of his fall brought down, not only those 
 he held, but the parent stems belonging to them; and poor De 
 Lucenay was so covered by the mass of foliage thus unexpectedly 
 obtained, that, ere he could thoroughly disengage himself from 
 their circling tendrils, he presented the appearance of some 
 monarch of May-day crowned with his leafy diadem. So 
 whimsical an appearance as he presented drew down roars of 
 deafening, stunning laughter ; much to the annoyance of Madame 
 d'Harville, who would quickly have got out of the vicinity of so 
 awkward and unpleasant a person had she not perceived M. 
 Charles Eobert (le commandant of Madame Pipelet's accounts) 
 advancing from the other end of the gallery; and, unwilling to 
 appear as though going to meet him, she once more resumed her 
 seat beside M. de Lucenay. 
 
 " I say, Lady Macgregor," vociferated the incorrigible De 
 Lucenay, " didn't I look preciously like a wild man of the woods,
 
 THE BALL. 245 
 
 or the god Pan, or a sylvan, or a naiad, or some of those savage 
 creatures, with that green wreath round my head? Oh, but 
 talking of savages," added he, abruptly approaching Sarah, 
 " Lady Macgregor, I must tell you a most outrageously indecent 
 story. Just imagine that at Otaheite " 
 
 " My lord duke " interrupted Sarah, in a tone of freezing 
 
 rebuke. 
 
 " Just as you like you are not obliged to hear my story if 
 you don't like it ; you are the loser, that's all. Ah ! I see 
 Madame de Fonbonne out there, I shall keep it for her : she is a 
 dear, kind creature, and will be delighted to hear it; so I'll save 
 it for her." 
 
 Madame de Fonbonne was a fat little woman, of about fifty 
 years of age, very pretending, and very ridiculous. Her fat 
 double chin rested on her equally fat throat; and she was con- 
 tinually talking, with upturned eyes, of her tender, her sensitive 
 soul ; the languor of her soul ; the craving of her soul ; the aspira- 
 tions of her soul. To these disadvantages, she added the addi- 
 tional one of being particularly ill-dressed, upon the present 
 occasion, in a horrible-looking copper-colored turban, with a 
 sprinkling of green flowers over it. 
 
 " Yes," again asserted De Lucenay, in his loudest voice, " that 
 charming anecdote shall be told to Madame de Fonbonne." 
 
 " May I be permitted, my lord duke, to inquire the subject of 
 your conversation?" said the lady thus apostrophized, who, 
 hearing her name mentioned, immediately commenced her usual 
 mincing, bridling attempts to draw up her little chubby self, but, 
 failing in the effort, fell back upon the easier maneuver of " roll- 
 ing up the whites of her eyes," as it is commonly called. 
 
 " It refers, madam, to a most horribly indecent, revolting, and 
 strange story." 
 
 "Heaven bless me! and who dares? oh, dear me! who 
 
 would venture " 
 
 " I would, madam. I can answer for the truth of the 
 anecdote, and that it would make a stick or a stone blush to hear 
 it; but, as I am aware how dearly you love such stories, I will 
 relate it to you. You must know, then, that in Otaheite 
 
 " My lord," exclaimed the indignant lady, turning up her 
 eyes with indignant horror, " it really is surprising you can allow 
 yourself to ! " 
 
 " Now, for those unkind looks you shall not hear my pretty 
 story either, though I had been reserving it for you. And, now 
 I look at you, I can but wonder that you, so celebrated for the 
 taste and good style of your dress, should have put that wretched
 
 246 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 thing on your head for a turban, but which looks more like 
 an old copper baking-dish spotted all over with verdigris." So 
 saying, the duke, as if charmed with his own wit, burst into a 
 loud and long peal of laughter. 
 
 " If, my lord," exclaimed the enraged lady, " you merely 
 returned from the East to resume your offensive jokes, which 
 are tolerated because you are supposed to be only half in your 
 senses, all who know you are bound to hope you intend to return 
 as quickly as you came ; " saying which she arose, and majes- 
 tically waddled away. 
 
 "I tell you what, Lady Macgregor, if I don't take devilish 
 good care, I shall let fly at that stupid old prude and pull her 
 old stew-pan off her head," said M. de Lucenay, thrusting his 
 hands deep down into his pockets as if to prevent their com- 
 mitting the retaliating mischief he contemplated. " But no," 
 said he, after a pause, " I won't hurt the ' sensitive soul,' poor 
 innocent thing ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Besides, think of her being an 
 orphan at her tender age ! " And renewed peals of laughter 
 announced that the imagination of the duke had again found a 
 fresh fund of amusement in some reminiscence of Madame de 
 Fonbonne; which, however, soon gave place to an expression of 
 surprise, as the figure of the commandant, sauntering towards 
 them, caught his eye. 
 
 " Holla ! " cried he, "there's M. Charles Eobert. I met him 
 last summer at the German baths: he is a deuced fine fellow 
 sings like a swan. Now, marquise, I'll show you some fun 
 just see how I'll bother him. Would you like me to introduce 
 him to you ? " 
 
 " Be quiet, if you can," said Sarah, turning her back, most 
 unceremoniously, upon M. de Lucenay, "and let us alone, I 
 beg." 
 
 As M. Charles Eobert, while affecting to be solely occupied in 
 admiring the rare plants on either side of him, continued to 
 advance, M. de Lucenay had cleverly contrived to get posses- 
 sion of Sarah's flacon d'esprit, and was deeply and silently 
 engaged in the interesting employment of demolishing the 
 stopper of the trinket. 
 
 Still M. Charles Robert kept on his gradual approach to the 
 party he was, in reality, making the object of his visit. His figure 
 was tall and finely proportioned; his features boasted the most 
 faultless regularity; his dress was in the first style of modern 
 elegance; yet his countenance, his whole person, were destitute 
 of grace, or that distingue air which is more to be coveted than 
 mere beauty, whether of face or figure ; his movements were stiff
 
 THE BALL. 247 
 
 and constrained, and his hands and feet large and coarse. As 
 he approached Madame d'Harville his insipid and insignificant 
 countenance assumed, all at once, an expression of the deepest 
 melancholy, too sudden to be genuine; nevertheless he acted the 
 part as closely to nature as might be. M. Robert had the air of 
 a man so thoroughly wretched, so oppressed by a multitude of 
 sorrows, that as he came up to Madame d'Harville she could not 
 help recalling to mind the fearful mention made by Sarah touch- 
 ing the violence to which grief such as his might drive him. 
 
 " How are you ? how are you, my dear sir ? " exclaimed the 
 Duke de Lucenay, interrupting the further approach of the 
 commandant. " I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since 
 
 we met at the spas of But what the devil ails you are you 
 
 ill?" 
 
 Hereupon M. Charles Robert assumed a languid and senti- 
 mental air, and, casting a melancholy look towards Madame 
 d'Harville, replied, in a tone of deep depression, 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, I am very far from being well." 
 
 " God bless me ! why, what is the matter with you ? Ah ! I 
 suppose that confounded plaguy cough still sticks to yon," said 
 M. de Lucenay, with an appearance of the most serious interest 
 in the inquiry. 
 
 At this ridiculous question, M. Charles Robert stood for a 
 moment as though struck dumb with astonishment, but, quickly 
 recovering himself, said, while his face crimsoned, and his voice 
 trembled with rage, in a short, firm voice, to M. de Lucenay, 
 
 " Since you express so much uneasiness respecting my health, 
 my lord, I trust you will not fail calling to-morrow to know 
 how I am." 
 
 " Upon my life and soul, my dear sir, I but most certainly 
 
 I will send," said the duke, with a haughty bow to M. Charles 
 Robert, who, coolly returning it, walked away. 
 
 " The best of the joke is," said M. de Lucenay, throwing him- 
 self again by the side of Sarah, " that our tall friend there had 
 no more of a spitting complaint than the great Turk himself 
 unless, indeed, I stumbled upon the truth without knowing it. 
 Well, he might have that complaint for anything I know or care. 
 What do you think, Lady Macgregor did that great tall fellow 
 look, to you, as though he were suffering from la pituite ? "* 
 
 Sarah's only reply was an indignant rising from her seat, and 
 hasty removal from the vicinage of the annoying Duke de 
 Lucenay. 
 
 All this had passed with the rapidity of thought. Sarah had 
 * A sort of viscous, phlegmy complaint.
 
 248 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 experienced considerable difficulty in restraining her inclination 
 to indulge in a hearty fit of laughter at the absurd question put 
 by the Duke de Lucenay to the commandant; but Madame 
 d'Harville had painfully sympathized with the feelings of a man 
 so ridiculously interrogated in the presence of the woman he 
 loved. Then, horror-struck as the probable consequences of the 
 duke's jest rose to her mind, led away by her dread of the duel 
 which might arise out of it, and still further instigated by a 
 feeling of deep pity for one who seemed to her misled imagina- 
 tion as marked out for every venomed shaft of envy, malice, and 
 revenge, Clemence rose abruptly from her seat, took the arm of 
 Sarah, overtook M. Charles Robert, who was boiling over with 
 rage, and whispered to him, as she passed, 
 
 " TO-MORROW, AT ONE O'CLOCK, I WILL BE THERE." 
 
 Then, regaining the gallery with the countess, she immediately 
 quitted the ball. 
 
 Rodolph, in appearing at this fete, besides fulfilling a duty 
 imposed on him by his exalted rank and place in society, was 
 further influenced by the earnest desire to ascertain how far his 
 suspicions, as regarded Madame d'Harville, were well founded, 
 and if she were, indeed, the heroine of Madame Pipelet's account. 
 After quitting the winter-garden with the Countess de * * * * he 
 had, in vain, traversed the various salons in the hopes of meeting 
 Madame d'Harville alone. He was returning to the hot-house 
 when, being momentarily delayed at the top of the stairs, he was 
 witness to the rapid scene between Madame d'Harville and M. 
 Charles Robert after the joke played off by the Duke de Lucenay. 
 The significant glances exchanged between Clemence and the 
 commandant struck Rodolph powerfully, and impressed him with 
 the firm conviction that this tall and prepossessing individual 
 was the mysterious lodger of the Rue du Temple. Wishing for 
 still further confirmation of the idea, he returned to the gallery. 
 A waltz was about to commence, and in the course of a few 
 minutes he saw M. Charles Robert standing in the door- 
 way, evidently reveling in the satisfaction of his own ideas; 
 enjoying, in the first place, the recollection of his own retort 
 to M. de Lucenay (for M. Charles Robert, spite of his egregious 
 folly and vanity, was by no means destitute of bravery), and, 
 secondly, reveling in the triumph of thus obtaining a voluntary 
 assignation with Madame d'Harville for the morrow; and some- 
 thing assured him that this time she would be punctual. 
 Rodolph sought for Murphy. 
 
 " Do you see that fair young man," said he, u standing in the 
 midst of that group out "there?"
 
 THE BALL. 249 
 
 " You mean the tall individual who seems so much amused 
 with his own thoughts, do you not ? yes, yes, I see him." 
 
 "Endeavor to get sufficiently near to him to be enabled to 
 whisper, so that he alone can catch the words, while you carefully 
 avoid allowing him to see the person who utters them, this 
 sentence, ' You ARE LATE, MY ANGEL ! ' ' 
 
 The squire gazed at Rodolph with a perplexed air. 
 
 "My lord, do you seriously wish me to do this?" 
 
 " Seriously, my dear Murphy, I do ; and should he hastily turn 
 round when you have spoken, assume that incomparable air of 
 perfect nonchalance for which you are so justly celebrated, so 
 as to prevent his being able to fix upon you as the person who 
 has spoken." 
 
 " Depend upon my perfect obedience, my lord, although I am 
 far from having the slightest idea of your intention in assign- 
 ing to me such a task." 
 
 Before the conclusion of the waltz, the worthy Murphy had 
 contrived to place himself immediately behind M. Charles 
 Robert, while Eodolph, posted in a situation most advantageous 
 for watching the effect of his experiment, carefully observed 
 Murphy's movements. In a minute, M. Charles Robert turned 
 suddenly round, as though struck with astonishment and wonder. 
 The immovable squire stirred not a feature; and certainly 
 Murphy's tall, portly figure, bald head, and grave, composed 
 countenance, appeared the least likely of any in the room to be 
 those of a man taking part in such a trick; and, indeed, 
 it was evident, from the continued gaze of the commandant in 
 every other part of the space they stood in, that M. Charles 
 Robert was far from suspecting his respectable, middle-aged 
 neighbor of giving utterance to a phrase so disagreeably recall- 
 ing the quid pro quo of which Madame Pipelet had been alike 
 the cause and the heroine. The waltz concluded, Murphy re- 
 joined Rodolph. 
 
 " Well, my lord," said he, " that smart young gentleman 
 jumped as though he had trodden on a hornet's nest : the words 
 I uttered appeared to have the effect of magic on him." 
 
 " They were so far magical, my dear Murphy, as they assisted 
 me to discover a circumstance I was most anxious to find out." 
 
 Conviction thus painfully obtained, Rodolph could only 
 deplore the dangerous position in which Madame d'Harville 
 had placed herself, and which seemed to him fraught with fresh 
 evils, from a vague presentiment of Sarah's being either a 
 sharer or a confidant in the transaction, and with this discovery 
 came the fresh pain of believing that he had now found out
 
 250 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 the source of M. d'Harville's secret sorrow ; the man he so highly 
 esteemed, and for whom he felt a brother's regard, was pining 
 in silence over the misconduct of a wife he so tenderly loved, 
 yet who, spite of her many charming qualities, could sacrifice 
 her own and husband's happiness for the sake of an object so 
 every way unworthy. Master of so important a secret, yet 
 incapable of betraying it, unable to devise any plan to open the 
 eyes of Madame d'Harville, who seemed rather to yield to than 
 resist her unlicensed passion for her lover, Kodolph found him- 
 self obliged to remain a passive witness lo the utter ruin of a 
 woman he had so passionately adored with as much silence as 
 devotion; nay, whom, spite of his best efforts, he still loved. 
 He was roused from these reflections by M. de Graiin. 
 
 " If your royal highness," said the baron, bowing, " will 
 deign to grant me a brief interview in one of the lower rooms, 
 which is now quite devoid of company, I shall have the honor 
 to lay before you the particulars you desired me to collect." 
 
 Eodolph signed to M. de Graiin to conduct him to the place 
 named, when the baron proceeded with his recital, as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " The only duchess to whose name the initials ' N.' and f L.' 
 can possibly belong is Madame de Lucenay, whose maiden name 
 was Normant. Her grace is not here this evening: I have just 
 seen M. de Lucenay, her husband, who, it seems, left Paris about 
 five months ago, with the expressed intention of traveling in 
 the East during the next year or two, but has unexpectedly re- 
 turned within the last day or two." 
 
 It may be recollected that, during Kodolph's visit to the 
 Rue du Temple, he picked up, on the landing-place adjoining the 
 door of the charlatan dentist's apartments, a cambric handker- 
 chief, richly embroidered and trimmed with costly lace, and 
 bearing in the corner a ducal coronet with the initials " N. L." 
 It will also be borne in mind that this elegant indication of high 
 rank was wetted with the bitter tears of its noble owner. In 
 pursuance of his instructions, but in total ignorance of the 
 circumstances suggesting them, M. de Graiin had inquired the 
 name of every duchess then in Paris, and gleaned the informa- 
 tion now repeated to Rodolph, and which the latter perfectly 
 comprehended. He had no reason for interesting himself in the 
 fate of Madame de Lucenay; but he could not reflect without a 
 shudder, that if it were really she who visited the pretended 
 doctor (but who, he felt assured, was no other than the infamous 
 Polidori), this wretch having possessed himself of her real 
 name and address through the agency of Tortillard, might make
 
 THE BALL. 251 
 
 a fearful use of a secret which placed the duchess so completely 
 in his power. 
 
 " Chance is a strange thing, my lord, is it not ? " resumed M. 
 de Graiin. 
 
 " It is ; but how does it apply to the present case ? " 
 
 " Why, at the very instant that M. de Grangeneuve was giv- 
 ing me these facts concerning M. and Madame de Lucenay, and 
 was adding, rather ill-naturedly, that the unlooked-for return 
 of the duke must have proved particularly disagreeable, not only 
 to the duchess but to the Viscount de Saint-Remy, one of the 
 most elegant and fashionable young men in Paris, his excellency 
 the ambassador came up and inquired whether your royal high- 
 ness would permit him to present the viscount to you, as having 
 just been appointed on the legation to Gerolstein, he would be 
 happy to avail himself of the present opportunity of paying his 
 court to your highness." 
 
 An expression of impatience escaped Rodolph, who ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Nothing could have been less agreeable to me. However, it 
 is impossible to refuse. Let the count know, therefore, that 
 I am ready to receive M. de Saint-Remy." 
 
 Rodolph knew too well how to support his princely dignity, 
 to allow his feelings to interfere with the courtesy and affability 
 required on the present occasion; added to which, the world 
 gave M. de Saint-Remy as a favored lover to the Duchess de 
 Lucenay, and this circumstance greatly excited the curiosity of 
 Rodolph. 
 
 The Viscount de Saint-Remy, conducted by the Count de 
 * * *, now approached. He was an exceedingly handsome 
 young man, of about twenty-five years of age, tall and slender, 
 with the most distingue air and prepossessing physiognomy; 
 his olive complexion had that rich soft glow of amber cast over 
 its transparent surface, so remarkable in the paintings of Mu- 
 rillo ; his glossy black hair, parted over his left temple, was worn 
 smooth over his forehead, and fell in light and easy curls down 
 the sides of his face, almost concealing the pale, well-shaped 
 ear. The deep, dark eyelash contrasted well with the clear eye 
 it shaded, the crystal of which was tinged with that pale blue 
 cast which bestows so much and such charming expression to the 
 Indian eye. By a singular caprice of Nature, the thick silky 
 mustache which graced his lip was the only ornament of a 
 similar description visible on his countenance, the chin and 
 cheeks being smooth as those of a young maiden. Perhaps it 
 might be vanity which dictated the narrow black satin cravat,
 
 252 THE MYSTERIES OF 1 PARIS. 
 
 placed so low as to reveal the perfect contour of a throat which, 
 for whiteness and symmetrical roundness, might have furnished 
 a model for the artist's studio. The long ends of his cravat 
 were confined by a single pearl, inestimable for its size, the 
 beauty of its shape, and the splendor of its color so vivid, that 
 an opal could scarcely have rivaled its continued prismatic 
 changes. The perfect taste and exquisite style of M. de Saint- 
 Remy harmonized well with the magnificent simplicity of 
 this jewel. 
 
 Once seen, the face and figure of M. de Saint-Eemy was 
 never forgotten, so entirely did it differ from the usual style of 
 elegants. He spared no expense in procuring the most fault- 
 less turn-out, and his carriage and horse were everywhere 
 cited as models of taste and correct judgment. He played 
 high, but skilfully; while the annual amount of his betting- 
 book was never less than from two to three thousand louis. The 
 costly elegance of his mansion, in the Rue de Chaillot, was 
 everywhere spoken of and admired. There he gave the most 
 exquisite dinner-parties. The highest play followed, and the 
 hospitable host would lose large and heavy sums with the most 
 perfect indifference, though it was known that his fortune had 
 been dissipated long ago. All the viscount's property had been 
 derived from his mother; while his father lived in utter seclu- 
 sion in the wilds of Anjou, upon an income of the most slender 
 description. 
 
 By way of accounting for the unbounded expenditure of M. 
 de Saint-Remy, many among the envious or ill-natured referred, 
 as Sarah had done, to the large fortune of the Duchess de 
 Lucenay; but they forgot that, setting aside the infamy of the 
 idea, M. de Lucenay would naturally direct the disposal of his 
 wife's property, and that M. de Saint-Remy's annual expenses 
 were at least two hundred thousand francs. Suspicions were 
 entertained of his being deeply indebted to imprudent money- 
 lenders; for Saint-Remy had no further inheritance to look 
 forward to. Others, again, spoke of his great successes on 
 the turf, and hinted, in an undertone, dark stories of training- 
 grounds, and jockeys bribed by him to make the horses against 
 which he had betted largely lose; but by far the greater number 
 of the crowd by which Saint-Remy was surrounded were con- 
 tent to eat his dinners, and occasionally to win his rouleaux, 
 without troubling themselves with conjectures as to how the one 
 was provided, and where the other came from. 
 
 By birth and education, he was fully entitled to the rank he 
 occupied in the fashionable world ; he was lively, witty, brave, a
 
 'THE BALL 253 
 
 most amusing companion, obliging and complaisant to the 
 wishes of others; he gave first-rate bachelor dinners, and after- 
 wards took every bet that was offered him. What more was 
 required to secure his popularity ? He was an universal favorite 
 with the fair sex, and could boast the most unvaried success 
 in all his love affairs; he was young, handsome, gallant, and 
 unsparingly munificent upon all occasions where opportunities 
 occurred of marking his devotion towards the high-bred females 
 with whom he associated in the grande monde; in a word, thanks 
 to the general infatuation he excited, the air of mystery thrown 
 over the source of the Pactolus from which he derived his 
 golden supplies rather embellished him with a certain mysteri- 
 ous charm, which seemed but to add to his attractions. Some- 
 times it would be said, with a careless smile, "What a fellow 
 that Saint-Remy is! he must have discovered the philosopher's 
 stone to be able to go the pace he does." And when it was 
 known that he had caused himself to be attached to the legation 
 of France to the court of Gerolstein, there were not wanting 
 voices to assert that it was a " devilish " good way of making an 
 " honorable retreat" Such was M. de Saint-Remy. 
 
 "Allow me," said the Count de * * *, presenting M. de 
 Saint-Remy, " to introduce to your royal highness the Viscount 
 de Saint-Remy, attached to the embassy of Gerolstein." 
 
 The viscount bowed profoundly, saying, 
 
 " May I trust your royal highness will deign to pardon my 
 impatience in requesting the honor of this introduction during 
 the present evening. I am, perhaps, unduly hasty in my wishes 
 to secure a gratification I have so long aspired to." 
 
 " It will give me much pleasure, my lord, to welcome you to 
 Gerolstein. Do you propose going thither immediately?" 
 
 " Your royal highness being in Paris diminishes very ma- 
 terially my desire to do so." 
 
 "I fear the peaceful contrast of our German courts will 
 scarcely assort with a life of Parisian fashion, such as you have 
 always been accustomed to." 
 
 " Permit me to assure your royal highness that the gracious 
 kindness you have now shown me, and which it shall be my 
 study to merit a continuance of in Gerolstein, would of itself 
 far outweigh any attractions Paris may have had for me." 
 
 " It will not be my fault, my lord, should you see cause to 
 alter your sentiments when at Gerolstein." 
 
 A slight inclination of Rodolph's head announced that the 
 presentation wns concluded, upon which the viscount bowed nnrl 
 retired. The prince, a practised physiognomist, was subject to
 
 $54 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 involuntary likes and dislikes upon the first interview with an 
 individual, and these impulses were in his case almost invari- 
 ably borne out by after-circumstances. His first sensation after 
 the exchange of the very few words we have related between 
 himself and Saint-Remy was an unaccountable feeling of re- 
 pugnance and aversion for the gay and fascinating young man : 
 to his eye, the handsome features wore a sinister look, and 
 danger seemed to lurk even in his honeyed words and smooth 
 polished manner. 
 
 We shall hereafter meet M. de Saint-Kenny under circum- 
 stances differing widely and fearfully from the splendor of the 
 position he occupied at his first interview with Rodolph. It 
 will then be seen how far these presentiments were ill or well 
 founded. 
 
 The presentation over, Rodolph, in deep meditation upon the 
 singular rencounters effected by the hand of chance, bent his steps 
 towards the winter-garden. It was now the hour of supper, and 
 the rooms were nearly deserted. The most retired spot in the 
 hot-house was at the end of a clump of trees placed against the 
 corner of a wall, and an enormous banana, covered with climb- 
 ing plants, effectually concealed a small side door, masked by 
 the trellis, and conducting to the banqueting-hall by a long 
 corridor. This door, which was scarcely a yard distant from 
 the tree above mentioned, had been left temporarily ajar. Shel- 
 tered by this verdant screen, Eodolph seated himself, and was 
 soon lost in a profound reverie, when the sound of a well-known 
 voice, pronouncing his name, made Rodolph start. It was 
 Sarah, who, seated with her brother Tom on the other side of 
 the clump of trees which effectually hid Rodolph from their 
 view, was conversing with him in the English language. The 
 prince listened attentively, and the following dialogue ensued : 
 
 " The marquise has just gone to show herself for a few 
 minutes at Baron de Nerval's ball," said Sarah ; " she has luck- 
 ily quitted this place without once having an opportunity of 
 exchanging a word with Rodolph, who has been looking every- 
 where for her. I still dread the influence he possesses over 
 her, even unknown to herself, an influence it has cost me so 
 much labor and difficulty to combat, and partly to destroy. 
 However, to-morrow will rid me of any further fears of a rival, 
 who, if not effectually destroyed, might so powerfully derange 
 and overthrow my plans. Listen to me, brother, for it is of 
 serious matters I would speak to you. To-morrow witnesses the 
 eternal ruin of my hated rival." 
 
 "You are mistaken, Sarah," answered Tom's well-remem-
 
 TUB BALL. 255 
 
 bered voice ; " Rodolph never loved the marquise : of that I am 
 certain; your jealous fears mislead you." 
 
 " It is time," returned Sarah, " that I enlightened you on 
 this subject. Many things occurred during your last journey, 
 and as it is necessary to take decisive steps even earlier than 
 I had expected nay, this very night so soon as we quit this 
 place, it becomes indispensably necessary we should take seri- 
 ous counsel together. Happily we are now quite alone, for 
 the gay butterflies of the night have found fresh attraction 
 around the supper tables. Now, then, brother, give your close 
 and undivided attention to what I am about to say." 
 
 " Proceed, I am all impatience." 
 
 "Well, before Clemence d'Harville met Eodolph, I feel as- 
 sured the passion of love was wholly unknown to her, for what 
 reason I have never been able to discover. She entertains the 
 most invincible repugnance and aversion towards her husband, 
 who perfectly adores her. There is some deep mystery in this 
 part of the business I have never succeeded in fathoming. A 
 thousand new and delightful emotions sprung up in the breast 
 of Clemence after she became acquainted with Rodolph; but I 
 stifled her growing love by the most frightful disclosures, or 
 rather ingeniously invented calumnies, concerning the prince. 
 Still, the void in her heart required an object to fill it, and 
 chance having thrown JVf. Charles Robert in her way during a 
 morning call she was making at my house, she appeared struck 
 with his appearance, much after the manner in which we are 
 attracted by a fine picture. Unfortunately, however, this man 
 is as silly as he is handsome, though he certainly has a very 
 prepossessing tout ensemble. I praised him enthusiastically to 
 Madame d'Harville, exalted the nobleness of his sentiments, the 
 elevation of his mind, and, as I knew her weak side, I worked upon 
 her sympathy and pity, by representing him as loaded with every 
 trouble and affliction unrelenting fate could heap upon a devoted 
 but most innocent head. I directed M. Robert to assume a 
 melancholy and sentimental air ; to utter only deep sighs ; and to 
 preserve a gloomy and unbroken silence in the presence of 
 Madame d'Harville. He carefully pursued the path marked out 
 by me, and, thanks to his vocal skill, his fine person, and the 
 constant expression of silent suffering, so far engaged the interest 
 of Madame d'Harville, that, ere long, she transferred to my 
 handsome friend the warm and sympathizing regard Rodolph 
 had first awakened. Do you comprehend me thus far?" 
 
 " Perfectly ; proceed." ' 
 
 " Madame d'Harville and Robert met only upon terms of in-
 
 256 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 timacy at my house; to draw them more effectually together I 
 projected devoting three mornings in the week to music, and 
 my mournful ally sighed softly as the breath of evening while 
 turning over the leaves of the music, ventured to utter a few im- 
 passioned words, and even to slip two or three billets among 
 the pieces he copied out for the marquise to practise at home. 
 I own I was more fearful of his epistolary efforts than even his 
 powers of speech; but a woman always looks indulgently upon 
 the first declaration of love she receives; so far, therefore, the 
 written nonsense of my silly pupil did no harm, for, in obedi- 
 ence to my advice, his billets doux were very laconic. The 
 great point was to obtain a rendezvous, and this was no easy 
 matter, for Clemence's principles were stronger than her love; 
 or, rather, her passion was not sufficiently deep to induce her 
 to sacrifice those principles. Unknown, even to herself, the 
 image of Rodolph still filled her heart, and seemed in a manner 
 to preserve her from yielding to her weak fancy for M. Charles 
 Robert a fancy, as I well knew, far more imaginary than real ; 
 but led on by my continual and exaggerated praises of this . 
 brainless Apollo, whom I persisted in describing as suffering 
 under the daily increase of every imaginary evil I could invent, 
 Clemence, vanquished by the deep despair of her dejected adorer, 
 consented one day, more from pity than love, to grant him the 
 rendezvous so long desired." 
 
 " Did she, then, make you her confidant ? " 
 
 " She confessed to me her regard for M. Charles Eobert 
 nothing more; neither did I seek to learn more, it would only 
 have annoyed and vexed her. But, as for him, boiling over 
 with love, or, rather, intoxicated with pride, he came volun- 
 tary to impart his good fortune, without, however, intrusting 
 me either with the time or place of the intended meeting.'* 
 
 " How, then, did you know it?" 
 
 " Why, Karl, by my order, hovered about the door of M. 
 Robert during the following day from an early hour; nothing, 
 however, transpired till the next day, when our love-stricken 
 youth proceeded in a -fiacre to an obscure part of the town, and 
 finally alighted before a mean-looking house in the Rue du 
 Temple ; there he remained for an hour and a half, when he came 
 out and walked away. Karl waited a long while to see whether 
 any person followed M. Charles Robert out of the house; but 
 no one came. The marquise had evidently failed in her ap- 
 pointment. This was confirmed to me on the morrow when the 
 lover came to pour out all his rage and disappointment. I 
 advised him to assume even an increase of wretchedness and
 
 THE BALL. 257 
 
 despair. The plan succeeded the pity of Clemence was again 
 excited; and a fresh assignation was wrung from her, but which 
 she failed to keep equally with the former: the third and last 
 rendezvous, however, produced more decided effects, Madame 
 d'Harville positively going as far as the door of the house I have 
 specified as the appointed place; then repenting so rash a step, 
 returned home without having even quitted the humble fiacre in 
 which she rode. You may judge by all these capricious 
 changes of purpose how this woman struggles to be free. And 
 wherefore? Why, because (and hence arises my bitter, deadly 
 hatred to Clemence d'Harville) because the recollection of 
 Rodolph still lingers in her heart, and, with pertinacious love 
 she shrinks from aught that she fancies breathes of preference 
 for another; thus shielding herself from harm or danger be- 
 neath his worshiped image. Now this very night the mar- 
 quise has made a fresh assignation with M. Charles Robert for 
 to-morrow, and this time I doubt not her punctuality: the 
 Duke de Lucenay has so grossly ridiculed this young man that, 
 carried away by pity for the humiliation of her admirer, the 
 marquise has granted that to compassion he would not else have 
 obtained. But this time, I feel persuaded, she will keep her 
 word, and be punctual to the appointed time and hour." 
 
 " And how do you propose to act ? " 
 
 " M. Charles Robert is so perfectly unable to comprehend the 
 delicacy of feeling which this evening dictated the marquise's 
 resolution of meeting him, that he is safe to rush with vulgar 
 eagerness to the rendezvous, and this will effectually ruin his 
 plans, for pity alone has instigated Clemence to take this com- 
 promising step. No love no infatuation has hurried her into 
 a measure so fatal to her future resolution ! I know every turn 
 of her mind ; and I am confident she will keep her appointment 
 solely from a courageous idea of generous devotion, but with 
 a firm resolve not for one instant to forget her duties as a wife 
 and mother. Now the coarse, vulgar mind of M. Charles Robert 
 is sure to take the fullest advantage of the marquise's concession 
 in his favor. Clemence will detest him from that instant; and 
 the illusion once destroyed which has bound herself and Charles 
 Robert in bonds of imaginary sympathy, she will fall again 
 beneath the influence of her love for Rodolph, which I am 
 certain still nestles in her heart." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well ! I would have her forever lost to Rodolph, whose 
 high sense of honor, and deep friendship for M. d'Harville I 
 feel perfectly sure would not have proved equal to preventing
 
 258 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 his returning the love of Clemence ; but I will so manage things 
 that he shall henceforward look upon her with loathing and 
 disgust, as the guilty partner in a crime committed without his 
 participation. No, no ! I know my man. He might pardon 
 the offense, but never the being excluded from his share in 
 it/' 
 
 " Then do you propose apprising the husband of all that is 
 going on, so that the prince should learn the disgraceful cir- 
 cumstances from the publicity the affair would obtain ? " 
 
 " I do. And the thing is so much the easier to accomplish as, 
 from what fell from Clemence to-night, I can learn that the 
 marquis has vague and undefined suspicions, without knowing 
 on whom to fix them. It is now midnight, we shall almost 
 directly leave the ball, I will set you down at the first cafe we 
 meet with, whence you shall write M. d'Harville a minute ac- 
 count of his wife's love affair, with the projected assignation 
 of to-morrow, with the time and place where it is arranged to 
 take place. Oh ! but I forgot, I didn't state that the place of 
 meeting is No. 17 Eue du Temple. And the time, to-morrow at 
 one o'clock. The marquis is already jealous of Clemence, well, 
 he will by this information surprise her under most suspicious 
 circumstances : the rest follows as a matter of course." 
 
 " But this is a most abominable mode of action," said Seyton, 
 coldly. 
 
 " What ! my trusty and well-beloved brother and colleague 
 growing scrupulous ? " said Sarah, sarcastically. " This will 
 never do; suppose my modes of action are odious so be it. I 
 trample on all and everything that interferes with my designs 
 agreed. I do I shall, till I have secured my purpose. But 
 let me ask you, Who thought of scruples when my destruction 
 was aimed at? Who thought of me or my feelings? let me ask 
 you. How have I been treated ? " 
 
 " Say no more, sister say no more here is my hand, and 
 you may safely reckon upon my firm participation in all that 
 concerns you, even to writing the letter to M. d'Harville. But 
 still I say, and repeat such conduct is horrible ! " 
 
 " Never mind sermonizing, but say, do you consent fully and 
 entirely to do what I wish you, or do you not ? ay, or nay ? " 
 
 " Since it must be so, M. d'Harville shall this night be fully 
 instructed as to all his wife's proceedings but what is that? 
 I fancied I heard some one on the other side of this thicket 
 there was a rustling of leaves and branches," said Seyton, inter- 
 rupting himself, and speaking to Sarah in a low and suppressed 
 voice."
 
 THE BALL, 259 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," cried Sarah, uneasily, " don't stop to 
 talk about it, but quick ! and examine the other side of this 
 place." 
 
 Seyton rose made the tour of the clump of trees but saw 
 no one. 
 
 Rodolph had just disappeared by the side-door of which we 
 have before spoken. 
 
 " I must have made a mistake," said Seyton, returning, 
 " there is no appearance of any persons but ourselves being in this 
 place." 
 
 " I thought there could not possibly be." 
 
 "Now, then, Sarah, hear what I have got to say on the 
 subject of Madame d'Harville, who, I feel quite satisfied, you 
 make an object of unnecessary apprehension, as far as it would 
 be possible for her to interfere with your schemes. The prince, 
 moreover, has certain principles nothing would induce him to 
 infringe. I am infinitely more alarmed, and with greater 
 justice, too, as to what can have been his intentions in con- 
 ducting that young girl to his farm at Bouqueval, five or six 
 weeks ago. He is constant in his superintendence of her health 
 and comfort; is having her well educated, and, moreover, has 
 been several times to see her. Now we are altogether ignorant 
 who she is or where she came from; she seems, however, to be- 
 long only to the humbler ranks of society; still the exquisite 
 style of her beauty, the fact of the prince having worn the dis- 
 guise he did when escorting her to the farm, the increasing 
 interest he seems to take in her welfare, all go to prove that his 
 regard for her is of no common description. I have, therefore, 
 in this affair anticipated your wishes ; but to remove this greater 
 and, as I believe, more serious obstacle to our plans the ut- 
 most circumspection was requisite to obtain information respect- 
 ing the lives and habits of these mysterious occupants of the 
 farm, and particularly concerning the girl herself. I have been 
 fortunate enough to learn nearly sufficient to point out what is 
 to be done the moment for action has arrived. A most singular 
 chance threw that horrid old woman in my way, to whom, as 
 you remember, I once gave my address, which she it seems has 
 carefully preserved. Her connection with such persons as the 
 robber who attacked us during our late visit to the Cite will 
 powerfully assist us. All is provided for and pre-considered 
 there can be no proof against us and, besides, if, as seems 
 evident, this young creature belongs to the humblest class of 
 society, it is not very probable she will hesitate between our 
 offers and the splendid prospect she may, perchance, picture
 
 260 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 to herself, for the prince, I have ascertained, has preserved a 
 strict incognito towards her. But to-morrow shall decide the 
 question otherwise we shall see we shall see." 
 
 " And these two obstacles overcome, then, Tom, for our grand 
 project ! " 
 
 " There are many, and serious obstacles in the way ; still they 
 may be overcome." 
 
 " And would it not be a lucky chance if we should bring it to 
 pass at the very moment when Rodolph would be writhing under 
 the double misery occasioned by the disclosure of Madame 
 d'Harville's conduct, and the disappearance of the creature for 
 whom he chooses to evince so deep an interest? Would not 
 that be an auspicious moment ttf persuade him that the 
 daughter, whose loss he daily more and more deplores, still 
 lives? and then " 
 
 " Silence, sister," interrupted Seyton, " I hear the steps of 
 the guests from the supper-table, returning to resume the ball. 
 Since you deem it expedient to apprise the Marquis d'Harville 
 of the morrow's rendezvous, let us depart : it is past midnight." 
 
 " The lateness of the hour in which the anonymous infor- 
 mation will reach M. d'Harville, will but tend still more to 
 impress him with an idea of its importance." 
 
 And with these words Tom and Sarah quitted the splendid 
 ball of the ambassadress of the court of * * * * 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 
 
 DETERMINED at all risks to warn Madame d'Harville of the 
 danger she was incurring, Rodolph had quitted the winter- 
 garden without waiting to hear the remainder of the conversa- 
 tion between Sarah and her brother, thus remaining ignorant 
 of their designs against Fleur-de-Marie, and of the extreme 
 peril which threatened the poor girl. But, spite of his earnest 
 desire to apprise the marquise of the plot laid against her 
 peace and honor, he was unable to carry his design into execu- 
 tion, for Madame d'Harville, unable to bear up longer after 
 the trying events of the evening, had abandoned her original 
 intention of visiting the entertainment given by Madame de 
 Nerval and gone direct home. 
 
 This contretemps ruined his hopes. Nearly the whole of the
 
 TUB RENDEZVOUS. 261 
 
 company present at the ambassadress's ball had been invited to 
 that of Madame de Nerval's, and Rodolph drove rapidly thither, 
 taking with him M. de Graiin; to whom he gave instructions to 
 look for Madame d'Harville among the guests, and to acquaint 
 her that the prince, having something of the utmost conse- 
 quence to communicate to her without the least delay, would 
 walk onwards to the Hotel d'Harville, and await her return 
 home, when he would say a few words at the carriage-door 
 while her servants were attending to the opening of the 
 entrance-gates. 
 
 After much time spent in fruitless endeavors to find Madame 
 d'Harville, De Graiin was compelled to return with the account 
 of his ill success. This failure made Rodolph despair of being 
 able, now, to save the marquise from impending ruin: his first 
 thought had been to warn her of the treachery intended, and 
 so prevent the statement of Sarah, which he had no means of 
 keeping from the hands of M. d'Harville, from obtaining the 
 slightest credence. Alas ! it was now too late. The infamous 
 epistle dictated by the Countess Macgregor had reached the 
 Marquis d'Harville shortly after midnight on the night in 
 question. 
 
 It was morning; and M. d'Harville continued slowly to pace 
 his sleeping apartment, the bed of which gave no indication of 
 having been used during the night; though the silken counter- 
 pane hung in fragments, evidently proving that some power- 
 ful and devastating storm had possessed the mind of its owner. 
 
 The chamber in question was furnished with elegant sim- 
 plicity, its only ornaments consisting of a stand of modern arms 
 and a range of shelves furnished with a well chosen collection of 
 books. Yet a sudden frenzy, or the hand of ungovernable rage, 
 had reduced the quiet elegance which ordinarily reigned to a 
 scene of frantic disorder. Chairs, tables, broken and overset; 
 the carpet strewed with fragments of the crystal lamp kept 
 burning through the night; the wax-lights and gilded chan- 
 delier which had contained them lying around, gave manifest 
 evidence of a fearful scene. 
 
 M. d'Harville was about thirty years of age, with a fine, 
 manly countenance, whose usual expression was mild and pre- 
 possessing, but now contracted, haggard, and livid. He had 
 not changed his dress since the preceding evening; his throat 
 .was bare, his waistcoat thrown open, and on the torn and
 
 262 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 rumpled cambric of his shirt-front were drops of blood. His 
 rich, dark hair which generally fell in curls around his face now 
 hung in tangled wildness over his pale countenance. Wholly 
 buried in the misery of his own thoughts, with folded arms, 
 drooping head, and fixed bloodshot eyes, M. d'Harville continued 
 to pace his chamber; then stopping opposite his fireplace in 
 which, spite of the almost unendurable severity of the frost of 
 the past night, the fire had been allowed to expire, he took from 
 the marble mantel-piece the following brief note, which he 
 continued to read over and over with the most eager attention 
 by the wan, pale light of the cold glimmer of an early winter- 
 morning : 
 
 "To-morrow, at one o'clock, your wife has appointed to meet her 
 favored lover. Go to the Rue du Temple, No. 17, and you will obtain 
 every requisite confirmation of this intelligence. 
 
 "FROM ONE WHO PITIES YOU." 
 
 Whilst reading these words, perused with such deep anguish, 
 and sickness of heart, so many times through the long midnight 
 hours, the blue, cold lips of M. d'Harville appeared convulsively 
 to spell each syllable of this fatal billet. 
 
 At this moment the chamber door opened and a servant 
 entered: the man who now made his appearance was old, even 
 gray-headed, but the expression of his countenance was frank 
 and honest. The noise of the man entering disturbed not the 
 marquis from his bitter contemplations; he merely turned his 
 head without altering his position, but still grasped the letter 
 in his clenched hands. 
 
 " What do you want ? " inquired he, sternly, of the servant. 
 
 The man, instead of answering, continued to gaze with an air 
 of painful surprise at the disordered state of the room; then, 
 regarding his master more attentively, exclaimed, 
 
 " Blood on your clothes ! my lord, my lord ! how is this ? you 
 have hurt yourself; and all alone too why, my lord, did 
 you not summon me, as of old, when these attacks came on ? " 
 
 "Begone!" 
 
 " I entreat your lordship's pardon, but your fire is out the 
 cold is intense indeed, I must remind your lordship that after 
 your late your " 
 
 " Will you be silent ? leave me I say ! " 
 
 " Pray do not be angry, my lord," replied the trembling 
 valet; "but, if your lordship pleases to recollect, you appointed 
 M. Doublet to be here to-day at half past ten, and he is now 
 waiting with the notary,"
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 263 
 
 " Quite proper," said the marquis, with a bitter smile ; 
 "when a man is rich he ought, he should look carefully to his 
 affairs. Fortune is a fine thing a very fine thing; or would be 
 if it could but purchase happiness." Then, resuming a cold and 
 collected manner, he added, 
 
 " Show M. Doublet into my study." 
 
 " I have done so, my lord marquis." 
 
 " Then give me my clothes quick, I am in haste I shall be 
 going out shortly. I " 
 
 " But if your lordship would only " 
 
 " Do as I desire you, Joseph," said M. d'Harville, in a more 
 gentle tone ; then added, " Is your lady stirring yet ? " 
 
 "I have not yet heard her ladyship's bell, my lord marquis." 
 
 " Let me know when she rings." 
 
 "I will, my lord." 
 
 " Heaven and earth, man, how slow you are ! " exclaimed 
 M. d'Harville, whose raging thoughts almost chafed him 
 into madness : " summon Philip to assist you : you will keep me 
 all day." 
 
 " My lord, please to allow me to set matters a little straight 
 first," replied Joseph, sorrowfully ; " I would much rather no 
 one but myself witnessed the state of your chamber, or they 
 would wonder, and talk about it, because they could not under- 
 stand what had taken place during the night, my lord." 
 
 " And if they were to find out, it would be a most shocking 
 affair, would it not ? " asked M. d'Harville, in a tone of gloomy 
 irony. 
 
 " Thank God, my lord, not a soul in the house has the least 
 suspicion of it ! " 
 
 " No one suspects it," repeated M. d'Harville, despondingly, 
 " no one that's well, for her at least well, let us hope to keep 
 the secret." 
 
 And, while Joseph was occupying himself in repairing the 
 havoc in his master's apartment, d'Harville walked up to the 
 stage of arms we before mentioned; examined them with an 
 expression of deep interest, then, turning toward Joseph, with 
 a sinister smile, said, 
 
 " I hope you have not omitted to clean the guns which are 
 placed at the top of the stand I mean those in my hunting 
 case." 
 
 " I had not your lordship's orders to do so," replied the 
 astonished servant. 
 
 " You had, sir ! and have neglected them ! " 
 
 " I humbly assure you, my lord ! "
 
 264 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " They must be in a fine state ! " 
 
 " Your lordship will please to bear in mind that it is scarcely 
 a month since they were regularly repaired and put in order for 
 use by the gunsmith." 
 
 " Never mind ! As soon as I am dressed reach down my 
 shooting-case ; I will examine the guns myself. I may very pos- 
 sibly go out shooting either to-morrow or next day." 
 
 "I will reach them down directly, my lord/' 
 
 The chamber being by this time replaced in its ordinary state, 
 a second valet de chambre was summoned to assist Joseph. 
 
 His toilette concluded, M. d'Harville repaired to his study, 
 where the steward (M. Doublet) and his lawyer's clerk were 
 awaiting him. 
 
 " We have brought the agreement that my lord marquis may 
 hear it read over," said the bowing clerk; "my lord will then 
 only have to sign it, and the affair is concluded." 
 
 " Have you perused it, M. Doublet ? " 
 
 " I have, my lord, attentively." 
 
 " In that case I will affix my signature at once." 
 
 The necessary forms completed, the clerk withdrew, when 
 M. Doublet, rubbing his hands, and looking triumphantly, ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Now, then, by this last addition to your lordship's estates 
 your manorial property cannot be less than a hundred and 
 twenty-six thousand francs per annum, in round numbers. And 
 permit me to say, my lord marquis, that a rent-roll of a hundred 
 and twenty-six thousand francs per annum is of no common 
 occurrence now-a-days." 
 
 " I am a happy man, am I not, M. Doublet ? A hundred and 
 twenty-six thousand livres per annum ! Surely the man owning 
 such an income must be blessed indeed sorrow or care cannot 
 reach him through so golden a shield." 
 
 " And that is wholly independent of my lord's funded 
 property, amounting at least to two millions more; or reckon- 
 ing " 
 
 " Exactly ; I know what you would say : without reckoning 
 my other blessings and comforts." 
 
 "Why, Heaven be praised, your lordship is as rich in all 
 earthly blessings as in revenue. Not a precious gift but it has 
 been largely bestowed upon you ; ay, and such as even money will 
 not buy: youth, uninterrupted health, the power of enjoying 
 every happiness, amongst which, or, rather, at the head of 
 which," said M. Doublet, gracefully smiling, and gallantly bow- 
 ing, "place that of being the husband of so sweet a lady as
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 265 
 
 madame la marquise, and the parent of a lovely little girl, who 
 might be mistaken for a cherubim." 
 
 M. d'Harville cast a look of gloomy mistrust on the poor 
 steward ; who, reveling in his own ecstasy at seeing the princely 
 rent-roll committed to his charge, exceeding all others in mag- 
 nificent amount, was far from perceiving the scowling brow of 
 his master, thus congratulated on being the happiest man alive, 
 when, to his own view, a verier wretch, or more complete bank- 
 rupt in happiness existed not. Striking M. Doublet familiarly 
 on the shoulder, and breaking into a wild, ironical laugh, M. 
 d'Harville rejoined, 
 
 " Then you think that with an income of two hundred and 
 sixty thousand livres, a wife like mine, and a daughter resem- 
 bling a cherubim, a man has nothing more to wish for?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord," replied the steward, with honest zeal, " you 
 have still to wish for the blessing of lengthened days that you 
 may be spared to see mademoiselle married as happily as your- 
 self. Ah ! my lord, I may not hope to see it, but I should be 
 thankful to witness you and my honored lady surrounded by 
 your grandchildren ay, and great-grandchildren too why 
 not ? " 
 
 " Excellent ! Monsieur Doublet : a regular Baucis and Phile- 
 mon idea. You have always a capital illustration to your ideas." 
 
 " You are too good to me, my lord. Has your lordship any 
 further orders for me ? " 
 
 " None. Stay, though ; what cash have you in hand ? " 
 
 "Twenty-nine thousand three hundred' and odd francs for 
 current expenses, my lord marquis ; but there is a heavy sum at 
 the bank belonging to this quarter's income." 
 
 " Well, bring me twenty thousand francs in gold, and, should 
 I have gone out, give them to Joseph for me." 
 
 " Does your lordship wish for them this morning?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Within an hour the gold shall be here. You have nothing 
 else to say to me, my lord ? " 
 
 " No, Monsieur Doublet." 
 
 " A hundred and twenty-six thousand francs per annum, 
 wholly unincumbered," repeated the steward, as he was about 
 to quit the room ; " this is a glorious day for me to see ; I almost 
 feared at one time that we should not secure this desirable prop- 
 erty. Your lordship's most humble servant, I take my leave." 
 
 " Good morning, M. Doublet." 
 
 As the door closed upon the steward M. d'Harville, overcome 
 with the mental agony he had repressed thus far, threw himself
 
 266 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 into an armchair, leaned his elbows on the desk before which he 
 sat, and covering his face with his hands, for the first time since 
 receiving the fatal billet, gave vent to a flood of hot, burning 
 tears. 
 
 " Cruel mockery of fate," cried he, at length, " to have made 
 me rich, but have given me only shame and dishonor to place 
 within the gilded frame: the perjury of Clemence, the disgrace 
 which will descend upon my innocent child. Can I suffer this? 
 or I shall I for the sake of her unoffending offspring spare the 
 guilty mother from the opprobrium of an exposure ? " Then 
 rising suddenly from his seat, with sparkling eyes and clenched 
 teeth he cried in a deep, determined voice, " No, no ! blood, 
 blood ! the fearful protection from laughter and derision. Ah ! 
 full well I can now comprehend her coldness, her antipathy, 
 wretched, wretched woman!" Then, stopping all at once, as 
 though melted by some tender recollection, he resumed, in a 
 hoarse tone, "Aversion! alas! too well I know its cause. I 
 inspire her with loathing, with disgust ! " Then, after a length- 
 ened silence, he cried, in a voice broken by sighs, " Yet, was it 
 my fault or my misfortune? should she have wronged me thus 
 for a calamity beyond my power to avert? surely I am a more 
 fitting object for her pity than scorn and hatred." Again re- 
 kindling into his excited feelings, he reiterated, " Nothing but 
 blood, the blood of both can wash out this guilty stain ! Doubt- 
 less HE the favored lover has been informed why she flies her 
 husband's arms." 
 
 This latter thought redoubled the fury of the marquis. He 
 elevated his tightly compressed hands towards Heaven, as 
 though invoking its vengeance; then, passing his burning fingers 
 over his eyes as he recollected the necessity that existed for con- 
 cealing his emotion from the servants of his establishment, he 
 returned to his sleeping apartment with an appearance of per- 
 fect tranquillity. There he found Joseph. 
 
 " Well, in what state are the guns? " 
 
 "In perfect order. Please to examine them, my lord." 
 
 " I came for the purpose of so doing. Has your lady yet 
 rang?" 
 
 " I do not know, my lord." 
 
 " Then inquire." 
 
 Directly the servant had quitted the room, M. d'Harville 
 hastily took from the gun-case a small powder-flask, some balls 
 and caps ; then, locking the case, put the key in his pocket. Then 
 going to the stand of arms, he took from it a pair of moderate- 
 sized Manton's pistols, loaded them, and placed them without
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 267 
 
 difficulty in the pockets of his morning-wrapper. Joseph 
 returned with the intimation that Madame d'Harville was in her 
 
 " Has your lady ordered her carriage? " 
 
 "My lord, I heard Mademoiselle Juliette say to the head- 
 coachman, when he came to inquire her ladyship's orders for the 
 day, that, as it was cold, dry walking, if her ladyship went out 
 at all, she would prefer going on foot." 
 
 " Very well ! Stay I forgot ! I shall not go out hunting 
 before to-morrow, or probably, next day. Desire Williams to 
 look the small traveling britcska carefully over. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Perfectly, my lord ; it shall be attended to. Will not your 
 lordship require a stick ? " 
 
 " No ! Pray tell me is there not a hackney-coach-stand near 
 here?" 
 
 " Quite close, my lord ; in the Rue de Lille." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, the marquis continued : " Go and 
 inquire of Mademoiselle Juliette whether Madame d'Harville 
 can see me for a few minutes." Joseph obeyed. 
 
 "Yes," murmured the marquis, "I well see the cause of all 
 my misery my disgrace. I will contemplate the guilty mask 
 beneath which the impure heart conceals its adulterous designs. 
 I will listen to the false lips that speak the words of innocence, 
 while deep dishonor lurks in the candid smile a smile that 
 seemed to me as that of an angel. Yet 'tis an appalling spec- 
 tacle to watch the words the looks of one who, breathing only 
 the sentiments of a chaste wife and mother, is about to sully 
 your name with one of those deep, deadly stains which can only 
 be washed out in blood. Fool that I am to give her the chance 
 of again bewildering my senses ! She will look at me with her 
 accustomed sweetness and candor; greet me (all guilty as she 
 is) with the same pure smile she bestows upon her child, as, 
 kneeling at her lap, it lisps its early prayer. That look those 
 eyes, mirrors of the soul ! the more modest and pure the glance 
 (D'Harville shuddered with contempt), the greater must be 
 the innate corruption and falsehood ! Alas ! she has proved her- 
 self a consummate dissembler ; and I 7 have been the veriest 
 dupe! Only let me consider with what sentiments must that 
 woman look upon me, if just previous to her meeting with her 
 favored lover I pay her my accustomed visit, and express my 
 usual devotion and love for her! the young, the virtuous wife 
 the tender, sensible, and devoted mother, as until this wretched 
 moment I would have died to prove her. Can I, dare I, trust
 
 268 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 myself in her presence, with the knowledge of her being but too 
 impatient for the arrival of that blessed hour which conveys her 
 to her guilty rendezvous and infamous paramour! Oh! Cle- 
 mence, Clemence ! you in whom all my hopes and fondest 
 affections were placed, is this a just return ? No ! no ! no ! " 
 again repeated M. d'Harville, with rapidly returning excitement. 
 " False, treacherous woman ! I will not see you ! I will not trust 
 my ears to your feigned words ! Nor you, my child. At the 
 sight of your innocent countenance I should unman myself, and 
 compromise my just revenge." 
 
 Quitting his apartment, M. d'Harville, instead of repairing to 
 those of la marquise, contented himself with leaving a message 
 for her through Mademoiselle Juliette, to the effect that he 
 wished a short conversation with Madame d'Harville, but that 
 being obliged to go out just then, he should be glad, if it as- 
 sorted with Madame la Marquise's perfect convenience, to break- 
 fast with her at twelve o'clock. 
 
 " And so," said the unhappy M. d'Harville, " fancying that 
 after twelve o'clock I shall be safe at home, she will consider 
 herself more at liberty to follow out her own plans." 
 
 He then repaired to the coach-stand contiguous to his man- 
 sion, and summoned a vehicle from the ranks. 
 
 "Now, coachee," said he, affecting to disguise his rank, 
 "what's o'clock?" 
 
 " All right, master," said the man, drawing up to the side of 
 the footway, " where am I to drive to ? Let's have a right under- 
 standing, and a look at the clock. Why, it is as close upon half- 
 after eleven as may be." 
 
 " Now then, drive to the corner of the Eue Saint Dominique, 
 and wait at the end of the garden wall which runs along there 
 do you understand ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes I know." 
 
 M. d'Harville then drew down the blinds of the '-fiacre; the 
 coachman drove on, and soon arrived opposite the Hotel d'Har- 
 ville, from which point of observation it was impossible for any 
 person to enter or quit the house without the marquis having a 
 full view of them. One o'clock was the hour fixed in the note; 
 and with his eyes riveted on the entrance-gates of the mansion, 
 the marquis waited in painful suspense, absorbed in a whirl of 
 fearful thoughts and maddening conjectures. Time stole on 
 imperceptibly; twelve o'clock reverberated from the dome of 
 Saint Thomas Aquinas, when the door opened slowly at the 
 Hotel d'Harville, and Madame d'Harville herself came timidly 
 forth.
 
 THE RENDEZ VO US. 2G9 
 
 " Already ! " exclaimed the unhappy husband ; " how punctual 
 she is ! " She fears to keep HIM waiting," cried the marquis, 
 with a mixture of irony and savage rage. 
 
 The cold was excessive; the pavement hard and dry. Cle- 
 mence was dressed in a black velvet bonnet, covered with a veil 
 of the same color, and a thickly-wadded pelisse of dark ruby 
 satin, a large shawl of dark-blue cachemire fell to the very hem 
 of her pelisse, which she lightly and gracefully held up while 
 crossing the street. Thanks to this movement, the taper foot 
 and graceful ankle of Madame d'Harville, cased in an exqui- 
 sitely-fitting boot of black satin, were exposed to view. 
 
 It was strange that amid the painful and bewildering ideas 
 that crowded the brain of d'Harville, he should have found one 
 thought to waste upon the beauty of his wife's foot; but so it 
 was; and at the moment that was about to separate them for- 
 ever, to his eager gaze, that fairy foot and well-turned ankle had 
 never looked so charming; and then, as by a rapid train of 
 thought he recalled the matchless loveliness of his wife, and as 
 he had ever believed till now her purity, her mental graces, he 
 groaned aloud as he remembered that another was preferred to 
 him, and that the light figure that glided on before his fixed 
 gaze, was but the hollow specter of fallen goodness, a lost, 
 degraded creature, hastening to steep her husband and infant 
 in irremediable disgrace, for the indulging of a base and guilty 
 passion. Even in that wretched moment he felt how dearly, 
 how exclusively he had loved her ; and for the first time during 
 the blow which had fallen on him, he knew that he mourned the 
 lovely woman almost equally with the virtuous mother and chaste 
 wife. A cry of rage and mingled fury escaped him, as he pic- 
 tured the rapture of her meeting with the lover of her choice; 
 and a sharp, darting pain quivered through his heart as he 
 remembered that Clemence, with all her youth and beauty, her 
 countless charms, both of body and mind, was lost to him for- 
 ever. 
 
 Hitherto his passionate grief had been unmixed by any alloy 
 of self. He had bewailed the sanctity of the marriage-vow 
 trampled under foot, the abandonment of all sworn and sacred 
 duties; but his sufferings of rage, jealousy, and regret, almost 
 overpowered him, and with much difficulty was he able to com- 
 mand his voice sufficiently to say to the coachman, while par- 
 tially drawing up the blind, 
 
 " Do you see that lady in the blue shawl and black bonnet 
 walking along by the wall ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I see her safe enough."
 
 270 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Well then, go slowly along, and keep up with her. Should 
 she go to the coach-stand I had you from, pull up; and when 
 she has got into a fiacre, follow it wherever it goes." 
 
 " All right I understand ! Now this is what I call a good 
 joke!" 
 
 M. d'Harville had conjectured rightly. Madame d'Harville 
 repaired directly to the coach-stand; and beckoning a fiacre of! 
 the stand, instantly got in, and drove off, closely followed by 
 the vehicle containing her husband. 
 
 They had proceeded but a very short distance, when the 
 coachman took the road to the church of Saint Thomas 
 d'Aquinas, and, to the surprise of M. d'Harville, pulled up 
 directly in front. 
 
 " What is this for? What are you about? " 
 
 " Why, master, the lady you told me to follow has just alighted 
 here, and a smart, tidy leg and foot of her own she has got. 
 Her dress somehow caught ; so, you see, I couldn't help having a 
 peep, nohow. This is downright good fun though, this is ! " 
 
 A thousand varied thoughts agitated M. d'Harville. One 
 minute he fancied that his wife, fearing pursuit, had taken this 
 step to escape detection; then hope whispered that the letter 
 which had given him so much uneasiness, might after all be 
 only an infamous calumny ; for if guilty, what could be gained by 
 this false assumption of piety? Would it not be a species of 
 sacrilegious mockery? At this suggestion a bright ray of hope 
 shot across the troubled mind of M. d'Harville, arising from 
 the striking contrast between Clemence's present occupation and 
 the crime alleged as her motive for quitting her home. Alas ! 
 this consolatory illusion was speedily destroyed. Leaning in at 
 the open window the coachman observed, 
 
 " I say, master, that nice little woman you are after has got 
 back into her coach." 
 
 "Then follow quickly." 
 
 "I'm off! Now this is what I call downright good fun. 
 Capital ! hang me if it a'nt." 
 
 The vehicle reached the Quais, the Hotel de Ville, the Eue 
 Sainte Avoye, and, at last, Rue du Temple. 
 
 " I say," said the coachman, turning round to speak to M. 
 d'Harville from his seat, " master, just look. My mate, there has 
 stopped at No. 17; we are about at 13. Shall I stop here or 
 goon to 17?" 
 
 " Stop here." 
 
 " I say look'ee ; you'll lose your pretty lady. She has gone 
 into the alley leading to No. 17."
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 271 
 
 " Open the door." 
 
 " I'm coming, sir." 
 
 And quickly following the steps of his wife, M. d'Harvi le 
 entered the obscure passage up which she had disappeared. 
 Madame d'Harville, however, had so far the start as to have 
 entered the house previously. 
 
 Attracted by the most devouring curiosity, Madame Pipelet, 
 with her melancholy Alfred and her friend the oyster-woman, 
 were huddled close together on the sill at the lodge door. The 
 staircase was so dark that a person just emerging from the 
 daylight into the gloom of the passage could not discern a single 
 step of it; and Madame d'Harville, agitated and almost sinking 
 with apprehension, found herself constrained to apply to Madame 
 Pipelet for further advice how to proceed, saying, in a low, 
 tremulous voice, 
 
 " Which way must I turn, madam, to find the staircase of the 
 house?" 
 
 " Stop, if you please. Pray, whom do you want ? " 
 
 " I wish to go to the apartments of M. Charles, madam." 
 
 "Monsieur who?" repeated the old woman, feigning not to 
 have heard her, but in reality to afford sufficient leisure to her 
 husband and her friend thoroughly to scrutinize the unhappy 
 woman's countenance, even through the folds of her thick veil. 
 
 " M. Charles, madam," repeated Clemence, in a low, trembling 
 tone, and bending down her head, so as escape the rude and 
 insolent examination to which her features were subjected. 
 
 " Ah ! M. Charles ; very well : you should have spoken so that 
 one could hear you. Well, my pretty dear, if you want M. 
 Charles, and a good-looking fellow he is as ever won a woman's 
 heart, go straight on, and the door will stare you in the face. 
 Eh ! eh ! eh ! " laughed out the old woman, shaking her fat sides 
 with spiteful glee, " it seems he has not waited for nothing this 
 time. Success to love and love-makings, and a merry end to it ! " 
 
 The marquise, ready to sink with confusion, began slowly to 
 grope her way up the dingy staircase. 
 
 " I say," bawled out the old shell-fish woman, " our com- 
 mandant knows what he is about don't he? Leave him alone 
 to choose a pretty girl. His marm is a regular swell a'nt she ? " 
 
 Had it not been requisite for her to run the gauntlet of the 
 trio who occupied the entrance-door, Madame d'Harville, ready 
 to sink with shame and terror, would gladly have retraced her 
 steps. She made another effort, and at last reached the landing- 
 place, where, to her unutterable consternation and surprise, she 
 saw Eodolph waiting impatiently her arrival. Instantly flying
 
 272 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 to meet her, he hastily placed a purse in her hand, saying, in a 
 hurried manner, 
 
 " Your husband knows all, and is now following your very 
 
 At this instant, the sharp tones of Madame Pipelet were 
 heard crying out, " Where are you going to, sir ? " 
 
 " 'Tis he ! " exclaimed Eodolph, and then, almost forcing 
 Madame d'Harville up the second staircase, he added, in a rapid 
 manner, "make all haste to the very top of the house: on the 
 fifth floor you will find a wretched family, named Morel. 
 Eemember your sole business in coming hither was to relieve 
 their distress." 
 
 " I tell you, sir," screamed Madame Pipelet, " that unless 
 you tell me your name, you shall trample over me, as they walked 
 over our brave men at Waterloo, before I let you pass." 
 
 Having, from the entrance to the alley, observed Madame 
 d'Harville stop to speak to the porteress, the marquis had like- 
 wise prepared himself to pass through some sort of questioning. 
 
 " I belong to the lady who just now entered," said the 
 marquis. 
 
 " Bless me ! " exclaimed Madame Pipelet, looking the picture 
 of wonderment, " why, that, of course, is a satisfactory answer. 
 You can pass on, if you please." 
 
 Hearing an unusual stir, M. Charles Eobert had set the door of 
 his apartments ajar, and Eodolph, unwilling to be recognized by 
 M. d'Harville, whose quick, searching eye might have detected 
 him, spite of the murkiness of the staircase, hearing him rapidly 
 ascending the stairs, just as he reached the landing-place, 
 dashed into the chamber of the astonished commandant, locking 
 the door after him. M. Charles Eobert, magnificently attired 
 in his role de chambre, of scarlet damask, with orange-colored 
 stripes, and Greek cap of embroidered velvet, was struck with 
 astonishment at the unexpected appearance of Bodolph, whom 
 he had not seen the preceding evening at the embassy, and who 
 was upon the present occasion very plainly dressed. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this intrusion ? " asked he at length, 
 assuming a tone of killing haughtiness. 
 
 "Be silent!" replied Eodolph; and there was that in his 
 voice and manner that Charles Eobert obeyed, even in spite of 
 his own determination to strike terror into the bold invader of 
 his private moments. 
 
 A violent and continued noise, as of some heavy substance 
 falling from one stair to the other, resounded through the dull 
 silence of the gloomy staircase.
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 273 
 
 " Unhappy man ! he has murdered her ! " exclaimed Ro- 
 dolph. 
 
 " Murdered ! " ejaculated M. Charles Robert, turning very 
 pale, " for the love of Heaven, what is all this about ? " 
 
 But, without heeding his inquiry, Rodolph partially opened the 
 door, and discovered little Tortillard half rolling, half limping, 
 down the stairs, holding in his hand the red silk purse Rodolph 
 had just given to Madame d'Harville. Tortillard, with another 
 scrambling shuffle, disappeared at the bottom of the last flight 
 of stairs. The light step of Madame d'Harville, and the heavier 
 tread of her husband, as he continued his pursuit of her from 
 one story to another, could be distinctly heard. Somewhat 
 relieved of his worst fears, yet unable to make out by what 
 chance the purse so recently committed to Madame d'Harville's 
 hands should have been transferred to those of Tortillard, 
 Rodolph said, authoritatively, to M. Robert, 
 
 " Do not think of quitting your apartments, for the next hour, 
 I request!" 
 
 " Upon my life and soul, that is a pretty thing to say to a 
 gentleman in his own house," replied M. Robert in an impatient 
 and wrathful tone. " I ask you, again, what is the meaning 
 of all this? Who the devil are you, sir? and how dare you 
 dictate to me, a gentleman ? " 
 
 " M. d'Harville is informed of everything has followed his 
 wife to your very door and is now pursuing her to the upper 
 part of the house." 
 
 " God bless me ! here's a situation ! " exclaimed Charles 
 Robert, with an appearance of utter consternation. " But what 
 is to be done ? what is the use of her going up-stairs ? and how 
 will she manage to get down again unobserved ? " 
 
 " Remain where you are, neither speak nor move until the 
 porteress comes to you," rejoined Rodolph, who hastened to give 
 his final instructions to Madame Pipelet, leaving the com- 
 mandant a prey to the most alarming apprehensions. 
 
 " Well ! well ! " cried Madame Pipelet, her face radiant with 
 chuckling exultation; "there's rare sport going on! The lady 
 who came to visit my fine gentleman on the first floor has been 
 followed by another gentleman, who seems rather in a passion 
 the husband of that silly young creature, I make no doubt. 
 Directly the truth flashed across me, I tells him to go straight 
 up; for, thinks I, he'll be sure to murder our commandant. 
 That'll make a deal of talk in the neighborhood ; and folks will 
 come crowding to see the house, just as they did at No. 36 after 
 the man was killed there. Lord ! I wonder the fighting has not"
 
 274: TBE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 begun yet. I have been listening to hear tbem set to; but I 
 can't catch the least sound." 
 
 " My dear Madame Pipelet, will you do me a great favor ? " 
 said Rodolph, putting five louis into her hand. " When this 
 lady comes down-stairs, ask her how she found the poor Morels. 
 Tell her she has performed an act of real charity in coming to 
 see them, according to her promise, the last time she called to 
 inquire respecting them." 
 
 Madame Pipelet looked first at the money and then at 
 Eodolph, with an air of petrified astonishment. 
 
 " What am I to do with this money ? " inquired she, at length ; 
 " do you give it me ? Ah, I see ! This handsome lady, then, 
 does not come altogether for the commandant ? " 
 
 " The gentleman who followed her was her husband, as you 
 justly supposed ; but, being warned in time, the poor lady went 
 straight on to the Morels, as though her only business here was 
 to afford them succor. Now do you understand ? " 
 
 " I should think I did clear as noonday. * A nod is as good 
 as a wink,' as the old woman said. I know ! You want me to 
 to help you cheat the husband ? Lord bless you ! I'm up to all 
 those things ; quick as lightning silent as the grave ! Go 
 along with you ! I'm a regular good hand at keeping husbands 
 in the dark; you might fancy I'd been used to it all my life. 
 But tell me " 
 
 The huge hat of M. Pipelet was here observed sending its 
 dark shadow across the floor of the lodge. 
 
 " Anastasia," said Alfred, gravely, " you are like M. Cesar 
 Bradamanti ; you have no respect for anything or anybody. And 
 let me tell you that there are subjects that should never be made 
 the subject of a jest, even amongst the most familiar acquaint- 
 ances." 
 
 "Nonsense, my old darling. Don't stand there rolling up 
 your eyes, and looking about as wise as a pig in a pound. You 
 know well enough I was only joking; you know well enough 
 that no living soul beneath the canopy of heaven can ever say I 
 gave him a liberty. But that'll do; so let's talk of this good 
 gentleman's business. Suppose I do go out of my usual way to 
 save this young lady, I'm sure I do it solely to oblige our new 
 lodger, who, for his generosity, may well deserve to be called 
 the king of lodgers." Then, turning towards Rodolph, she 
 added, " You shall see how cleverly I will go to work. Just 
 hide yourself there in that corner behind the curtain. Quick 
 quick ! I hear them coming." 
 
 Rodolph had scarcely time to conceal himself ere Monsieur
 
 TUB RENDEZVOUS. 275 
 
 and Madame d'Harville descended the stairs. The features of 
 the marquis shone with happiness, mingled with a confused and 
 astonished expression, while the countenance of his wife, as she 
 hung on his arm, looked calm but pale. 
 
 " Well, my good lady," cried Madame Pipelet, going out of 
 her lodge to address her, as she descended the last stair, " how 
 did you find the poor creatures I mean the Morels? Ah, I 
 doubt not, such a sight made your heart ache ! God knows your 
 charity was well bestowed ! 1 told you the other day, when you 
 called to inquire about them, what a state of starvation and 
 misery they were in. Be assured, kind lady, these poor things 
 are fit objects of your bounty; you will never have to regret 
 coming to this out-of-the-way place to examine into their case. 
 They really are deserving all your kindness don't you think 
 so, Alfred?" 
 
 Alfred, the strictness of whose ideas touching a due regard 
 for all conjugal duties made him revolt at the thoughts of help- 
 ing to deceive a husband, replied only by a sort of grumbling 
 sound, as vague as discordant. 
 
 " Please to excuse my husband, madam," resumed Madame 
 Pipelet ; " he has got the cramp in his stomach, and cannot speak 
 loud enough to be understood, or he would tell you as well as 
 myself that the poor people you have so fortunately relieved 
 will pray of the Almighty, night and day, to bless and reward 
 you, my worthy lady." 
 
 M. d'Harville gazed on his wife with feelings approaching 
 to adoration, as he exclaimed, " Angel of goodness, how has base 
 slander dared to disturb your heavenly work ! " 
 
 " An angel ! " repeated Madame Pipelet, " that she is, and 
 one of the very best Heaven could send. There is not a better." 
 
 " Let us return home, I entreat ! " said Madame d'Harville, 
 who was suffering acutely under the restraint she had put upon 
 herself since entering the house, and, now that the necessity for 
 exertion was over, found her strength rapidly forsaking her. 
 
 " Instantly," replied the marquis. 
 
 At the instant of their emerging into the open air from the 
 obscurity of the alley, M. d'Harville, observing the pale looks 
 of his wife, said tenderly, 
 
 " Ah, Clemence, I have deep cause to solicit your pity and 
 forgiveness." 
 
 " Alas ! my lord," said the marquise, sighing deeply, " which 
 of us has not need of pardon?" 
 
 Eodolph quitted his hiding-place, deeply ruminating upon so 
 terrible a scene, thus intermingled with absurdity and coarse-
 
 276 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 ness, and pondering over the curious termination to a drama, the 
 commencement of which had called forth such different passions. 
 
 " Well, now," exclaimed Madame Pipelet, " you must say I 
 played my part well. Didn't I send that donkey of a husband 
 home with longer ears than he came out with ? Lord bless you ! 
 he'll put his wife under a glass-case, and worship her from this 
 day forward. Poor, dear gentleman ! I really could not help 
 feeling sorry for him. Oh! but about your furniture, M. 
 Eodolph; it has not come yet." 
 
 " I am now going to see about it." 
 
 " By the by, you had better go and inform the commandant 
 that he may venture out." 
 
 " True ; I'll go and let the caged bird out. But what stuff 
 and nonsense for him to hire apartments of no more use to him 
 than they are to the King of Prussia ! He is a fine fellow, he is, 
 with his paltry twelve francs a-month. This is the fourth time 
 he has been made a fool of." 
 
 Eodolph quitted the house, and Madame Pipelet, turning to 
 her husband, said, with a chuckling laugh, " Now, Alfred, the 
 commandant's turn has come ; now for it ! I mean to have 
 a jolly good laugh at my gentleman up and dressed for noth- 
 ing." 
 
 Arrived at the apartments of M. Charles Robert, the porteress 
 rang the bell ; the door was opened by the commandant himself. 
 
 " Commandant ! " said Anastasia, giving him a military 
 salute, by placing the back of her little fat hand against the 
 front of her wig, " I have come to set you free. Your friends 
 have gone away arm in arm, happy as doves, under your very 
 nose. Well, you are out of a nice mess, thanks to M. Rodolph. 
 You ought to stand something very handsome to him for all he 
 has done upon the present occasion." 
 
 " Then this slim individual with the moustachios is called 
 M. Eodolph, is he?" 
 
 " Exactly so ; neither more nor less." 
 
 " And who and what is the fellow ? " 
 
 " Fellow, indeed ! " cried Madame Pipelet, in a wrathful 
 voice; "he is as good as other men better than some I could 
 mention. Why, he is a traveling clerk, but the very king of 
 lodgers; for, though he has only one room, he does not haggle 
 and beat folks down not he. Why, he gave me six francs for 
 doing for him six francs, mind, I say, without a word. Think 
 of that ! without ever offering me a sous less. Oh, he is a 
 lodger ! I wish other people were at all like him ! " 
 
 " There there that's enough ; take the key."
 
 THE RENDEZVOUS. 277 
 
 " Shall I light the fire to-morrow, commandant ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Next day?" 
 
 " No, no ! don't bother me." 
 
 " I say, commandant, if you recollect, I warned you that you 
 would have your trouble for your pains." 
 
 M. Charles Robert threw a glance at his grinning tormentor 
 that spoke of annihilation at least, and, dashing furiously by 
 her, quitted the house, wondering much how a mere clerk should 
 have become acquainted with his assignation with the Marquise 
 d'Harville. 
 
 As the commandant left the alley, Tortillard came hobbling 
 along. 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " said Madame Pipelet. 
 
 " Has the Borgnesse been to call upon me ? " asked the young 
 scamp, without attending to the porteress's question. 
 
 "The Chouette? No, you ugly monster! what should she 
 come for ? " 
 
 " Why to take me with her into the country, to be sure," said 
 Tortillard, swinging on the lodge-gate. 
 
 " And what does your master say to it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! father managed all that. He sent this morning to M. 
 Bradamanti, to ask him to give me leave to go in the country 
 the country the country," sung or rather screamed the 
 amiable scion of M. Bras Rouge, beating time most melodiously 
 on the window-panes. 
 
 " Will you leave off, you young rascal, or are you going to 
 break my window ? Oh, here comes a coach ! " 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! " shrieked the urchin ; " it is my dear Chou- 
 ette ! Oh, how nice the ride in a coach ! " 
 
 And, looking through the window, they saw reflected upon the 
 red blind of the opposite glass the hideous profile of the 
 Borgnesse. She beckoned to Torillard, who ran out to her. The 
 coachman descended from his box, and opened the door; 
 Tortillard sprang into the vehicle, which instantly drove off. 
 
 Another person beside the Chouette was in the carriage. In 
 the further corner, and wrapped in an old cloak with a furred 
 collar, his features shrouded by a black silk cap pulled down over 
 his brows, sat the Schoolmaster. His inflamed lids formed a 
 horrible contrast with the white globeless space beneath; and 
 this fearful spectacle was rendered still more hideous by the 
 action of the severe cold upon his seamed and frightful coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "Now, small boy, squat yourself down on the pins of my
 
 278 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 man; you'll serve to keep him warm," said the Borgnesse to 
 Tortillard, who crouched like a dog close to the feet of the 
 Schoolmaster and the Chouette. 
 
 " Now then, my coves," said the driver, " on we go to the KEN 
 at Bouqueval, don't we, La Chouette ? You shall see whether I 
 can tool a drag or not." 
 
 " And keep your pads on the move, my fine fellow ; for we 
 must get hold of the girl to-night." 
 
 " All right, my blind 'un ; we'll go the pace." 
 
 " Shall I give you a hint ? " said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Why, cut it fine as you pass by the NABS at the barrier ; the 
 meeting might lead to disagreeable recollections. It ia not every 
 old acquaintance it is worth while to renew our friendship with. 
 You have been wanted at the barriers for some time." 
 
 " I'll keep my weather eye open," replied the driver, getting on 
 his box. 
 
 It needs scarcely be told, after this specimen of slang, that the 
 coachman was a robber, one of the Schoolmaster's worthy associ- 
 ates. The vehicle then quitted the Eue du Temple. 
 
 Two hours afterwards, towards the closing of a winter's day, 
 the vehicle containing the Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and 
 Tortillard, stopped before a wooden cross, marking out the 
 sunken and lonely road which conducted to the farm at Bouque- 
 val, where the Goualeuse remained under the kind protection of 
 Madame Georges. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AN IDYL. 
 
 THE hour of five had just struck from the church-clock of 
 the little village of Bouqueval, the cold was intense, the sky 
 clear, the sun, sinking slowly behind the vast leafless woods 
 which crowned the heights of Ecouen, cast a purple hue over the 
 horizon, and sent its faint, sloping rays across the extensive 
 plains, white and hard with winter's frost. 
 
 In the country each season has its own distinctive features, 
 its own peculiar charm : at times the dazzling snow changes the 
 whole scene into immense landscapes of purest alabaster, ex- 
 hibiting their spotless beauties to the reddish gray of the sky. 
 Then may be seen in the glimmer of twilight, either ascending
 
 AN IDYL 279 
 
 or descending the hill, a benighted farmer returning to his 
 habitation ; his horse, cloak, and hat, are covered with the falling 
 snow. Bitter is the cold, biting the north wind, dark and gloomy 
 the approaching night: but what cares he? there, amid those 
 leafless trees, he sees the bright taper burning in the window 
 of his cheerful home; while from the tall chimney a column of 
 dark smoke rolls upwards through the flaky shower that descends, 
 and speaks to the toil-worn farmer of a blazing hearth and 
 humble meal prepared by kind affection to welcome him after 
 the fatigues of his journey. Then the rustic gossip by the fire- 
 side, on which the fagot burns and crackles, and a peaceful, 
 comfortable night's rest, amid the whistling of the winds, and 
 the barking of the various dogs at the different farms scattered 
 around, with the answering cry from the distant watch-dog. 
 
 Daylight opens upon a scene of fairyland. Surely the tiny 
 elves have been celebrating some grand fete, and have left some 
 of their adornments behind them, for on each branch hang long 
 spiracles of crystal, glittering in the rays of a winter's sun with 
 all the prismatic brilliancy of the diamond. The damp, rich 
 soil of the arable land is laid down in furrows, where hides the 
 timid hare in her form, or the speckled partridge runs merrily. 
 Here and there is heard the melancholy tinkling of the sheep- 
 bell hanging from the neck of some important leader of the 
 numerous flocks scattered over the verdant heights and turfy 
 valleys of the neighborhood ; while, carefully wrapped in his dark 
 gray cloak, the shepherd, seated under shelter of those knotted 
 trunks and interlaced branches, chants his cheerful lay, while 
 his fingers are busily employed weaving a basket of rushes. 
 
 Occasionally a more animated scene presents itself: distant 
 echo gives out the faint sound of the hunting-horn, and the cry 
 of hounds; suddenly a frightened deer bursts from the neigh- 
 boring forest, stands for a few seconds in terrified alarm upon 
 the frozen plain, then darts onward, and is quickly lost amid 
 the thickets on the opposite side. The trampling of horses, the 
 barking of dogs, are rapidly brought nearer by the breeze; and 
 now, in their turn, a pack of dogs with brown and tawny-spotted 
 skins issue from the brushwood from which the frightened deer 
 but just now came; they run eagerly over the sterile ground, 
 the fallow fields, with noses closely pointed to the ground they 
 pursue with loud cries the traces left by the flying deer. At 
 their heels come the hunters in their scarlet coats, bending over 
 the necks of their swift steeds; they encourage their dogs by 
 their voices mingled with the notes of the horn. Swift as light- 
 ning the brilliant cortege passes on; the noise decreases; by
 
 280 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 degrees all is still, dogs, horses, and huntsmen, are lost in the 
 tangled mazes of the forest, where the frightened stag had 
 sought and found a hiding-place. Then peace and calm resume 
 their reign; and the profound stillness of these vast plains was 
 interrupted only by the monotonous song of the shepherd. 
 
 These sights these rustic views, abounded in the environs of 
 the village of Bouqueval, which, spite of its proximity to Paris, 
 was situated in a sort of desert, to which there was no approach 
 except by cross-roads. Concealed during summer among the 
 trees, like a nest amid the sheltering foliage, the farm which 
 had become the home of the poor Goualeuse was now utterly 
 bereft of its leafy screen, and entirely exposed to view. The 
 course of the little river, now quite frozen over, resembled a long 
 silver ribbon stretched along the ever-verdant meadows, through 
 which a number of fine cows were leisurely wending their way 
 to their stable. Brought home by the approach of night, flocks 
 of pigeons were successively arriving, and perching on the 
 peaked roof of the dove-house; while the immense walnut-trees, 
 that during the summer afforded an umbrageous screen both 
 to the farm-house and its numerous out-buildings, stripped 
 of its rich foliage, exhibited only bare branches, through which 
 could plainly be discerned the tiled roof of the one, and the 
 thatched tops of the others, overgrown with patches of moss of 
 mingled green and dingy brown. 
 
 A heavy cart, drawn by three strong, sturdy horses, with long, 
 thick manes and shining coats, with blue collars ornamented 
 with bells and tassels of red worsted, was bringing in a load of 
 wheat from a neighboring rick. This ponderous machine entered 
 the courtyard by the large gate; while immense flocks of sheep 
 were pressing eagerly round the side entrances; both men and 
 beasts appeared impatient to escape from the severity of the 
 cold, and to enjoy the comfort of repose. The horses neighed 
 joyously at the sight of their stable, the sheep bleated their 
 satisfaction at returning to their warm folds, while the hungry 
 laborers cast a longing look towards the kitchen-windows, from 
 which streamed forth pleasant promise of a warm and savory 
 meal. 
 
 The whole of the exterior arrangements of the farm were 
 indicative of the most scrupulous order, neatness, and exactitude. 
 Instead of being covered with dirt and dust, scattered about, 
 and exposed to the inclemency of the season, the carts, rollers, 
 harrows, etc., with every agricultural implement (and some were 
 of the last and best invention), were placed, well cleaned and 
 painted, under a vast shed, where the carters were accustomed to
 
 AN IDYL. 281 
 
 arrange their cart-harness with the most sjinmetrical attention 
 to order and method. Large, clean, and well laid out, the court- 
 yard had none of those huge dung-heaps, those stagnant pools of 
 filthy water, which deface the finest establishments of La Beauce 
 or La Brie. 
 
 The poultry-yard, surrounded by a green trellising, received 
 and shut in all the feathered tribe, who, after wandering in the 
 fields all day, returned home by a small door left open till all 
 were collected, when it was carefully closed and secured. With- 
 out dwelling too minutely upon every detail, we shall merely 
 observe, that in all respects this farm passed most justly in the 
 environs for a model farm, as much for the excellency of the 
 method by which it was conducted, and the abundant crops it 
 produced, as for the respectability and correct mode of life which 
 distinguish the various laborers employed there, who were soon 
 ranked among the most creditable and efficient workmen of the 
 place. 
 
 The cause of all this prosperity shall be spoken of hereafter, 
 meanwhile we will conduct the reader to the trellised gate of the 
 poultry-yard ; which, for the rustic elegance of its perches and 
 poultry-houses, was no ways inferior to the farm itself; while 
 through the center flowed a small stream of clear, limpid water, 
 the bed of which was laid down with smooth pebbles, carefully 
 cleansed from any obstructing substance. 
 
 A sudden stir arose among the winged inhabitants of this 
 charming spot : the fowls flew fluttering and cackling from their 
 perches, the turkeys gabbled, the guinea-fowls screamed, and the 
 pigeons, forsaking their elevated position on the summit of the 
 dove-house, descended to the sandy surface of the yard, and 
 stood cooing and caressing each other with every manifestation 
 of joy. The arrival of Fleur-de-Marie had occasioned all these 
 ecstatic delights. 
 
 A more charming model than the Goualeuse could not have 
 l)con desired by Greuze or Watteau, had her cheeks possessed a 
 little more rondeur or been visited by a brighter tinge; but, spite 
 of their delicate paleness, the expression of her features, the 
 tout ensemble of her figure, and the gracefulness of her attitude, 
 would have rendered her worthy of exercising the crayons of 
 even the celebrated artists we have alluded to. 
 
 The small round cap of Fleur-de-Marie displayed her fair 
 forehead, and light, braided hair, in common with all the young 
 girls in the environs of Paris; above this cap, but still exposing 
 the crown and ears, she wore a large red cotton handkerchief, 
 folded smoothly, and pinned behind her head; while the long
 
 282 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 ends waving gracefully over her shoulders formed a costume 
 which, for graceful effect, might be envied even by the tasteful 
 coiffeurs of Italy or Switzerland. A handkerchief of snow- 
 white linen, crossed over her bosom, was half concealed by the 
 high and spreading front of her coarse cloth apron. A jacket 
 of blue woolen cloth with tight sleeves displayed her slender 
 figure, and descended half way down her thick skirt of dark- 
 striped fustian; white cotton stockings and tied shoes, partly 
 covered by sabots, furnished with a leather strap for the instep, 
 completed this costume of rustic simplicity, to which the natural 
 grace of Fleur-de-Marie lent an inexpressible charm. 
 
 Holding in one hand the two corners of her apron, with the 
 other she distributed handfuls of grain^among the winged crowd 
 by which she was surrounded. One beautiful pigeon of a silvery 
 whiteness, with beak and feet of a rich purple color, more pre- 
 suming or more indulged than the rest, after having flown several 
 times around Fleur-de-Marie, at length alighted on her shoulder ; 
 the young girl, as though well used to these familiarities, con- 
 tinued, wholly undisturbed, to throw out continued supplies of 
 grain; but, half turning her head till its perfect outline alone 
 was visible, she gently raised her head, and smilingly offered 
 her small rosy lips to meet those of her fond, caressing friend. 
 The last rays of the setting sun shed a pale golden light over 
 this innocent picture. 
 
 While the Goualeuse was thus occupied with her rural cares, 
 Madame Georges and the Abbe Laporte, cure of Bouqueval, 
 sitting by the fireside in the neat little parlor of the farm, were 
 conversing on the one constant theme Fleur-de-Marie. The 
 old cure, with a pensive, thoughtful air, his head bent down- 
 wards, and his elbows leaning on his knees, mechanically 
 stretched his two trembling hands before the fire. Madame 
 Georges, laying aside the needlework on which she had been oc- 
 cupied, kept an anxious eye on the abbe, as though eagerly wait- 
 ing for some observation from him. After a moment's silence, 
 
 " Yes," said he, " you are right, Madame Georges : it will be 
 better for M. Kodolph to question Marie, for she is so filled with 
 deep gratitude and devotion to him, that she will probably reveal 
 to him what she persists in concealing from us." 
 
 "Then, since you agree with me, M. le Cure, I will write, 
 this very evening, to the address he left with me, the Allee des 
 Veuves." 
 
 " Poor child ! " sighed the kind old man, " she ought to have 
 been so happy here; what secret grief can thus be preying on 
 her mind ? "
 
 AN IDYL. 283 
 
 " Her unhappiness is too deeply fixed to be removed even by 
 her earnest and passionate application to study." 
 
 "And yet she has made a most rapid and extraordinary 
 progress since she has been under our care, has she not ? " 
 
 " She has, indeed ; already she can read and write with the 
 utmost fluency, and is already sufficiently advanced in arith- 
 metic to assist me in keeping my farm-accounts: and then the 
 dear child is so active and industrious, and really affords me 
 so much assistance as both surprises me and moves me to tears. 
 You know that, spite of my repeated remonstrances she persisted 
 in working so hard, that I became quite alarmed lest such toil 
 should seriously affect her health." 
 
 " I am thankful to hear from you," resumed the worthy 
 cure, " that your Negro doctor has fully quieted your apprehen- 
 sions respecting the cough your young friend suffered from : he 
 says it is merely temporary, and gives no reason for uneasiness." 
 
 " Oh, that kind, excellent M. David ! he really appeared to 
 feel the same interest in the poor girl that we did who know her 
 sad story. She is universally beloved and respected by all on the 
 farm ; though that is not surprising, as, thanks to the generous 
 and elevated views of M. Rodolph, all the persons employed 
 on it are selected for their good sense and excellent con- 
 duct, from all parts of the kingdom; but were it not so were 
 they of the common herd of vulgar-minded laborers, they could 
 not help feeling the influence of Marie's angelic sweetness and 
 timid, graceful manner, as though she were always deprecating 
 anger or beseeching pardon for some involuntary fault. Un- 
 fortunate being! as though she alone were to blame." 
 
 After remaining for several minutes buried in reflection, the 
 abbe resumed, 
 
 " Did you not tell me that this deep dejection of Marie's might 
 be dated from the time when Madame Dubreuil, who rents under 
 the Duke de Lucenay, paid her a visit during the feast of the 
 Holy Ghost?" 
 
 " Yes, M. le Cure, I did. And yet Madame Dubreuil and her 
 daughter Clara (a perfect model of candor and goodness) were 
 as much taken with our dear child as everyone else who ap- 
 proaches her; and both of them lavished on her every mark of 
 the most affectionate regard. You know that we pass the Sun- 
 day alternately at each other's house; but it invariably happens 
 that, when we return from our Sunday excursion to Arnouville, 
 where Madame Dubreuil and her daughter reside, the melan- 
 choly of my dear Marie seems augmented and her spirits more 
 depressed than ever. I cannot comprehend why this should be,
 
 284 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 when Madame Dubreuil treats her like a second daughter, and 
 the sweet Clara loves her with the tender affection of a sister." 
 
 " In truth, Madame Georges, it is a fearful mystery ; what can 
 occasion all this hidden sorrow, when here she need not have a 
 single care? The difference between her present and past life 
 must be as great as that which exists between heaven and the 
 abode of the damned. Surely, hers is not an ungrateful dis- 
 position?" 
 
 " She ungrateful ! oh, no, M. le Cure ! her sensitive and affec- 
 tionate nature magnifies the slightest service rendered her, and 
 she appears as though her gratitude could never be sufficiently 
 evinced. There is, too, in her every thought an instinctive del- 
 icacy and fineness of feeling wholly -incompatible with ingrat- 
 itude, which could never be harbored in so noble a nature as 
 that of my charge. Dear Marie, how anxious does she seem to 
 earn the bread she eats, and how eagerly she strives to com- 
 pensate the hospitality shown her, by every exertion she can 
 make or service she can render. And, then, except on Sunday, 
 when I make it a point she should dress herself with more re- 
 gard to appearance to accompany me to church, she will only 
 wear the coarse, humble garments worn by our young peasant 
 girls; and yet there is in her such an air of native superiority, 
 so natural a grace, that one would not desire to see her other- 
 wise attired, would they, M. le Cure ? " 
 
 " Ah, mother's pride ! Beware ! " said the old priest, smiling. 
 
 At these words, tears filled the eyes of Madame Georges, she 
 thought of her long-lost child, and of his possible destiny. 
 
 " Come, come, dear friend, cheer up ! look upon our dear 
 Marie as sent by a gracious Providence to occupy your maternal 
 affections until the blessed moment when he shall restore you 
 your son; and, besides, you have a sacred duty to perform to- 
 wards this child of your adoption: are you not her baptismal 
 godmother? and, believe me, when that office is worthily dis- 
 charged, it almost equals that of a mother. As for M. Kodolph, 
 he has discharged his obligation of godfather by anticipation, 
 for, in snatching her from the abyss of crime into which her 
 misfortunes and her helplessness had cast her, he may be said 
 to have caused her immortal existence to begin." 
 
 " Doubtless the poor thing has never received the sacrament 
 of our holy church : do you think, M. le Cure, she is now suffi- 
 ciently acquainted with its sanctified purposes to be admitted to 
 a participation of it ? " 
 
 " I will take an opportunity of learning her sentiments on 
 the subject as we walk back to the rectory. I shall then apprise
 
 AN IDYL. 285 
 
 her that the holy ceremony will take place probably in about 
 a fortnight from hence. " 
 
 "How gratefully she will receive such an information; her 
 religious feelings are the strongest I nave ever met with." 
 
 " Alas, poor thing ! she has deep and heavy expiation to make 
 for the errors of her past life." 
 
 " Nay, Monsieur 1'Abbe, consider. Abandoned so young, with- 
 out resource, without friends, almost without a knowledge of 
 good or evil, plunged involuntarily into the very vortex of crime, 
 what was there to prevent her from falling the bitter sacrifice 
 she has been ? " 
 
 " The clear, moral sense of right and wrong implanted by the 
 Creator in every breast should have withheld her; and, besides, 
 we have no evidence of her having even sought to escape from 
 the horrible fate into which she had fallen. Is there no friendly 
 hand to be found in Paris to listen to the cries of suffering 
 virtue? is charity so rare, so hard to obtain in that large city?" 
 
 " Let us hope not, Monsieur 1'Abbe ; but how to discover it is 
 the difficulty. Ere arriving at the knowledge of one kind, com- 
 miserating Christian, think of the refusals, the rebukes, the 
 denials to be endured. And, then, in such a case as our poor 
 Marie's, it was no passing, temporary aid that could avail her, 
 but the steady, continued patronage and support, the being placed 
 in the way to earn an honest livelihood. Many tender and pity- 
 ing mothers would have succored her had they known her sad 
 case, I doubt not, but it was first requisite to secure the happi- 
 ness of knowing where to meet with them. Trust me, I too have 
 known want and misery. But for one of those providential 
 chances which, alas! too late, threw poor Marie in the way of 
 M. Rodolph ; but for one of those casualties, the wretched and 
 destitute, most commonly repulsed with rude denial on their 
 first applications, believe pity irretrievably lost, and, pressed by 
 hunger fierce, clamorous hunger, often seek in vice that relief 
 they despair to obtain from commiseration." 
 
 At this moment the Goualeuse entered the parlor. 
 
 " Where have you been, my dear child ? " inquired Madame 
 Georges, anxiously. 
 
 " Visiting the fruit-house, madame, after having shut up the 
 hen-houses and gates of the poultry-yard. All the fruit has 
 kept excellently all but those I ran away with and ate." 
 
 " Now, Marie, why take all this fatigue upon yourself ? You 
 should have left all this tiring work to Claudine; I fear you 
 have quite tired yourself." 
 
 " No, no ! dear Madame Georges ; I wouldn't let Claudine help
 
 286 THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. 
 
 me for the world. I take so much delight in my fruit-house 
 the smell of the beautiful ripe fruit is so delicious." 
 
 " M. le Cure," said Madame Georges, " you must go some day 
 and see Marie's fruit-house. You can scarcely imagine the taste 
 with which she has arranged it; each different variety of fruit 
 is separated by rows of grapes, and the grapes are again divided 
 off by strips of moss." 
 
 " Oh, yes, M. le Cure ; pray do come and see it," said the 
 Goualeuse, innocently ; " I am sure you would be pleased with 
 it. You would be surprised what a pretty contrast the moss 
 makes to the bright rosy apples or the rich golden pears. There 
 are some such lovely waxen apples, quite a pure red and white; 
 and really, as they lie surrounded by the soft green moss, I can- 
 not help thinking of the heads of little cherubims just peeping 
 out from the glorious clouds of heaven," added the delighted 
 Goualeuse, speaking with all the enthusiasm of an artist of the 
 work of her creation. 
 
 The cure looked at Madame Georges, then smilingly replied 
 to Fleur-de-Marie, 
 
 " I have already admired the dairy over which you preside, 
 my child, and can venture to declare it perfect in its way; the 
 most particular dairy-woman might envy you the perfection to 
 which you have brought it. Ere long, I promise myself the 
 pleasure of visiting your fruit-house, and passing a similar com- 
 pliment on your skill in arrangement. You shall then introduce 
 me to those charming rosy apples and delicious golden pears, 
 as well as to the little cherubim pippins so prettily peeping from 
 their mossy beds. But see! the sun has already set; you will 
 scarcely have sufficient time to conduct me back to the rectory- 
 house and return before dark. Come, my child, fetch your cloak, 
 and let us be gone; or, now -I think of it, do you remain at 
 home this cold bitter night, and let one of the farm-servants go 
 home with me." 
 
 " Oh ! M. le Cure," replied the kind Madame Georges, " Marie 
 will be quite wretched if she is not allowed to accompany you; 
 she so much enjoys the happiness of escorting you home every 
 evening." 
 
 " Indeed, Monsieur le Cure," added the Goualeuse, timidly 
 raising her large blue eyes to the priest's countenance, " I shall 
 fear you are displeased with me if you do not permit me to 
 accompany you as usual." 
 
 " Well, then, my dear child, wrap yourself up very warm, and 
 let us go." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie hastily threw over her shoulders a sort of cloak
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 287 
 
 of coarse white cloth, edged with black velvet, and with a large 
 hood, to be drawn at pleasure over the head. Thus equipped, she 
 eagerly offered her arm to her venerable friend. 
 
 " Happily," said he, in taking it, " the distance is but trifling, 
 and the road both good and safe to pass at all hours." 
 
 " As it is somewhat later to-night than usual," said Madame 
 Georges, " will you have one of the farm-people to return with 
 you, Marie ? " 
 
 " Do you take me for a coward ? " said Marie, playfully. " I 
 am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, madame. 
 No, pray do not let any one be called away on my account. It 
 is not a quarter of an hour's walk from here to the rectory. I 
 shall be back long before dark/' 
 
 " Well, as you like. I merely thought it would be company for 
 you ; for as to fearing, thank Heaven, there is no cause. Loose 
 vagabond people, likely to interrupt your progress, are wholly 
 unknown here." 
 
 " And, were I not equally sure of the absence of all danger, 
 I would not accept this dear child's arm," added the cure, " use- 
 ful as, I confess, I find it." 
 
 And, leaning on Fleur-de-Marie, who regulated her light step 
 to suit the slow and labored pace of the old man, the two friends 
 quitted the farm. 
 
 A few minutes' walk brought the Goualeuse and the priest 
 close to the hollow road in which the Schoolmaster, the Chouette, 
 and Tortillard, were lying in ambush. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 
 
 THE church and parsonage of Bouqueval were placed on the 
 side of a hill covered with chestnut-trees, and commanded an 
 entire view of the village. Fleur-de-Marie and the abbe reached 
 a winding path which led to the clergyman's home, crossing the 
 sunken road by which the hill was intersected diagonally. The 
 Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, concealed in one of 
 the hollows of the road, saw the priest and Fleur-de-Marie 
 descend into the ravine, and leave it again by a steep declivity. 
 The features of the young girl being hidden under the hood of 
 her cloak, the Chouette did not recognize her old victim. 
 
 " Silence, my old boy," said the old harridan to the School-
 
 288 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 master; " the young mot and the black slug are just crossing the 
 path. I know her by the description which the tall man in black 
 gave us: a country appearance, neither tall nor short; a petti- 
 coat shot with brown, and a woolen mantle with a black border. 
 She walks every day with a devil-dodger to his crib, and returns 
 alone. When she comes back, which she will do presently by 
 the end of the road, we must spring upon her and carry her off 
 to the coach/* 
 
 " If she cries for help," replied the Schoolmaster, " they will 
 hear her at the farm, if, as you say, the outbuildings are visible 
 from here ; for you you can see," he added, in a sullen tone. 
 
 " Oh, yes, we can see the buildings- from here quite plainly," 
 said Tortillard. " It is only a minute ago that I climbed to the 
 top of the bank, and, laying down on my belly, I could hear a 
 carter who was talking to his horses in the yard there." 
 
 " I'll tell you, then, what we must do," said the Schoolmaster, 
 after a moment's silence. "Let Tortillard have the watch at 
 the entrance to the path. When he sees the young girl returning, 
 let him go and meet her, saying that he is the son of a poor old 
 woman who has hurt herself by falling down the hollow road, 
 and beg the girl to come to her assistance." 
 
 " I'm up to you, fourline; the poor old woman is your darling 
 Chouette. You're wide awake! My man, you are always the 
 king of the downy ones (tetards). What must I do afterwards? " 
 
 " Conceal yourself in the hollow way on the side where Bar- 
 billon is waiting with the coach. I will be at hand. When 
 Tortillard has brought the wench to you in the middle of the 
 ravine, leave off whimpering and spring upon her, put one 
 mauley round her squeeze, and the other into her patter-box, and 
 grab her red rag to prevent her from squeaking." 
 
 " I know, I know, fourline; as we did with the woman at the 
 canal of St. Martin, when we gave her cold water for supper 
 (drowned her), after having prigged her negress (the parcel 
 wrapped in black oilskin) which she had under her arm the 
 same dodge, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, precisely. But mind, grab the girl tight whilst Tortil- 
 lard comes and fetches me. We three will then bundle her up 
 in my cloak, carry her to Barbillon's coach, from thence to the 
 plain of Saint Denis, where the man in black will await us." 
 
 " That's the way to do business, my fourline; you are without 
 an equal! If I could, I would let off a firework on your head, 
 and illuminate you with the colors of Saint Chariot, the patron 
 of scragsmen. Do you see, you urchin? If you would be an 
 out-and-outer, make my husband your model," said the Chouette
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 289 
 
 boastingly, to Tortillard. Then, addressing the Schoolmaster, 
 " By the way, do you know that Barbillon is in an awful funk 
 (fright) ? He thinks that he shall be had up before the beaks 
 on a swinging matter." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The other day, returning from Mother Martial's, the widow 
 of the man who was scragged, and who keeps the boozing-ken in 
 the He du Ravageur, Barbillon, the Gros-Boiteux, and the Skele- 
 ton, had a row with the husband of the milkwoman who comes 
 every morning from the country in a little cart drawn by a 
 donkey, to sell her milk in the Cite, at the corner of the Rue de 
 la Vieille-Draperie, close to the ogress's of the 'White Rabbit/ 
 and they walked into him with their slashers (killed him with 
 their knives)." 
 
 The son of Bras Rouge, who did not understand slang, listened 
 to the Chouette with a sort of disappointed curiosity. 
 
 "You would like to know, little man, what we are saying, 
 wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " Yes. You were talking of Mother Martial, who is at the He 
 du Ravageur, near Asnieres. I know her very well, and her 
 daughter Calebasse, and Frangois and Amandine, who are about 
 as old as I am, and who are made to bear everybody's snubs and 
 thumps in the house. But when you talked of ' walking into ' 
 (buter) any one, that's slang, I know." 
 
 " It is ; and, if you're a very good chap, I'll teach you to patter 
 flash. You're just the age when it may be very useful to you. 
 Would you like to learn, my precious lambkin ? " 
 
 " I rayther think I should, too, and no mistake ; and I would 
 rather live with you than with my old cheat of a mountebank, 
 pounding his drugs. If I knew where he hides his rat-poison, 
 for men, I'd put some in his soup, and then that would settle 
 the quarrel between us." 
 
 The Chouette laughed heartily, and said to Tortillard, draw- 
 ing him towards her, 
 
 " Come, chick, and kiss his mammy. What a droll boy it is 
 a darling! But, my mannikin, how didst know that he had 
 rat-poison for men ? " 
 
 " Why, 'cause I heard him say so one day when I was hid in 
 the cupboard in the room where he keeps his bottles, his brass 
 machines, and where he mixes his stuffs together." 
 
 " What did you hear him say ? " asked the Chouette. 
 
 " I heard him say to a gentleman that he gave a powder to, 
 in a paper, ' When you are tired of life, take this in three doses, 
 and you will sleep without sickness or sorrow.' "
 
 290 TBX MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Who was the gentleman ? " asked the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Oh, a very handsome gentleman with black moustachios, and 
 a face as pretty as a girl's. He came another time; and then, 
 when he left, I followed him, by M. Bradamanti's order, to find 
 out where he perched. The fine gentleman went into the Rue 
 de Chaillot, and entered a very grand house. My master said to 
 me, t No matter where this gentleman goes, follow and wait for 
 him at the door. If he comes out again, still keep your eye on 
 him, until he does not come from out of the place where he 
 enters, and that will prove that he lives there. Then, Tortillard, 
 my boy, twist (tortille) yourself about to find out his name, or I 
 will twist your ears in a way that will astonish you.' " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I did twist myself about, and found out his name." 
 
 " How did you manage it ? " inquired the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Why, so. I'm not a fool ; so I went to the porter at the 
 house in the Rue de Chaillot, where this gentleman had gone in 
 and not come out again. The porter had his hair finely pow- 
 dered, with a fine brown coat with a yellow collar trimmed with 
 silver. So I says to him, ' Good gentleman, I have come to ask 
 for a hundred sous which the gentleman of the house has 
 promised me for having found his dog and brought it back to 
 him a little black dog called Trumpet; and the gentleman with 
 dark features, with black moustachios, a white riding-coat, and 
 light blue pantaloons, told me he lived at No. 11 Rue de Chaillot, 
 and that his name was Dupont.' ' The gentleman you're talking 
 of is my master, and his name is the Viscount de Saint Remy, 
 and we have no dog here but yourself, you young scamp ; so cut 
 your stick, or I'll make you remember coming here, and trying 
 to do me out of a hundred sous/ says the porter to me ; and he 
 gave me a kick as he said it. But I didn't mind that," added 
 Tortillard most philosophically ; " for I found out the name of 
 the handsome young gentleman with black moustachios, who 
 came to my master's to buy the * rat-poison for men ' who are 
 tired of living. He is called the Viscount de Saint-Remy my 
 my Saint-Remy," added the son of Bras Rouge, humming 
 the last words, as was his usual habit. 
 
 " Clever little darling I could eat him up alive ! " said the 
 Chouette, embracing Tortillard. " Never was such a knowing 
 fellow ! He deserves that I should be his mother, the dear rascal 
 does." 
 
 And the hag embraced Tortillard with an absurd affectation. 
 The son of Bras Rouge, touched by this proof of affection, and 
 desirous of showing his gratitude, eagerly answered,
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 291 
 
 " Only you tell me what to do, and you shall see how I'll do 
 it." 
 
 " Will you, though ? Well, then, you shan't repent doing so." 
 
 " Oh, I should like always to stay with you ! " 
 
 " If you behave well, we may see about that. You shan't leave 
 us if you are a good boy." 
 
 " Yes," said the Schoolmaster, " you shall lead me about like 
 a poor blind man, and say you are my son. We will get into 
 houses in this way, and then ten thousand slaughters ! " added 
 the assassin with enthusiasm; "the Chouette will assist us in 
 making lucky hits. I will then teach that devil of a Rodolph, 
 who blinded me, that I am not yet quite done for. He took 
 away my eyesight, but he could not, did not, remove my bent 
 for mischief. I would be the head, Tortillard the eyes, and you 
 the hand eh, Chouette? You will help me in this, won't 
 you?" 
 
 " Am I not with you to gallows and rope, fourline ? Didn't I, 
 when I left the hospital, and learnt that you had sent the yokel 
 from St. Mande to ask for me at the ogress's didn't I run to 
 you at the village directly, telling those chawbacons of laborers 
 that I was your rib ? " 
 
 These words of the " one-eyed's " reminded the Schoolmaster 
 of an unpleasant affair, and, altering his tone and language with 
 the Chouette, he said, in a surly tone, 
 
 "Yes, I was getting tired of being all by myself with these 
 honest people. After a month I could not stand it any longer; 
 I was frightened. So then I thought of trying to find you out ; 
 and a nice thing I did for myself," he added, in a tone of in- 
 creasing anger ; " for the day after you arrived I was robbed of 
 the rest of the money which that devil in the Allee des Veuves 
 had given me. Yes, some one stole my belt full of gold whilst 
 I was asleep. It was only you who could have done it; and so 
 now I am at your mercy. Whenever I think of it, I can hardly 
 restrain myself from killing you on the spot you cursed old 
 robber, you ! " and he stepped towards the old woman. 
 
 "Look out for yourself, if you try to do any harm to the 
 Chouette ! " cried Tortillard. 
 
 "I will smash you both you and she base vipers as you 
 are ! " cried the ruffian, enraged ; and, hearing the boy mumbling 
 near him, he aimed at him so violent a blow with his fist, as 
 must have killed him if it had struck him. Tortillard, as much 
 to revenge himself as the Chouette, picked up a stone, took aim, 
 and struck the Schoolmaster on the forehead. The blow was not 
 dangerous, but very painful. The brigand grew furious with
 
 292 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 passion, raging like a wounded bull, and, rushing forward swiftly 
 and at random, stumbled. 
 
 " What, break your own back? " shouted the Chouette, laugh- 
 ing till she cried. 
 
 Despite the bloody ties which bound her to this monster, she 
 saw how entirely, and with a sort of savage delight, this man, 
 formerly so dreaded, and so proud of his giant strength, was 
 reduced to impotence. The old wretch, by these feelings, justi- 
 fied that cold-blooded idea of La Eochefoucauld's, that "there 
 is something in the misfortunes of our best friends which does 
 not displease us." The disgusting brat, with his tawny cheeks 
 and weazel face, enjoyed and participated in the mirth of the 
 one-eyed hag. The Schoolmaster tripped again, and the urchin 
 exclaimed, 
 
 "Open your peepers, old fellow; look about you. You are 
 going the wrong way. What capers you are cutting ! Can't you 
 see your way ? Why don't you wipe your eye-glasses ? " 
 
 Unable to seize on the boy, the athletic murderer stopped, 
 struck his foot violently on the ground, put his enormous and 
 hairy fists to his eyes, and then uttered a sound which resembled 
 the hoarse scream of a muzzled tiger. 
 
 " Got a bad cough, I'm afraid, old chap ! " said Bras Rouge's 
 brat. " You're hoarse, I'm afraid? I have some capital licorice 
 which a gendarme gave me. P'raps you'd like to try it ? " and, 
 taking up a handful of sand, he threw it in the face of the 
 ruffian. 
 
 Struck full in his countenance by this shower of gravel, the 
 Schoolmaster suffered still more severely by this last attack than 
 by the blow from the stone. Become pale, in spite of his livid 
 and cicatrized features, he extended his two arms suddenly in 
 the form of a cross, in a moment of inexpressible agony and 
 despair, and, raising his frightful face to heaven, he cried, in a 
 voice of deep suffering, 
 
 "MonDieu! Mon Dieu! NonDieu!" 
 
 This involuntary appeal to Divine mercy by a man stained by 
 every crime, a bandit in whose presence but very recently the 
 most resolute of his fellows trembled, appeared like an inter- 
 position of Providence. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " said the Chouette, in a mocking tone ; " look 
 at the thief making the crucifix! You mistake your road, my 
 man. It is the ' old one ' you should call to your help." 
 
 " A knife ! Oh, for a knife to kill myself ! A knife ! since 
 all the world abandons me ! " shrieked the wretch, gnawing his 
 fists for very agony and rage.
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 293 
 
 " A knife ! there's one in your pocket, cut-throat, and with 
 an edge, too. The little old man in the Rue du Roule, you know, 
 one moonlight night, and the cattle-dealer in the Poissy road, 
 could tell the moles all about it. But if you want it, it's here." 
 
 The Schoolmaster, when thus instructed, changed the con- 
 versation, and replied, in a surly and threatening tone, 
 
 " The Chourineur was true ; he did not rob, but had pity on 
 me." 
 
 " Why did you say that I had prigged your 'blunt ? " inquired 
 the Chouette, hardly able to restrain her laughter. 
 
 " It was only you who came into my room," said the miscreant. 
 " I was robbed on the night of your arrival, and who else could 
 I suspect? Those country people could not have done such a 
 thing." 
 
 " Why should not country people steal as well as other folks ? 
 Is it because they drink milk and gather grass for their 
 rabbits?" 
 
 " I don't know. I only know I'm robbed." 
 
 " And is that the fault of your own Chouette? What! suspect 
 me? Do you think if I had got your belt that I should stay any 
 longer with you. What a fool you are ! Why, if I had chosen to 
 pouch your blunt, I could, of course ; but, as true as I'm Chou- 
 ette, you would have seen me again when the ' pewter ' was spent, 
 for I like you as well now with your eyes white, as I did you 
 rogue, you! Come, be decent, and leave off grinding your 
 ' snags ' in that way, or you'll break 'em." 
 
 " It's just as if he was a-cracking nuts," said Tortillard. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! what a droll baby it is ! But quiet, now quiet, 
 my man of men ; let him laugh, it is but an infant. You must 
 own you have been unfair ; for when the tall man in mourning, 
 who looks like a mute at a funeral, said to me, * A thousand 
 francs are yours if you carry off this young girl from the farm 
 at Bouqueval, and bring her to the spot in the Plain of St. Denis 
 that I shall tell you ; ' say, cut-throat, didn't I directly tell you 
 of the affair and agree to share with you, instead of choosing 
 some pal with his eyesight clear? Why, it's like making you a 
 handsome present for doing nothing; for unless to bundle up 
 the girl and carry her, with Tortillard's assistance, you would 
 be of -no more use to me than the fifth wheel to an omnibus. But 
 never mind ; for, although I could have robbed you if I would, I 
 like, on the contrary, to do you service. I should wish you to 
 owe everything to your darling Chouette that's my way, that is. 
 We must give two hundred bob to Barbillon for driving the 
 coach, and coming once before with the servant of the tall man
 
 294: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 in mourning, to look about the place and determine where we 
 should hide ourselves whilst we waited for the young miss; and 
 then we shall have eight hundred bob between us. What do you 
 say to that, old boy ? What ! still angry with your old woman ? " 
 
 " How do I know that you will give me a ' mag ' when once 
 the thing's done. Why! I" said the ruffian, in a tone of 
 gloomy distrust. 
 
 "Why, if I like, I need not give you a dump, that's true 
 enough ; for you are on my gridiron, my lad, as I once had the 
 Goualeuse; and so I will broil you to my own taste, till the 'old 
 one ' gets the cooking of my darling ha ! ha ! ha ! What, still 
 sulky with your Chouette ? " added the horrible woman, patting 
 the shoulder of the ruffian, who stood mute and motionless. 
 
 " You are right," said he, with a sigh of concentrated rage ; 
 " it is my fate mine mine ! At the mercy of a woman and 
 child whom but lately I could have killed with a blow. Oh, if I 
 were not afraid of dying ! " said he, falling back against the 
 bank. 
 
 " What ! a coward ! you you a coward ! " said the Chouette, 
 contemptuously. " Why, you'll be talking next of your con- 
 science! What a precious farce! Well, if you haven't more 
 pluck than that, I'll cut and leave you." 
 
 " And that I cannot have my revenge of the man who in thus 
 making a martyr of me has reduced me to the wretched situation 
 in which I am ! " screamed the Schoolmaster, in a renewal of 
 fury. " I am afraid of death yes, I own it, I am afraid. But 
 if I were told, ' This man Kodolph is between your arms your 
 two arms and now you shall both be flung into a pit,' I would 
 say, ' Throw us then at once/ Yes, for then I should be safe not 
 to relax my clutch, till we both reached the bottom together. 
 I would fix my teeth in his face his throat his heart. I would 
 tear him to pieces with my teeth yes, my teeth ; for I should be 
 jealous of a knife ! " 
 
 " Bravo, fourline! now you are my own dear love again. Calm 
 yourself. We will find him again, that wretch of a Kodolph, and 
 the Chourineur too. Come, pluck up, old man ; we will yet work 
 our will on them both. I say it, on both ! " 
 
 " Well, then, you will not forsake me ? " cried the brigand to 
 the Chouette in a subdued tone, mingled, however, with distrust. 
 " If you do leave me, what will become of me ? " 
 
 " That's true. I say, fourline, what a joke if Tortillard and 
 I were to mizzle with the drag, and leave you where you are 
 in the middle of the fields ; and the night air begins to nip very 
 sharp. I say, it would be a joke, old cutpurse, wouldn't it?"
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 295 
 
 At this threat the Schoolmaster shuddered, and, coming 
 towards the Chouette, said tremulously, " No, no, you wouldn't 
 do that, Chouette; nor you, Tortillard. It would be too bad, 
 wouldn't it ? " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Too bad, says he, the gentle dear ! And the 
 little old man in the Rue du Roule ; and the cattle-dealer and the 
 woman in St. Martin's Canal; and the gentleman in the Allee 
 des Veuves; they found you nice and amiable, I don't think 
 didn't they with your larding-pin? Why, then, in your 
 turn, shouldn't you be left to such tender mercy as you have 
 showed ? " 
 
 " I'm in your power ; don't abuse it," said the Schoolmaster. 
 " Come, come, I confess I was wrong to suspect you. I was 
 wrong to try and thump Tortillard ; and, you see, I beg pardon ; 
 and of you too, Tortillard. Yes, I ask pardon of both." 
 
 " I will have you ask pardon on your knees for having tried 
 to beat the Chouette," said Tortillard. 
 
 " You rum little beggar, how funny you are ! " said the 
 Chouette, laughing loudly; "but I should like to see what a 
 ' guy ' you will make of yourself. So on your knees, as if you 
 were pattering love to your old darling. Come, do it directly, or 
 we will leave you ; and I tell you that in half an hour it will be 
 quite dark, though you don't look as if you thought so, old ' No- 
 Eyes.' " 
 
 "Night or day, what's that to him?" said Tortillard, saucily. 
 " The gentleman always has his shutters closed." 
 
 " Then here, on my knees, I humbly ask your pardon, Chou- 
 ette ; and yours also, Tortillard ! Will not that content you ? " 
 said the robber, kneeling in the middle of the highway. " And 
 now will you leave me ? " 
 
 This strange group, enclosed by the embankment of the ravine, 
 and lighted by the red glimmer of the twilight, was hideous to 
 behold. In the middle of the road the Schoolmaster, on his 
 knees, extended his large and coarse hands towards the one-eyed 
 hag; his thick and matted hair, which his fright had dishevelled, 
 left exposed his motionless, rigid, glassy, dead eyeballs the very 
 glance of a corpse. Stooping deprecatingly his broad-spread 
 shoulders, this Hercules kneels abjectly, and trembles at the feet 
 of an old woman and a child! 
 
 The old hag herself, wrapped in a red-checked shawl, her head 
 covered with an old cap of black lace, which allowed. some locks 
 of her grizzled hair to escape, looked down with an air of haughty 
 contempt and domineering pride on the Schoolmaster. The 
 bony, scorched, shriveled, and livid countenance of the parrot-
 
 296 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 nosed old harridan expressed a savage and insulting joy; her 
 small but fierce eye glistened like a burning coal; a sinister 
 expression curled her lips, shaded with long straight hairs, and 
 revealed three or four large, yellow, and decayed fangs. 
 
 Tortillard, clothed in a blouse with a leathern belt, standing 
 on one leg, leaned on the Chouette's arm to keep himself upright. 
 The bad expression and cunning look of this deformed imp, with 
 a complexion as sallow as his hair, betokened at this moment his 
 disposition half fiend, half monkey. The shadow cast from the 
 declivity of the ravine increased the horrid tout ensemble of the 
 scene, which the increasing darkness half hid. 
 
 " Promise me oh, promise me at least, not to forsake me ! " 
 repeated the Schoolmaster, frightened by the silence of the Chou- 
 ette and Tortillard, who were enjoying his dismay. " Are you 
 not here ? " added the murderer, leaning forwards to listen, and 
 advancing his arms mechanically. 
 
 "Yes, my man, we are here; don't be frightened. Forsake 
 you! leave my love! the man of my heart! no, I'd sooner be 
 scragged! Once for all, I will tell you why I will not forsake 
 you. Listen, and profit. I have always liked to have some one 
 in my grip beast or Christian. Before I had Pegriotte (oh! 
 that the ' old one ' would return her to my clutch ! for I have 
 still my idea of scaling off her beauty with my bottle of vitriol) 
 before Pegriotte's turn, I had a brat who froze to death under 
 my care. For that little job, I got six years in the Stone Jug. 
 Then I used to have little birds, which I used to tame, and then 
 pluck 'em alive. Ha ! ha ! but that was troublesome work, for 
 they did not last long. When I left the Jug, the Goualeuse came 
 to hand ; but the little brat ran away before I had had half my 
 fun out of her carcass. Well, then I had a dog, who had his 
 little troubles as well as she had ; and I cut off one of his hind 
 feet and one of his fore feet; and you never saw such a rum 
 beggar as I made of him ; I almost burst my sides with laughing 
 at him!" 
 
 " I must serve a dog I know of, who bit me one day, in the 
 same way," said the promising Master Tortillard. 
 
 " When I fell in again with you, my darling," continued the 
 Chouette, " I was trying what I could do that was miserable with 
 a cat. Well, now, at this moment, you, old boy, shall be my cat, 
 my dog, my bird, my Pegriotte ; you shall be anything to worry 
 (bete de souff ranee). Do you understand, my love? Instead of 
 having a bird or a child to make miserable, I shall have, as it 
 were, a wolf or a tiger. I think that's rather a bright idea; 
 isn't it?"
 
 THE RECTORY-HOUSE. 297 
 
 " Hag ! devil ! " cried the Schoolmaster, rising in a desperate 
 rage. 
 
 " What, my pet angry with his darling old deary ! Well, if it 
 must be so, it must. Have your own way ; you have a right to it. 
 Good night, blind sheep ! " 
 
 " The field-gate is wide open, so walk alone, Mister No-eyes ; 
 and, if you toddle straight, you'll reach the right road somehow," 
 said Tortillard, laughing heartily. 
 
 "Oh, that I could die! die! die!" said the Schoolmaster, 
 writhing and twisting his arms about in agony. 
 
 At this moment, Tortillard, stooping to the ground, exclaimed, 
 in a low voice, 
 
 " I hear footsteps in the path ; let us hide ; it is not the young 
 miss, for they come the same way as she did." 
 
 On the instant, a stout peasant girl in the prime of youth, 
 followed by a large shepherd's dog, carrying on her head an open 
 basket, appeared, and followed the same path which the priest 
 and the Goualeuse had taken. We will rejoin the two latter, 
 leaving the three accomplices concealed in the hollow of the 
 path. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 THE RECTORY-HOUSE. 
 
 THE last rays of the sun were gradually disappearing behind 
 the vast pile of the Chateau d'Ecouen and the woods which sur- 
 rounded it. On all sides, until the sight lost them in the dis- 
 tance, were vast tracts of land lying in brown furrows hardened 
 by the frost an extensive desert, of which the hamlet of Bou- 
 queval appeared to be the oasis. The sky, which was serenely 
 glorious, was tinted by the sunset, and glowed with long lines of 
 empurpled light, the certain token of wind and cold. These 
 tints, which were at first of a deep red, became violet; then a 
 bluish black, as the twilight grew more and more dark on the 
 atmosphere. The crescent of the moon was as delicately and 
 clearly defined as a silver ring, and began to shine beautifully in 
 the midst of the blue and dimmed sky, where many stars already 
 had appeared. The silence was profound the hour most solemn. 
 The curate stopped for a moment on the summit of the acclivity 
 to enjoy the calm of this delicious evening. After some minutes' 
 reflection, he extended his trembling hand towards the depths
 
 298 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 of the horizon, half veiled by the shadows of the evening, and 
 said to Fleur-de-Marie, who was walking pensively beside him, 
 
 " Look, my child, at the vastness and extent to which we have 
 no visible limit : we hear not the slightest sound. Say, does not 
 this silence give us an idea of infinity and of eternity? I say 
 this to you, Marie, because you are peculiarly sensitive of the 
 beauties of creation. I have often been struck at the admiration, 
 alike poetical and religious, with which they inspire you you, 
 a poor prisoner so long deprived of them. Are you not, as I am, 
 struck with the solemn tranquillity of the hour ? " 
 
 The Goualeuse made no reply. The cure, regarding her with 
 astonishment, found she was weeping. 
 
 " What ails you, my child ? " 
 
 " My father, I am unhappy ! " 
 
 " Unhappy ! you ? still unhappy ! " 
 
 " I know it is ingratitude to complain of my lot after all that 
 has been and is done for me; and yet " 
 
 "And yet?" 
 
 " Father, I pray of you forgive my sorrows ; their expression 
 may offend my benefactors/' 
 
 " Listen, Marie. We have often asked you the cause of these 
 sorrows with which you are depressed, and which excite in your 
 second mother the most serious uneasiness. You have avoided 
 all reply, and we have respected your secret whilst we have been 
 afflicted at not being able to solace your sorrows." 
 
 " Alas ! good father, I dare not tell you what is passing in my 
 mind. I have been moved, as you have been, at the sight of this 
 calm and saddening evening. My heart is sorely afflicted, and I 
 have wept." 
 
 " But what ails you, Marie ? You know how we love you ! 
 Come, tell me all. You should ; for I must tell you that the time 
 is very close at hand when Madame Georges and M. Eodolph 
 will present you at the baptismal font, and take upon themselves 
 the engagement before God to protect you all the days of your 
 life." 
 
 " M. Eodolph ! he who has saved me ? " cried Fleur-de-Marie, 
 clasping her hands ; " he will deign to give me this new proof of 
 affection ! Oh, indeed, my father, I can no longer conceal from 
 you anything, lest I should, indeed, deserve to be called and 
 thought an ingrate." 
 
 "Aningrate! How?" 
 
 " That you may understand me, I must begin and tell you of 
 my first day at the farm." 
 
 " Then let us talk as we walk on."
 
 TUB RECTORY-HOUSE. 299 
 
 " You will be indulgent to me, my father ? What I shall say 
 may perhaps be wrong." 
 
 " The Lord has shown his mercy unto you. Be of good heart." 
 
 " When," said Fleur-de-Marie, after a moment's reflection, 
 " I knew that, on arriving here, I should not again leave the 
 farm and Madame Georges, I believed it was all a dream. At 
 first I felt giddy with my happiness, and thought every moment 
 of M. Rodolph. Very often when I was alone, and in spite of 
 myself, I raised my eyes to heaven, as if to seek him there and 
 thank him. Afterwards (and I was wrong, father), I thought 
 more of him than God, attributing to him what God alone could 
 do. I was happy as happy as a creature who has suddenly and 
 entirely escaped from a great danger. You and Madame Georges 
 were so kind to me, that I thought I deserved pity rather than 
 blame." 
 
 The cure looked at the Goualeuse with an air of surprise. She 
 continued, 
 
 " Gradually I became used to my sweet course of life. I no 
 longer felt fear when I awoke, of finding myself at the ogress's. 
 I seemed to sleep in full security, and all my delight was to 
 assist Madame Georges in her work, and to apply myself to the 
 lesson you gave me, my father, as well as to profit by your advice 
 and exhortation. Except some moments of shame, when I re- 
 flected on the past, I thought myself equal to all the world, 
 because all the world was so kind to me. When, one day " 
 
 Here sobs cut short poor Fleur-de-Marie's narration. 
 
 " Come, come, my poor child, calm yourself. Courage, 
 courage ! " 
 
 The Goualeuse wiped her eyes, and resumed : 
 
 "You recollect, father, during the fetes of the Toussaints, 
 that Madame Dubreuil, who superintends the Duke de Luce- 
 nay's farm at Arnouville, came, with her daughter, to pass some 
 time with us ? " 
 
 "I do ; and I was delighted to see you form an acquaintance 
 with Clara Dubreuil, who is a very excellent girl." 
 
 " She is an angel an angel, father. When I knew that she 
 was coming to stay for some days at the farm, my delight was 
 so great that I could think of nothing else but the moment when 
 she would arrive. At length she came. I was in my room, which 
 she was to share with me ; and, whilst I was putting it into nice 
 order, I was sent for. I went into the saloon, my heart beating 
 excessively, when Madame Georges, presenting me to the pretty 
 young lady, whose looks were so kind and good, said, ' Marie, 
 here is a friend for you.' ' I hope/ added Madame Dubreuil,
 
 300 THE MYSTERIES OF PA&I8. 
 
 ' that you and my daughter will soon be like two sisters ' ; and 
 hardly had her mother uttered these words, than Mademoiselle 
 Clara came and embraced me. Then, father," continued Fleur- 
 de-Marie, weeping, " I do not know what came over me ; but, 
 when I felt the fresh and fair face of Clara pressed against my 
 cheek of shame, that cheek became scorching with guilt re- 
 morse. I remembered who and what I was; I I to receive 
 the caresses of a good and virtuous girl ! " 
 
 "Why, my child ?" 
 
 " Ah, my father," cried Fleur-de-Marie, interrupting the cure 
 with painful emotion, " when M. Eodolph took me away from 
 the Cite, I began vaguely to be conscious of the depth of my 
 degradation. But do you think 'that education, advice, the 
 examples I receive from Madame Georges and yourself, have not, 
 whilst they have enlightened my mind, made me, alas ! to com- 
 prehend but too clearly that I have been more culpable than un- 
 fortunate? Before Clara's arrival, when these thoughts grew 
 upon me, I drove them away by seeking to please Madame 
 Georges and you, father. If I blushed for the past, it was only 
 in my own presence. But the sight of this young lady of my 
 own age, so charming, so virtuous, has conjured up the recollec- 
 tion of the distance that exists between us; and, for the first 
 time, I have felt that there are wrongs which nothing can efface. 
 From that time the thought has haunted me perpetually, and, 
 in spite of myself, I recur to it. From that day I have not had 
 one moment's repose. The Goualeuse again wiped her eyes, that 
 swam in tears. 
 
 1 After having looked at her for some moments with a gaze of 
 the tenderest pity, the cure" replied, 
 
 "Reflect, my child, that if Madame Georges desired to see 
 you the friend of Mademoiselle Dubreuil, it was that she felt 
 you were worthy of such a confidence from your good conduct. 
 Your reproaches, addressed to yourself, seem almost to impugn 
 your second mother." 
 
 "I feel that, father, and was wrong, no doubt; but I could 
 not subdue my shame and my fear. When Clara was once 
 settled at the farm, I was as sad as I had before thought I 
 should be happy, when I reflected on the pleasure of having a 
 companion of my own age. She, on the contrary, was all joy 
 and lightness. She had a bed in my apartment; and the first 
 evening before she went to bed she kissed me, saying, that she 
 loved me already, and felt every kind sentiment towards me. 
 She made me to call her Clara, and she would call me Marie. 
 Then she said her prayers, telling me, that she would join my
 
 THE RECTOR Y-HO USE. 301 
 
 name with hers in her prayers, if I would also unite her name 
 with mine. I did not dare to refuse; and, after talking for some 
 time, she went to sleep. I had not got into my bed, and, ap- 
 proaching her bedside, I contemplated her angel face with tears 
 in my eyes; and then, reflecting that she was sleeping in the 
 same chamber with me with one who had been at the ogress's, 
 mixed up with robbers and murderers, I trembled as if I had 
 committed some crime, and a thousand nameless fears beset me. 
 I thought that God would one day punish me. I went to sleep, 
 and had horrid dreams. I saw again those frightful objects I 
 had nearly forgotten the Chourineur, the Schoolmaster, the 
 Chouette that horrible one-eyed woman who had tortured my 
 earliest infancy. Oh, what a night! Mon Dieu! what a night! 
 What dreams!" said the Goualeuse, shuddering at their very 
 recollection. 
 
 " Poor Marie ! " said the cure with emotion. " Why did you 
 not earlier tell me all this? I should have found comfort for 
 you. But go on." 
 
 " I slept so late, that Mademoiselle Clara awoke me by kissing 
 me. To overcome what she called my coldness, and show her 
 regard, she told me a secret she was going to be married when 
 she was eighteen to the son of a farmer at Goussainville, whom 
 she loved very dearly, and the union had long been agreed upon 
 by the two families. Then she added a few words of her past 
 life, so simple, calm, and happy! She had never quitted her 
 mother, and never intended to do so, for her husband was to take 
 part in the management of the farm with M. Dubreuil. ' Now, 
 Marie/ she said, ' you know me as well as if you were my sister. 
 So tell me all about your early days/ " 
 
 " I thought when I heard the words that I should have died 
 of them; I blushed and stammered; I did not know what 
 Madame Georges had said of me, and I was fearful of telling a 
 falsehood; I answered vaguely, that I had been an orphan, edu- 
 cated by a very rigid person ; and that I had not been happy in 
 my infancy ; and that my happiness was dated from the moment 
 when I had come to live with Madame Georges: then Clara, as 
 much by interest as curiosity, asked me where I had been edu- 
 cated, in the city or the country, my father's name, and, above 
 all, if I remembered anything of my mother. All these ques- 
 tions embarrassed as much as they pained me, for I was obliged 
 to reply with falsehood, and you have taught me, father, how 
 wicked it is to lie; but Clara did not think that I was deceiving 
 her; she attributed the hesitation of my answers to the pain 
 which my early sorrows renewed; she believed me and pitied me
 
 302 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 with a sincerity that cut me to the soul. Oh, father, you never 
 can know what I suffered in this conversation, and how much it 
 cost me only to reply in language of falsehood and hypocrisy ! " 
 
 " Unfortunate girl ! the anger of Heaven will weigh heavily 
 on those who, by casting you into the vile road of perdition, have 
 compelled you to undergo all your life the sad consequences of a 
 first fault." 
 
 " Oh, yes, they were indeed cruel, father," replied Fleur-de- 
 Marie, bitterly, " for my shame is ineffaceable. As Clara talked 
 to me of the happiness that awaited her her marriage, her 
 peaceful joys of home, I could not help comparing my lot with 
 hers; for, in spite of the kindness showered upon me, my fate 
 must always be miserable. You and Madame Georges, in teach- 
 ing me what virtue is, have taught me the depth of that abase- 
 ment into which I had fallen; nothing can take from me the 
 brand of having been the refuse of all that is vilest in the world. 
 Alas ! if the knowledge of good and evil was to be so sad to me, 
 why not have abandoned me to my unhappy fate ? " 
 
 " Oh, Marie, Marie ! " 
 
 "Father, I speak ill, do I not? Alas! I dare not confess it; 
 but I am at times so ungrateful as to repine at the benefits 
 heaped upon me, and to say to myself, 'If I had not been 
 snatched from infamy, why, wretchedness, misery, blows, would 
 soon have ended my life; and, at least, I should have remained 
 in ignorance of that purity which I must forever regret.' " 
 
 " Alas ! Marie, that is indeed fatal ! A nature ever so nobly 
 endowed by the Creator, though plunged but for one day in the 
 foul mire from which you have been extricated, will preserve 
 forever the ineffaceable stigma." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my father," cried Fleur-de-Marie, full of grief, 
 " I must despair until I die ! " 
 
 "You must despair of ever tearing out this frightful page 
 from the book of your existence," said the priest, in a sad and 
 serious voice ; " but you must have faith in the infinite mercy of 
 the Almighty. Here, on earth, my poor child, there are for you 
 tears, remorse, expiation; but, one day, there up there," and 
 he raised his hand to the sky, now filling with stars, "there is 
 pardon and everlasting happiness." 
 
 " Pity, pity, mon Dieuf I am so young, and my life may still 
 endure so long," said the Goualeuse, in a voice rent by agony, 
 and falling at the cure's knees almost involuntarily. 
 
 The priest was standing at the top of the hill, not far from 
 where his " modest mansion rose " ; his black cassock, his vener- 
 able countenance, shaded by long white locks, lighted by the last
 
 THE RECTOR Y-HO USE. 303 
 
 ray of twilight, stood out from the horizon, which was of a deep 
 transparency a perfect clearness: pale gold in the west, sap- 
 phire over his head. The priest again elevated towards heaven 
 one of his tremulous hands, and gave the other to Fleur-de-Marie, 
 who bedewed it with her tears. The hood of her gray cloak fell 
 at this moment from her shoulders, displaying the perfect outline 
 of her lovely profile her charming features full of suffering, 
 and suffused with tears. 
 
 This simple and sublime scene offered a strange contrast a 
 singular coincidence with the horrid one which, almost at the 
 same moment, was passing in the ravine between the School- 
 master and the Chouefte. Concealed in the darkness of the 
 somber cleft, assailed by base fears, a fearful murderer, carrying 
 on his person the punishment of his crimes, was also on his 
 knees, but in presence of an accessory, a sneering, revengeful 
 Fury, who tormented him mercilessly, and urged him on to 
 fresh crimes that accomplice, the first cause of Fleur-de-Marie's 
 misery. 
 
 Of Fleur-de-Marie, whose days and nights were embittered by 
 never-dying remorse; whose anguish, hardly endurable, was not 
 conceivable; surrounded from her earliest days by degraded, 
 cruel, infamous outcasts of society ; leaving the walls of a prison 
 for the den of the ogress even a more horrid prison; never 
 leaving the precincts of her jail, or the squalid streets of the 
 Cite; this unhappy young creature had hitherto lived in utter 
 ignorance of the beautiful and the good, as strange to noble and 
 religious sentiments as to the magnificent splendor of nature. 
 Then all that was admirable in the creature and in the Creator 
 was revealed in a moment to her astonished soul. At this strik- 
 ing spectacle her mind expanded, her intelligence unfolded itself, 
 her noble instincts were awakened; and because her mind ex- 
 panded, because her intelligence was unfolded, because her noble 
 instincts were awakened, yet the very consciousness of her early 
 degradation brings with it the feeling of horror for her past life, 
 alike torturing and enduring she feels as she had described, 
 that, alas ! there are stains which nothing can remove. 
 
 " Ah, unhappiness for me ! " said the Goualeuse, in despair : 
 "my whole life has long to run, it may be; were it as long, as 
 pure as your own, father, it must henceforth be blighted by the 
 knowledge and consciousness of the past: unhappiness for me 
 forever ! " 
 
 " On the contrary, Marie, it is happiness for you yes, happi- 
 ness for you. Your remorse, so full of bitterness, but so purify- 
 ing, testifies the religious susceptibility of your mind. How
 
 304 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 many there are who, less nobly sensitive than you, would, in your 
 place, have soon forgotten the fact, and only revelled in the 
 delight of the present. Believe me, every pang that you now 
 endure will tell in your favor when on high. God has left you 
 for a moment in an unrighteous path, to reserve for you the glory 
 of repentance and the everlasting reward reserved for expiation. 
 Has he not said himself, ' Those who fight the good fight and 
 come to me with a smile on their lips, they are my chosen ; but 
 they who, wounded in the struggle, come to me fainting and 
 dying, they are the chosen amongst my chosen?' Courage, 
 then, my child ! support, help, counsel, nothing will fail you. 
 I am very aged, but Madame Georges and M. Kodolph have still 
 many years before them ; particularly M. Eodolph, who has taken 
 so deep an interest in you, who watches your progress with so 
 much anxiety." 
 
 The Goualeuse was about to reply, when she was interrupted 
 by the peasant girl whom we have already mentioned, who, hav- 
 ing followed in the steps of the cure and Marie, now came up to 
 them. She was one of the peasants of the farm. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, Monsieur le Cure," she said to the priest, 
 " but Madame Georges told me to bring this basket of fruit to 
 the rectory, and then I could accompany Mademoiselle Marie 
 back again, for it is getting late. So I have brought Turk with 
 me," added the dairy-maid, patting an enormous dog of the 
 Pyrenees, which would have mastered a bear in a struggle. 
 " Although we never have any bad people about us here in the 
 country, it is as well to be careful." 
 
 " You are quite right, Claudine. Here we are now at the 
 rectory. Pray thank Madame Georges for me." 
 
 Then addressing the Goualeuse in a low tone, the cure said 
 to her, in a grave voice, 
 
 "I must go to-morrow to the conference of the diocese; but 
 I shall return at five o'clock. If you like, my child, I will wait 
 for you at the rectory. I see your state of mind, and that you 
 require a lengthened conversation with me." 
 
 " I thank you, father," replied Fleur-de-Marie. " To-morrow 
 I will come, since you are so good as to allow me to do so." 
 
 "Here we are at the garden-gate," said the priest. "Leave 
 your basket there, Claudine; my housekeeper will take it. Ee- 
 turn quickly to the farm with Marie, for it is almost night, and 
 the cold is increasing. To-morrow, Marie, at five o'clock." 
 
 " To-morrow, father." 
 
 The abbe went into his garden. The Goualeuse and Claudine, 
 followed by Turk, took the road to the farm.
 
 THE RENCOUNTER. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE RENCOUNTER. 
 
 THE night set in clear and cold. Following the advice of the 
 Schoolmaster, the Chouette had gone to that part of the hollow 
 way which was the most remote from the path, and nearest to 
 the cross-road where Barbillon was waiting with the hackney- 
 coach. Tortillard, who was posted as an advanced guard, 
 watched for the return of Fleur-de-Marie, whom he was desirous 
 of drawing into the trap by begging her to come to the assistance 
 of a poor old woman. The son of Bras Rouge had advanced a 
 few steps out of the ravine to try and discern Marie, when he 
 heard the Goualeuse some way off speaking to the peasant girl 
 who accompanied her. The plan had failed; and Tortillard 
 quickly went down into the ravine to run and inform the 
 Chouette. 
 
 " There is somebody with the young girl," said he, in a low 
 and breathless tone. 
 
 " May the hangman squeeze her weasand, the little beggar ! " 
 exclaimed the Chouette in a rage. 
 
 " Who's with her ? " asked the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Oh, no doubt, the country wench who passed along the road 
 just now, followed by a large dog. I heard a woman's voice," 
 said Tortillard. "Hark! do you hear? There's the noise of 
 their sabots ! " and, in the silence of the night, the wooden 
 soles sounded clearly on the ground hardened by the frost. 
 
 " There are two of 'em. I can manage the young 'un in the 
 gray mantle; but what can we do with t'other? Fourline can't 
 see, and Tortillard is too weak to do for the companion devil 
 choke her ! What can be done ? " asked the Chouette. 
 
 " I'm not strong ; but, if you like, I'll cling to the legs of the 
 countrywoman with the dog. I'll hold on by hands and teeth, 
 and not let her go, I can tell you. You can take away the little 
 one in the meantime, you know, Chouette." 
 
 " If they cry or resist, they will hear them at the farm," re- 
 plied the Chouette, " and come to their assistance before we can 
 reach Barbillon's coach. It is no easy thing to carry off a 
 woman who resists." 
 
 " And they have a large dog with them," said Tortillard. 
 
 " Bah ! bah ! If it was only that, I could break the brute's 
 skull with a blow of my shoe-heel," said the Chouette. 
 
 "Here they are," replied Tortillard, who was listening still
 
 306 TBtt MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 to the echo of their footsteps. "They are coming down the 
 hollow now." 
 
 " Why don't you speak, fourline ? " said the Chouette to the 
 Schoolmaster. " What is best to be done, long-headed as you 
 are, eh ? Are you grown dumb ? " 
 
 " There's nothing to be done to-day," replied the miscreant. 
 
 "And the thousand lob of the man in mourning," said the 
 
 Chouette; "they are gone, then? I'd sooner Your knife 
 
 your knife, fourline! I will stick the companion, that she may 
 be no trouble to us ; and, as to the young miss, Tortillard and I 
 can make off with her." 
 
 "But the man in mourning does not desire that we should 
 kill any one ! " 
 
 " Well, then, we must put the cold meat down as an extra in 
 his bill. He must pay, for he will be an accomplice with us." 
 
 " Here they come down the hill," said Tortillard, softly. 
 
 " Your knife, lad ! " said the Chouette, in a similar tone. 
 
 " Ah, Chouette," cried Tortillard, in alarm, and extending 
 his hands to the hag, " that is too bad to kill. No ! oh, no ! " 
 
 " Your knife, I tell you ! " repeated the Chouette, in an under- 
 tone, without paying the least attention to Tortillard's supplica- 
 tion, and putting her shoes off hastily. " I have taken off my 
 shoes," she added, "that I may steal on them quietly from 
 behind. It is almost dark"; but I can easily make out the little 
 one by her cloak, and I will do for the other." 
 
 " No ! " said the felon ; " to-day it is useless. There will be 
 plenty of time to-morrow." 
 
 " What ! you're afraid, old patterer, are you ? " said the Chou- 
 ette, with fierce contempt. 
 
 " Not at all," replied the Schoolmaster. " But you may fail 
 in your blow, and spoil all." * 
 
 The dog which accompanied the country-woman, scenting the 
 persons hidden in the hollow road, stopped short, and barked 
 furiously, refusing to come to Fleur-de-Marie, who called him 
 frequently. 
 
 " Do you hear their dog? Here they are! Your knife! or, 
 if not " cried the Chouette, with a threatening air.* 
 
 " Come and take it from me, then by force ! " said the 
 Schoolmaster. 
 
 " It's all over it's too late," added the Chouette, after listen- 
 ing for a moment attentively; "they have gone by. You shall 
 pay for that, gallows-bird ! " added she, furiously, shaking her 
 fist at her accomplice. " A thousand francs lost by your 
 stupidity \"
 
 THE RENCOUNTER. 30? 
 
 " A thousand two thousand perhaps three thousand, 
 gained ! " replied the Schoolmaster, in a tone of authority. 
 " Listen, Chouette. Do you go back to Barbillon, and let him 
 drive you to the place where you were to meet the man in mourn- 
 ing. Tell him that it was impossible to do anything to-day, but 
 that to-morrow she shall be carried off. The young girl goes 
 every evening to walk home with the priest, and it was only a 
 chance which to-day led her to meet with anyone. To-morrow 
 we shall have a more secure opportunity. So to-morrow do you 
 return and be with Barbillon at the cross-road in his coach at 
 the same hour." 
 
 " But thou thou ? " 
 
 " Tortillard shall lead me to the farm where the young girl 
 lives. I will cook up some tale say we have lost our road, and 
 ask leave to pass the night at the farm in a corner of the stable. 
 No one could refuse us that. Tortillard will examine all the 
 doors, windows, and ins-and-outs of the house. There is always 
 money to be looked for amongst these farming people. You say 
 the farm is situated in a lone spot; and, when once we know all 
 the ways and outlets, we need only return with some safe friends, 
 and the thing is done as easy " 
 
 " Always downy ! What a head-piece ! " said the Chouette, 
 softening. " Go on, fourline! " 
 
 "To-morrow morning, instead of leaving the farm, I will 
 complain of a pain which prevents me from walking. If they 
 will not believe me, I'll show them the wound which I have 
 always had since I smashed the loop of my darbies, and which is 
 always painful tfc me. I'll say it is a burn I had from a red-hot 
 bar when I was a workman, and they'll believe me. I'll remain 
 at the farm part of the day, whilst Tortillard looks about him. 
 When the evening comes on, and the little wench goes out as 
 usual with the priest, I'll say I'm better, and fit to go away. 
 Tortillard and I will follow the young wench at a distance, and 
 await your coming to us here. As she will know us already, she 
 will have no mistrust when she sees us. We will speak to her, 
 Tortillard and I; and, when once within reach of my arms, I 
 will answer for the rest. She's caught safe enough, and the 
 thousand francs are ours. That is not all. In two or three days 
 we can give the office of the farm to Barbillon and some others, 
 and share with them if they get any swag, as it will be me who 
 put them on the lay." 
 
 " Well done, No-Eyes ! No one can come up to you," said the 
 Chouette, embracing the Schoolmaster. " Your plan is capital ! 
 Tell you what, fourline, when you are done up and old, you must
 
 308 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 turn consulting-pn'<7; you will earn as much money as a big-wig. 
 Come, kiss your old woman, and be off as quick as you may, for 
 these joskins go to sleep with their poultry. I shall go to Bar- 
 billon; and to-morrow, at four o'clock, we will be at the cross- 
 road with the ' trap,' unless he is nabbed for having assisted 
 Gros-Boiteux and the Skeleton to do for the milk-woman's hus- 
 band in the Rue de la Vieille-Draperie. But if he can't come, 
 another can, for the pretended hackney-coach belongs to the man 
 in mourning who has used it before. A quarter of an hour after 
 we get to the cross-road, I will be here and wait for you." 
 
 " All right ! Good-by till to-morrow, Chouette." " 
 
 " I had nearly forgot to give the wax to Tortillard, if there is 
 any lock to get the print of at the farm. Here, chickabiddy, do 
 you know how to use it ? " said the one-eyed wretch to Tortillard, 
 as she gave him a piece of wax. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my father showed me how to use it. I took for him. 
 the print of the lock of a little iron chest which my master the 
 quack-doctor keeps in his small closet." 
 
 " Ah, that's all right ; and, that the wax may not stick, do not 
 forget to moisten the wax after you have warmed it well in your 
 hand." 
 
 " I know all about it," replied Tortillard. 
 
 " To-morrow, then, foitrline" said the Chouette. 
 
 " To-morrow," replied the Schoolmaster. 
 
 The Chouette went towards the coach. The Schoolmaster and 
 Tortillard quitted the hollow way, and bent their steps towards 
 the farm, the lights which shone from the windows serving to 
 guide them on their way. 
 
 Strange fatality, which again brought Anselm Duresnel under 
 the same roof with his wife, who had not seen him since his 
 condemnation to hard labor for life ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 
 
 PERHAPS a more gratifying sight does not exist than the in- 
 terior of a large farm-kitchen prepared for the evening meal, 
 especially during the winter season. Its bright wood fire, the 
 long table 'covered with the savory, smoking dishes, the huge 
 tankards of foaming beer or cider, with the happy countenances 
 scattered round, speak of peaceful labor and healthful industry.
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FAEM. 309 
 
 The farm-kitchen of Bouqueval was a fine exemplification of 
 this remark. Its immense open chimney, about six feet high and 
 eight feet wide, resembled the yawning mouth of some huge 
 oven. On the hearth blazed and sparkled enormous logs of 
 beech or oak; and from this prodigious brazier there issued forth 
 such a body of light, as well as heat, that the large lamp 
 suspended from the center beam sunk into insignificance, and 
 was rendered nearly useless. Every variety of culinary utensils, 
 sparkling in all the brightness of the most elaborate cleanliness, 
 and composed invariably of copper, brass, and tin, glowed in the 
 bright radiance of the winter fire, as they stood ranged with the 
 utmost nicety and effect on their appropriate shelves. An old- 
 fashioned cistern of elaborately polished copper showed its bright 
 face, polished as a mirror; and close beside stood a highly 
 polished bread-trough and cover, composed of walnut-tree wood, 
 rubbed by the hand of housewifery till you could see your face in 
 it, and from which issued a most tempting smell of hot bread. A 
 long and substantial table occupied the center of the kitchen ; a 
 tablecloth, which, though coarse in texture, vied with the falling 
 snow for whiteness, covered its entire length; while for each 
 expected guest was placed an earthenware plate, brown without, 
 but white within, and by its side a knife, fork, and spoon, lus- 
 trous as silver itself. In the midst of the table, an immense 
 tureen of vegetable soup smoked like the crater of a volcano, 
 and diffused its savory vapors over a dish of ham and greens, 
 flanked by a most formidable array of mutton, most relishly 
 stewed with onions and potatoes. Below was placed a large joint 
 ^>f roast veal, followed by two great plates of winter salad, sup- 
 ported by a couple of baskets of apples ; and a similar number of 
 cheeses completed the arrangements of the table. Three or four 
 stone pitchers filled with sparkling cider, and a like quantity of 
 loaves of brown bread, equal in size to the stones of a windmill, 
 were placed at the discretionary use of the supping party. 
 
 An old, shaggy, black shepherd dog, almost toothless, the 
 superannuated patriarch of all the canine tribe employed on the 
 farm, was, by reason of his great age and long services, indulged 
 with permission to enjoy the cheering warmth of the chimney- 
 corner; but, using his privilege with the utmost modesty and 
 discretion, this venerable servitor, who answered to the pastoral 
 name of Lysander, lay quietly stretched out in a secure side- 
 nook, his nose resting on his paws, watching with the deepest 
 attention the various culinary preparations which preceded the 
 supper. 
 
 The bill of fare thus presented to the reader, as the ordinary
 
 310 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 mode of living at the farm of Bouqueval, may strike some of our 
 readers as unnecessarily sumptuous ; but Madame Georges, faith- 
 fully following out the wishes of Kodolph, endeavored by all 
 possible means to improve the comforts of the laborers on the 
 farm, who were always selected as being the most worthy and 
 industrious individuals of their district. They were well paid, 
 liberally treated, and so kindly used, that to be engaged on the 
 Bouqueval farm was the highest ambition of all the best laborers 
 in that part of the country an ambition which most essentially 
 promoted the welfare and advantage of the masters they then 
 served; for no applicant for employment at Bouqueval could 
 obtain a favorable hearing, unless he came provided with most 
 satisfactory testimonials from his last employer. 
 
 Thus, though on a very small scale, had Kodolph created a 
 species of model farm, which had for its aim not only the im- 
 provement of animals and agricultural operations, but, above all, 
 improving the nature of man himself; and this he effected by 
 making it worth their while to be active, honest, and intelli- 
 gent. 
 
 After having completed all the preparations for supper, and 
 placed on the table a jug of wine to accompany the dessert, the 
 farm-cook sounded the welcome tocsin, which told all that the 
 cheering meal was prepared, and, their evening toil concluded, 
 they might freely enjoy the delights of wholesome and temperate 
 refreshment. Ere the sound had ceased to vibrate on the ear, a 
 merry, joyous throng, composed of men and maidens to the num- 
 ber of twelve or fifteen, crowded round the table; the men had 
 open, manly countenances, the women looked healthy and good- 
 humored, while the young girls belonging to the party wore the 
 brightest glow of youth and innocence. Every face was lighted 
 up with frank gaiety, content, and the satisfaction arising from 
 the consciousness of having well fulfilled one's duty. Thus 
 happily prepared in mind and body to do justice to the excellent 
 fare set before them, the happy party took their appointed places 
 at table. 
 
 The upper end was occupied by an old white-haired laborer, 
 whose fine, bold, yet sensible expression of face, bespoke him a 
 descendant of the ancient Gaulish mothers of the soil. 
 
 Father Chatelain (for so was this Nestor called) had worked 
 on the farm from his early childhood. When Kodolph purchased 
 the farm, the old servant had been strongly recommended to him, 
 and he was forthwith raised to the rank of overlooker, and, under 
 the orders of Madame Georges, general superintendent of all 
 outdoor work; and unbounded, indeed, was the influence pos-
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 311 
 
 sessed by Father Chatelain by virtue of his age, his knowledge, 
 and experience. 
 
 Everyone having taken their seat, Father Chatelain, having 
 fervently invoked a blessing, then, in pursuance of an ancient 
 and pious custom, marked one of the loaves with a figure of a 
 cross, and cut off a large slice as the share of the Virgin or the 
 poor, then, pouring out a glass of wine with a similar consecra- 
 tion to charitable purposes, he reverently placed both bread and 
 wine on a plate placed in the center of the table purposely to re- 
 ceive them. At this moment the yard dogs barked furiously; 
 old Lysander replied by a low growl, and, curling back his upper 
 lip, displayed two or three still formidable fangs. 
 
 " Some person is passing near the wall of the courtyard/' ob- 
 served Father Chatelain. 
 
 Scarcely had the words been uttered, than the bell of the 
 great gate sounded. 
 
 " Who can this possibly be at so late an hour ? " said the old 
 laborer ; " everyone belonging to the place is in. Go and see 
 who it is, Jean Kene." 
 
 The individual thus addressed was a stout, able-bodied young 
 laborer on the farm, who was then busily employed blowing his 
 scalding hot soup, with a force of lungs that ^Eolus himself 
 might have envied; but, used to prompt obedience, in a moment 
 the half-raised spoon was deposited in its place, and, half stifling 
 a sigh of regret, he departed on his errand. 
 
 " This is the first time our good Madame Georges and Made- 
 moiselle Marie have failed paying a visit to the warm chimney- 
 corner, and looking on whilst we took our supper, for this long 
 time," said Father Chatelain. " I am hungry as a hunter, but I 
 shall not relish my supper half so well." 
 
 " Madame Georges is in the chamber of Mademoiselle Marie, 
 who found herself somewhat indisposed on her return from es- 
 corting M. le Cure to the rectory," replied Claudine, the girl 
 who had conducted La Goualeuse back from the rectory, and 
 thus unconsciously frustrated the evil designs of the Chouette. 
 
 " I trust Mademoiselle Marie is only indisposed, not seriously 
 ill, is she, Claudine?" inquired the old man, with almost pa- 
 ternal anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, dear no, Father Chatelain ! God forbid ! I hope and 
 believe our dear mademoiselle is only just a little struck with 
 the cold of the night, and her walk perhaps fatigued her. I 
 trust she will be quite well by to-morrow; indeed Madame 
 Georges told me as much, and said that, if she had had any 
 fears, she should have sent to Paris for M. David, the Negro
 
 312 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 doctor, who took such care of mademoiselle when she was so 
 ill. Well, I cannot make out how anyone can endure a black 
 doctor ! for my part I should not have the slightest confidence in 
 anything he said or did. No, no ! if one must have a doctor, let 
 it be a Christian man with a white skin; but a downright black- 
 amoor ! oh, saints above ! why, the very sight of him by my bed- 
 side would kill me ! " 
 
 " But did not this Monsieur David cure Mademoiselle Marie 
 from the long illness with which she suffered when she first 
 came here?" inquired the old man. 
 
 " Yes, Father Chatelain, he certainly did." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Ah! but for all that, Father 'Chatelain, a doctor with' a 
 black face is enough to terrify anyone I should scream myself 
 into fits if he were to come rolling up the great whites of his 
 eyes at me." 
 
 " But is not this M. David the same person who cured Dame 
 Anica of that dreadful wound in her leg, which had confined 
 her to her bed for upwards of three years ? " 
 
 "Yes, exactly so, Father Chatelain; he certainly did set old 
 Dame Anica up again." 
 
 "Well, then, my child?" 
 
 " Nay, but only think ! a black man ! and when one is ill, 
 too ! when one can so ill bear up against such horrid things. If 
 he were only a LITTLE dark, or even deep BROWN, but quite, 
 QUITE a black all black oh, Father Chatelain, I really cannot 
 bring myself to think of it ! " 
 
 "Tell me, my child, what color is your favorite heifer 
 Musette ? " 
 
 " Oh, white white as a swan, Father Chatelain ; and such a 
 milker! I can say that for the poor thing without the least 
 falsehood, a better cow we have not got on the farm." 
 
 "And your other favorite, Eosette?" 
 
 "Rosette! oh, she is as black as a raven, not one white hair 
 about her I should say; and, indeed, to do her justice, she is 
 a first-rate milker also. I hardly know which is the best, she 
 .or my pretty Musette." 
 
 " And what colored milk does she give ? " 
 
 "Why, white, of course, Father Chatelain; I really thought 
 you knew that." 
 
 " Is her milk as white and as good as the milk of your snowy 
 pet Musette?" 
 
 " Every bit as good in color and quality." 
 
 " Although Eosette is a black cow ? "
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 313 
 
 "To be sure! why, Father Chatelain, what difference can it 
 possibly make to the milk whether the cow that gives it is black, 
 white, red, or brown ? " 
 
 " How, then, my good girl, can it in any way signify whether 
 a doctor has a black or white skin, or what his complexion may 
 be?" 
 
 " Well," answered Claudine, fairly hunted into a corner from 
 v/hich no argument could rescue her, "well, as regards what 
 makes a black doctor not so good as a white one, it is it is, 
 because a black skin is so very ugly to look at, and a white one 
 is so much more agreeable to one's eyes: I'm sure I can't think 
 of any other reason, Father Chatelain, if I try forever; but with 
 cows the color of the skin makes not the very least difference, 
 of that you may be assured; but, then, you know there's a deal 
 of difference between a cow and a man." 
 
 These not very clear physiognomical reflections of Claudine, 
 touching the effect of light or dark skins in the human and 
 animal race, were interrupted by the return of Jean Rene, blow- 
 ing his fingers with animation as he had before blown his 
 soup. 
 
 " Oh, how cold ! how cold it is this night ! " exclaimed he, on 
 entering ; " it is enough to freeze one to death : it is a pretty deal 
 more snug and comfortable in-doors than out this bitter night. 
 Oh, how cold it is ! " 
 
 "Why, 
 
 'The frost that cometh from North and East 
 Biteth the most and ceaseth the least.' 
 
 Don't you know that, my lad ? " said the old superintendent 
 Chatelam. " But who was it that rang so late ? " 
 
 " A poor blind man and a boy who leads him about, Father 
 Chatelain." 
 
 "And what does this poor blind man want?" inquired 
 Chatelain. 
 
 " The poor man and his son were going by the cross-road to 
 Louvres, and have lost themselves in the snow; and as the cold 
 is enough to turn a man into an icicle, and the night is pitch 
 dark, the poor blind father has come to entreat permission for 
 himself and lad to pass the night on the farm : he says he shall 
 be forever thankful for leave to lie on a little straw under a 
 hovel, or in any out-building." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, I am quite sure that Madame Georges, who 
 never refuses charity to any unfortunate being, will willingly 
 permit them to do so ; but we must first acquaint her with it :
 
 314 TEE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 go, Claudine, and tell her the whole story." Claudine disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " And where is this poor man waiting ? " asked Father Chate- 
 lain. 
 
 " In the little barn just by." 
 
 " But why in the barn ? why put him there ? " 
 
 " Bless you, if I had left him in the yard, the dogs would 
 have eaten him up alive ! Why, Father Chatelain, it was no use 
 for me to call out ' Quiet, Medor ! come here, Turk ! down, Sul- 
 tan ! ' I never saw dogs in such a fury. And, besides, we don't 
 use our dogs on the farm to fly at poor folks, as they are 
 trained to do at other places." 
 
 " Well, my lads, it seems that the ' share for the poor ' has 
 not been laid aside in vain to-night. But try and sit a little 
 closer; there, that 'ill do; now put two more plates and knives 
 and forks for this blind traveler and his boy, for I feel quite 
 certain what Madame Georges' answer will be, and that she will 
 desire them to be housed here for the night." 
 
 " It is really a thing I can't make out," said Jean Eene, 
 " about the dogs being so very violent, especially Turk, who went 
 with Claudine this evening to the rectory. Why, when I stroked 
 him, to try and pacify him, I felt his coat standing up on end 
 like so many bristles of a porcupine. Now what do you say to 
 that, eh, Father Chatelain you who know almost everything?" 
 
 " Why, my lad, I, who "know everything, say just this, that 
 the beasts know far more than I do, and can see farther. I re- 
 member, in the autumn, when the heavy rains had so swollen the 
 little river, I was returning with my team-horses one dark 
 night I was riding upon Cuckoo, the old roan horse, and, deuce 
 take me, if I could make out any spot it would be safe to wade 
 through, for the night was as dark as the mouth of a pit. Well, 
 I threw the bridle on old Cuckoo's back, and he soon found what, 
 111 answer for it, none of us could have discovered. Now who 
 taught the dumb brute to know the safe from the unsafe parts 
 of the stream, let me ask you ? " 
 
 " Ay, Father Chatelain, that's what I was waiting to ask YOU. 
 Who taught the old roan to discover danger and escape from it 
 so cleverly ? " 
 
 " The same Almighty wisdom which instructs the swallow 
 to build in our chimneys, and guides the marten to make his 
 nest among the reeds of our banks, my lad. Well, Claudine," 
 said the ancient oracle of the kitchen to the blooming dairy- 
 maid, who just then entered, bearing on her arms two pairs of 
 snowy white sheets, from which an odoriferous smell of sage and
 
 AN EVENING AT TUB FARM. 315 
 
 thyme was wafted along " well, I make no doubt but Madame 
 Georges has sent permission for these poor creatures, the blind 
 man and his child, to sleep here, has she not ? " 
 
 "These sheets are to prepare beds for them, in the little 
 room at the end of the passage," said Claudine. 
 
 "Go and bid them come in, then, Jean Rene; and you, 
 Claudine, my good girl, put a couple of chairs near the fire 
 they will be glad of a good warm before sitting down to table. 
 
 The furious barking of the dogs was now renewed, mingled 
 with the voice of Jean Rene, who was endeavoring to pacify 
 them; the door of the kitchen was abruptly opened, and the 
 Schoolmaster and Tortillard entered with as much precipitation 
 as though they feared a pursuit from some dangerous foe. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, keep off your dogs ! " cried the 
 Schoolmaster, in the utmost terror; "they have been trying to 
 bite us!" 
 
 " They have torn a great bit out of my blouse," whined 
 Tortillard, shivering with cold and pale with fear. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, good man," said Jean Rene, shutting 
 the door securely; "but I never before saw our dogs in such a 
 perfect fury it must be the cold makes them so spiteful; per- 
 haps, being half dozen, they fancied biting you would serve to 
 warm them there is no knowing what mere animals may mean 
 by what they do." 
 
 " Why, are you going to begin, too ? " exclaimed the old far- 
 mer, as Lysander, who had hitherto lain perfectly happy in the 
 radiance of the glowing fire, started up, and, growling fiercely, 
 was about to fly at the strangers. " This old dog is quiet enough, 
 but, having heard the other dogs make such a furious noise, he 
 thinks he must do the same. Will you lie down and be quiet, 
 you old brute? Do you hear, sir? lie down! " 
 
 At these words from Father Chatelain, accompanied by a 
 significant motion of the foot, Lysander, with a low deep growl 
 of dissatisfaction, slowly returned to his favorite corner by the 
 hearth, while the Schoolmaster and Tortillard remained trem- 
 bling by the kitchen-door, as though fearful of approaching 
 farther. The features of the ruffian were so hideous, from the 
 frightful effects produced by the cold, that some of the servants 
 in the kitchen shuddered with alarm, while others recoiled in 
 disgust : this impression was not lost on Tortillard, who felt re- 
 assured by the terrors of the villagers, and even felt proud of 
 the repulsiveness of his companion. This first confusion over, 
 Father Chatelain, thinking only of worthily discharging the 
 duties of hospitality, said to the Schoolmaster,
 
 316 TUB MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Come, my good friend come near the fire and warm your- 
 self thoroughly, and then you shall have some supper with us; 
 for you happened to come very fortunately, just as we were 
 sitting down to table. Here, sit down, just where I have placed 
 your chair. But what am I thinking about ? " added the worthy 
 old laborer. " I ought to have spoken to your son, not you, 
 seeing that it has pleased God to take away your eyesight a 
 heavy loss, a heavy loss; but let us hope all for your good, my 
 friend, though you may not now think so. Here, my boy, lead 
 your father to that snug place in the chimney-corner." 
 
 " Yes, kind sir," drawled out Tortillard, with a nasal twang 
 and canting, hypocritical tone ; " may God bless you for your 
 charity to the poor blind ! Here, father, take my arm ; lean on 
 my shoulder, father ; take care, take care, gently ; " and, with 
 affected zeal and tenderness, the urchin guided the steps of the 
 brigand till they reached the indicated spot. As the pair ap- 
 proached Lysander, he uttered a low growling noise; but as the 
 Schoolmaster brushed past him, and the sagacious animal had 
 full scent of his garments, he broke out into one of those deep 
 howls with which, it is asserted by the superstitious, dogs fre- 
 quently announce an approaching death. 
 
 " What, in the devil's name, do all these cursed animals mean 
 by their confounded noise ?" said the Schoolmaster to him- 
 self. " Can they smell the blood on my clothes, I wonder ? for, 
 I now recollect I wore the trousers I have on at present the 
 night the cattle-dealer was murdered." 
 
 " Did you notice that? " inquired Jean Rene of Father Chate- 
 lain. " Why, I vow that, as often as old Lysander had caught 
 scent of the wandering stranger, he actually set up a regular 
 death-howl." 
 
 And this remark was followed up by a most singular confirma- 
 tion of the fact ; the cries of Lysander were so loud and mourn- 
 ful, that the other dogs caught the sound (for the farm-yard was 
 only separated from the kitchen by a glazed window in the 
 latter), and, according to the custom of the canine race, they 
 each strove who should outdo the other in repeating and pro- 
 longing the funereal wail, which according to vulgar belief, al- 
 ways foretells death. Though but little given to superstitious 
 dread, the farm-people looked from one to another with a feeling 
 of wonder not unmixed with awe. Even the Schoolmaster him- 
 self, diabolically hardened as he was, felt a cold shudder steal 
 over him at the thought that all these fatal sounds burst forth 
 upon the approach of him the self-convicted murderer! while 
 Tortillard, too audacious and hardened to enter into such alarms,
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 317 
 
 with all the infidelity in which he had been trained, even from 
 his mother's arms, looked on with delighted mockery at the uni- 
 versal panic, and was, perhaps, the only person present devoid 
 of an uneasy feeling; but, once freed from his apprehensions of 
 suffering from the violence of the animals, he listened even with 
 pleasure to the horrible discord of their long drawn-out wailings, 
 and felt almost tempted to pardon them the fright they had 
 originally occasioned him, in consideration of the perfect terror 
 they had struck into the inhabitants of the farm, and for the 
 gratification he derived from the convulsive horror of the School- 
 master. But after the momentary stupor had passed away Jean 
 Rene again quitted the kitchen, and the loud cracking of his 
 whip soon put an end to the prophetic bowlings of Medor, Turk, 
 and Sultan, and quickly dispersed them to their separate kennels, 
 and as the noise ceased the gloomy cloud passed away from the 
 kitchen, and the peasants looked up with the same honest cheer- 
 fulness they had worn upon the entrance of the two travelers. 
 Erelong they had left off wondering at the repulsive ugliness 
 of the Schoolmaster, and only thought with pity of his great 
 affliction, in being blind ; they commiserated the lameness of the 
 poor boy, admired the interesting sharpness of his countenance, 
 the deep, cute glance of his ever-moving eye, and, above all, 
 loaded him with praises for the extreme care and watchfulness 
 with which he attended to his afflicted parent. The appetite 
 of the laborers, which had been momentarily forgotten, now re- 
 tTirned with redoubled violence, and for a time nothing could be 
 heard but the clattering of plates and rattling of knives and 
 forks. Still, however busily employed with their suppers, the 
 servants assembled round the table, both male and female, could 
 not but remark, with infinite pleasure, the tender assiduity of 
 the lad towards the blind creature who sat beside him. Nothing 
 could exceed the devoted affection and filial care with which 
 Tortillard prepared his meat for him, cutting both that and his 
 bread with most accurate nicety, pouring out his drink, and 
 never attempting even to taste a morsel himself, till his father 
 expressed himself as having completed his supper. But, for all 
 this dutiful attention, the young ruffian took ample and bitter 
 revenge. Instigated as much by an innate spirit of cruelty as the 
 desire of imitation natural to his age, Tortillard found an equal 
 enjoyment with the Chouette in having something to torment 
 (a bete de souffrance) ; and it was a matter of inexpressible ex- 
 ultation to his wretched mind that he, a poor, distorted, crip- 
 pled, abject creature, should have it in his power to tyrannize 
 over so powerful and ferocious a creature as the Schoolmaster,
 
 318 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 it was like torturing a muzzled tiger. He even refined his grati- 
 fication, by compelling his victim to endure all the agonies he 
 inflicted, without wincing or exhibiting the slightest external 
 sign of his suffering. Thus he accompanied each outward mark 
 of devoted tenderness towards his supposed parent, by aiming a 
 severe kick against the Schoolmaster's legs, on one of which 
 there was (in common with many who had long worked in the 
 galleys) a deep and severe wound, the effect of the heavy iron 
 chain worn during the term of punishment round the right leg; 
 and, by way of compelling the miserable sufferer to exercise a 
 greater degree of Stoical courage, the urchin always seized the 
 moment when the object of his malice was either drinking 
 or speaking. 
 
 " Here, dear father ! here is a nice peeled nut," said Tortillard, 
 placing on the plate of his supposed parent a nut carefully pre- 
 pared. 
 
 " Good boy," said old Chatelain, smiling kindly at him. Then, 
 addressing the bandit, he added, " However great may be your 
 affliction, my friend, so good a son is almost sufficient to make 
 tip even for the loss of sight: but Providence is so gracious, 
 He never takes away one blessing without sending another." 
 
 " You are quite right, kind sir ! My lot is a very hard 
 one, and, but for the noble conduct of my excellent child, 
 I " 
 
 A sharp cry of irrepressible anguish here broke from the 
 quivering lips of the tortured man; the son of Bras Rouge had 
 this time aimed his blow so effectually, that the point of his 
 heavy-nailed shoe had reached the very center of the wound, and 
 produced unendurable agony. 
 
 " Father ! dear father ! what is the matter ? " exclaimed Tortil- 
 lard, in a whimpering voice ; then, suddenly rising, he threw both 
 his arms round the Schoolmaster's neck, whose first impulse of 
 rage and pain was to stifle the limping varlet in his Herculean 
 grasp : and so powerfully did he compress the boy's chest against 
 his own, that his impeded respiration vented itself in a low 
 moaning sound. A few minutes, and Tortillard's last prank 
 would have been played; but, reflecting that the lad was for 
 the present indispensable to the furtherance of the schemes he 
 had on hand, the Schoolmaster, by a violent effort, controlled his 
 desire to annihilate his tormentor, and contented himself with 
 pushing him off his shoulders back into his own chair. The 
 sympathizing group around the table were far from seeing 
 through all this, and merely considered these close embraces as 
 an interchange of paternal and filial tenderness, while the half
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 319 
 
 suffocation and deadly pallor of Tortillard they attributed to 
 emotion caused by the sudden illness of his beloved father. 
 
 " What ailed you just now, my good man? " inquired Father 
 Chatelain ; " only see, you have quite frightened your poor boy. 
 Why, he looks pale as death, and can scarcely breathe. Come, 
 my little man; you must not take on so your father is all 
 right again." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, gentlemen all," replied the Schoolmaster, 
 controlling himself with much difficulty, for the pain he was still 
 enduring was most excruciating. " I am better now. I'll tell 
 you, with your kind leaves, all about it. You see I am by trade 
 a working locksmith, and, one day that I was employed in beat- 
 ing out a huge bar of red hot iron, it fell over on my two legs, 
 and burnt them so dreadfully, that it has never healed; un- 
 fortunately, just now, I happened to strike the leg that is worst 
 against the table, and the sudden agony it occasioned me drew 
 forth the sudden cry which so much disturbed all this good com- 
 pany, and for which I humbly beg pardon." 
 
 " Poor dear father ! " whined out Tortillard, casting a look 
 of fiendish malice at the shivering Schoolmaster, and wholly re- 
 covered from his late attack of excessive emotion. " Poor father ! 
 you have indeed got a bad leg nobody can cure. Ah, kind gentle- 
 men, I hope you will never have such a shocking wound, and be 
 obliged to hear all the doctors say it never will get well. No! 
 never never. Oh, my dear, dear father ! how I wish I could but 
 suffer the pain instead of you ! " 
 
 At this tender, moving speech, the females present expressed 
 the. utmost admiration for the dutiful speaker, and began feel- 
 ing in their vast pockets for some more substantial mark of their 
 regard. 
 
 " It is unlucky, my honest friend," said old Chatelain, address- 
 ing the Schoolmaster, "you had not happened to come to this 
 farm about three weeks ago, instead of to-night." 
 
 " And why so, if you please ? " 
 
 " Because we had staying for a few days in the house a cele- 
 brated Paris doctor, who has an infallible remedy for all dis- 
 eases of the legs. A worthy old woman, belonging to our 
 village, had been confined to her bed upwards of three years 
 with some affection of the legs. Well, this doctor, being here, as 
 I said, heard of the case, applied an unguent to the wounds, 
 and now, bless you, she is as surefooted, ay, and as swift too, as 
 any of our young girls; and the first holiday she makes she in- 
 tends walking to the house of her benefactor, in the Alice des 
 Veuves, at Paris, to return her grateful thanks. To be sure it
 
 320 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 is a good step from hence, but then, as Mother Anica says 
 
 Why, what has come over you again, my friend? is your leg 
 still so painful ? " 
 
 The mention of the Alice des Veuves had recalled such fright- 
 ful recollections to the Schoolmaster, that, involuntarily, a cold 
 shudder shook his frame, while a fearful spasm, by contracting 
 his ghastly countenance, made it appear still more hideous. 
 
 " Yes/' replied he, trying to conceal his emotion, " a sudden 
 darting pain seized me, and Pray excuse my interrupt- 
 ing your kind and sensible discourse, and be pleased to pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 " It really is a great pity," resumed the old laborer, " that 
 this excellent doctor should not be with us at present; but I 
 tell you what, he is as good as he is skilful, and I am quite sure, 
 if you let your little lad conduct you to his house when you re- 
 turn to Paris, that he will cure you. His address is not difficult 
 to recollect, it is 17 Allee des Veuves. Even should you forget 
 the number, it will not matter, for there are but very few doctors 
 in the neighborhood, and no other Negro surgeon for only 
 imagine this clever, kind, and charitable man is a black, but his 
 heart is white and good. His name is David Doctor David 
 you will be able to remember that name I dare say." 
 
 The features of the Schoolmaster were so seamed and scarred 
 that it was difficult to perceive when his color varied. He did, 
 however, on the present occasion, turn ghastly pale as he first 
 heard the exact number mentioned of Eodolph's house, and 
 afterwards the description of the black doctor of David, the 
 Negro surgeon, who, by Eodolph's orders, had inflicted on him 
 the fearful punishment, the terrible results of which were each 
 hour more painfully developed. Father Chatelain, however, 
 was too much interested in his subject to notice the deadly 
 paleness of the Schoolmaster, and proceeded with his dis- 
 course : 
 
 " When you leave us, my poor fellow, we will be sure to write 
 his address on a slip of paper and give it to your son, for I 
 know that, besides putting you in a certain way to be cured of 
 your painful wound, it will be gratifying to M. David to be able 
 to relieve your sufferings. Oh, he is so good never so happy as 
 when he has rendered any person a service. I wish he had not 
 always that mournful and dejected look. I fear he has some 
 heavy care near his heart ; and he so good, so full of pity for all 
 who suffer. Well, well, Providence will bless him in another 
 world ; but come, friend, let us drink to the health and happiness 
 of your future benefactor here take this mug."
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 321 
 
 " No, thank you ! " returned the Schoolmaster, with a gloomy 
 air; " none for me. I I am not thirsty, and I never drink un- 
 less I am." 
 
 " Nay, friend, but this is good old wine I have poured out for 
 you ; not cider," said the laborer. " Many tradespeople do not 
 drink as good. Bless your heart, this farm is not conducted as 
 other farms are what do you think of our style of living, by the 
 by? have you relished your supper?" 
 
 " All very good," responded the Schoolmaster mechani- 
 cally, more and more absorbed in the painfulness of his 
 ideas. 
 
 " Well, then, as we live one day, so we do another. We work 
 well, we live well, we have a good conscience, and an equally 
 good bed to rest upon after the labors of the day. Our lives roll 
 on in peace and contentment. There are seven laborers con- 
 stantly employed on the farm, who are paid almost double wages 
 to what others get; but then I can venture to assert, that if we 
 are paid double, we do as much work among us as fourteen 
 ordinary laborers would do. The mere husbandry servants have 
 one hundred and fifty crowns a year, the dairy-women and 
 other females engaged about the place sixty crowns, and a tenth 
 share of the produce of the farm is divided among us all. You 
 may suppose we do not idle away much time, or fail to make hay 
 while the sun shines, for Nature is a bountiful mother, and ever 
 returns a hundredfold to those who assiduously seek her favor; 
 the more we give her, the more she returns." 
 
 " Your master cannot get very rich if he treats you and pays 
 you thus liberally," said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Oh, our master is different to all others, and has a mode of 
 repaying himself peculiarly his own." 
 
 " From what you say," answered the blind man, hoping by 
 engaging in conversation to escape from the gloominess of his 
 own thoughts, "your master must be a very extraordinary per- 
 son." 
 
 " Indeed he is, my good man, a most uncommon master to 
 meet with. Now as chance has brought you among us, and a 
 strange though a lucky chance for you it has proved, lying out 
 of the highroad as this village does, it is so very seldom any 
 stranger ever finds it out. Well, I was going to say, here you 
 are, and no fault to find with your quarters, is there? Now, in 
 all human probability, when you turn your back upon the place, 
 you will never return to it, but you shall not depart without 
 hearing from me a description of our master and all he has done 
 for the farm, upon condition that you promise to repeat it again
 
 322 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 wherever you go, and to whomsoever you may meet with. You 
 will see I mean, I beg pardon, you will then be able to under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I listen to you/' answered the Schoolmaster ; " proceed." 
 " And I can promise you you will not be throwing away your 
 time by listening," replied the venerable Chatelain. " Now one 
 day our master thought all at once : ' Here am I, rich enough to 
 eat two dinners a day if I liked, but I don't. Now suppose I 
 were to provide a meal for those who have none at all, and 
 enable such as can barely procure half a dinner to enjoy as much 
 good food as they desired, would not that be better than over- 
 indulging myself ? So it shall be,' says he, and away he goes to 
 work, and, first thing, he buys this farm, which was not much 
 of a concern then, and scarcely kept a couple of plows at work; 
 and, being born and bred on the place, I ought to know some- 
 thing about it. Next, master made considerable additions to 
 the farm. I'll tell you all about that by and by. At the head 
 of the farm he placed a most worthy and respectable female, 
 who had known a great deal of trouble in her past life master 
 always chose out people for their goodness and their misfortunes, 
 and, when he brought the person I am telling you of here, he 
 said to her in my hearing, ' I wish this place to be like the 
 temple of our great Maker, open to the deserving and the af- 
 flicted, but closed against the wicked and hardened reprobate.' 
 So idle beggars are always turned from the gate; but those who 
 are able and willing to work have always the opportunity set 
 before them : the charity of labor, our master says, is no humilia- 
 tion to him who receives it, but a favor and service conferred on 
 the person whose labor is thus done; and the rich man, who does 
 not act upon this principle, but ill employs his wealth. So said 
 our master. But he did more than talk he acted. There was 
 formerly a road from here to Ecouen, which cut off a good mile 
 of distance, but, Lord love you ! it was one great rutty bog, im- 
 possible to get up or down it; it was the death of every horse, 
 and certain destruction to every vehicle that attempted to pass 
 through it. A little labor, and a trifling amount of money, from 
 each farmer in the adjoining country, would soon have repaired 
 the road; but they never could be brought to any unanimity on 
 the subject, and, in proportion as one farmer would be anxious 
 to contribute towards putting the road in order, the others would 
 invariably decline sending either men or money to assist. So 
 our master, perceiving all this, said, ' The road shall be repaired ; 
 but as those who can afford to contribute will not, and as it is 
 more for convenience and accommodation to the rich than neces-
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 323 
 
 sity for the poor, it shall first become useful to those who would 
 work if they could get it to do, who have heart, and hands, and 
 courage, but no employ. Well, this road shall be reserved as a 
 constant occupation for persons of this description. Horsemen, 
 and carriages belonging to the rich and affluent, who care not 
 how roads are repaired, so they can travel at their ease, may go 
 round by the farther side.' So, for example, whenever a strong, 
 sturdy fellow presented himself at the farm, pleading hunger 
 and want of work, I'd say to him, ' Here, my lad ; here is a basin 
 of warm, nourishing soup take it and welcome: then, if you 
 wish for work, here is a pickax and spade, one of our people 
 will show you the Ecouen road, make every day twelve feet of it 
 good, by spreading and breaking the flints; and every evening, 
 after your work is examined, you shall receive at the rate of 
 forty sous for the quantity named ; twenty sous for half as much ; 
 and ten sous for a quarter; for less than that, nothing at all/ 
 Then, towards evening, upon my return from labor, I used to go 
 on the road, measure their work, and examine whether it was 
 well done." 
 
 " And only to think," interposed Jean Rene, in a fit of vir- 
 tuous indignation, " only think, now, of there coming two 
 heartless vagabonds, who drank their soup and walked off with 
 the pickax and shovel. It is enough to sicken one of doing 
 good or trying to benefit one's fellow-creatures." 
 
 "Quite right, Master Eene," exclaimed the other laborers; 
 " so it is." 
 
 " Come, come, lads," resumed Father Chatelain, " don't be 
 too warm. Just see here ! We might as well say it is useless to 
 plant trees, or sow grain, because there are caterpillars, weevils, 
 and other injurious insects, that gnaw the leaves or devour the 
 seeds put in the ground. No, no ! we destroy the vermin. But 
 God Almighty, who is no niggard, causes fresh buds to burst 
 forth and new ears of corn to sprout ; the damage is abundantly 
 repaired, and no trace remains of the mischievous insects which 
 have passed over our work. Am, I not right, my friend ? " said 
 the old laborer, addressing the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " No doubt no doubt," replied the latter, who had appeared 
 for some time past lost in a train of serious meditation. 
 
 " Then, as for women and children, there is plenty of occu- 
 pation for them also, according to their age and strength," added 
 Father Chatelain. 
 
 " Yet, spite of all this," observed Claudine, joining in the 
 conversation, " the road gets on but very slowly." 
 
 " Which only goes to prove, my good girl, that in this part of
 
 324 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 the country there is happily no scarcity of employment for the 
 honest and industrious laborer." 
 
 " But now, as in the case of a poor, helpless, afflicted creature 
 such as I am," said the Schoolmaster, hastily, " would not the 
 worthy owner of the farm grant me a humble corner in it for 
 charity's sake a shelter and a morsel of bread for the little 
 while I have to remain a burden to anyone in this troublesome 
 world? Oh, my worthy sir, could I but obtain such a boon, I 
 would pass the remainder of my days in praying for a blessing 
 on my benefactor." 
 
 And these words were really pronounced in entire sincerity 
 of meaning; not that compunction for his many crimes touched 
 the brigand's stony heart, but he contrasted the happy peace- 
 fulness of the lives of these laborers to his own wretched, stormy 
 existence; and still further did he envy them when he reflected 
 upon all that the Chouette might have in store for him : he 
 shuddered as he reflected upon the future she would provide for 
 him, and more than ever regretted, by having recalled his 
 old accomplice, having forever lost the means of dwelling with 
 good and honest persons, such as those with whom the Chou- 
 rineur had placed him. Father Chatelain surveyed the School- 
 master with an air of surprise. 
 
 " My good man," said he, " I did not know you were so utterly 
 destitute." 
 
 " Alas ! yes, it is even so. I lost my sight hy an accident while 
 working at my trade. I am going to Louvres to endeavor to 
 find a distant relation there, who, I hope, may be willing to assist 
 me. But, you are aware, people are not always so open-hearted 
 as they should be; they do not like distressed objects, such as 
 myself, coming to claim kindred, and are frequently harsh and 
 unkind," answered the Schoolmaster, sighing deeply. 
 
 " But the most selfish heart would grieve at your distress," re- 
 plied the old laborer. " The most hard-hearted relative would 
 pity a man like you a good and honest workman overtaken hy a 
 sudden calamity, and left without hope or help. Then the mov- 
 ing spectacle of this young and tender child, your only friend 
 and guide, would wring pity from the very stones. But how is 
 it that the master for whom you worked previously to your ac- 
 cident has done nothing for you ? " 
 
 " He is now dead," said the Schoolmaster, after a short hesi- 
 tation ; " and he was my only friend upon earth." 
 
 " But then there is the hospital for the blind." 
 
 " I am not the right age to qualify me for admission." 
 
 " Poor man ! yours is, indeed, a hard case."
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 325 
 
 " Do you think it likely that, in the event of my relation at 
 Louvres refusing to assist me, your master, whom I already re- 
 spect without knowing, would take pity on me ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, you see, the farm is not a hospital. Our 
 general rule is to grant all infirm or afflicted travelers a tempo- 
 rary shelter of a night or a day in the house. Then some assist- 
 ance is furnished, and they are put on their road with a prayer 
 to kind Providence to take them under its charge." 
 
 " Then you think there is no hope of interesting your master 
 in my unhappy fate ? " asked the brigand, with a sigh of regret. 
 
 " I tell you what is the general custom here, my good man ; 
 but so compassionate a person as our master might go any 
 lengths to serve you." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " said the Schoolmaster. " Oh, if he 
 would but permit me to remain here, I could live in any retired 
 corner, and be happy and grateful for such a mere trifle of sub- 
 sistence ! " 
 
 " As I said before, our master is capable of the most generous 
 actions. But, were he to consent to your remaining at the farm, 
 there would be no occasion for you to hide yourself; you would 
 fare in every respect as you have seen us treated to-day. Some 
 occupation would be found for your son suitable to his age and 
 strength. He would not want for good instruction or wise coun- 
 sels; our venerable minister would teach him with the other 
 children of the village, and, in the words of Scripture, he would 
 grow in goodness and in stature beneath the pious care of our 
 excellent cure. But the best way for you to manage this will be 
 to lay every particular of your case and petition before our 
 * Lady of Ready Help,' when she comes into the kitchen, as she 
 is sure to do before you start on your journey to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "What name did you call your lady by?" 
 
 " Nay, I meant our mistress, who always goes by that appella- 
 tion amongst us. If she interests herself for you, your suit will 
 be granted ; for, in matters of charity, our master never opposes 
 her smallest wish." 
 
 " Oh, then," exclaimed the Schoolmaster, in a joyous tone, al- 
 ready exulting in his hoped-for deliverance from the power of 
 the Chouette, " I will thankfully follow your advice, and speak 
 to her whenever I have the blessed opportunity ! " 
 
 This hope found no echo in the mind of Tortillard, who felt 
 not the slightest disposition to avail himself of the offers of the 
 old laborer, and grow up in goodness under the auspices of the 
 venerable cure. The inclinations of Bras Rouge's son were any-
 
 326 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 thing but rural, neither did his turn of mind incline to the 
 pastoral. Faithful to the code of morality professed by the 
 Chouette, and promulgated by her, he would have been severely 
 distressed to see the Schoolmaster emancipate himself from their 
 united tyranny; and he now thought it high time to recall the 
 brigand from the illusory visions of flowery meads and all the 
 et-cceteras of a country life, in which his fancy seemed reveling, 
 to the realities of his present position. 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes," repeated the Schoolmaster; "I will assuredly 
 address my prayers to your ' Lady of Eeady Help.' She will 
 pity me and kindly " 
 
 Tortillard here interrupted him by a vigorous and artfully 
 managed kick, so well directed, that,' as before, it took the direst 
 effect on the most sensitive spot. The intense agony for a 
 time quite bereft the brigand of speech or breath ; but, remember- 
 ing the fatal consequences of giving way to the feelings which 
 boiled within him, he struggled for self-command, and, after a 
 pause of a few minutes, added, in a faint and suffering voice, 
 " Yes, I venture to hope your good mistress would pity and be- 
 friend me." 
 
 " Dear father," said Tortillard, in a hypocritical tone, " you 
 forget my poor dear aunt, Madame la Chouette, who is so fond 
 of you. Poor Aunty Chouette ! she would never part with 
 you so easily, I know. Directly she heard of your staying here, 
 she would come along with M. Barbillon and fetch you away 
 that she would, I know." 
 
 " Madame la Chouette and M. Barbillon ! Why this honest 
 man seems to have relations among all the 'birds of the air 
 and fishes of the sea,' " uttered Jean Eene in a voice of mirthful 
 irony, giving his neighbor rather a vigorous poke with his elbow. 
 " Funny, isn't it, Claudine ? " 
 
 " Oh, you great unfeeling calf ! How can you make a joke of 
 these poor creatures ? " replied the tender-hearted dairy-maid, 
 returning Jean Eene's thrust with sufficient interest to com- 
 promise the safety of his ribs. 
 
 " Is Madame la Chouette a relation of yours ? " inquired the 
 old laborer of the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Yes, a distant one," answered the other, with a dull, dejected 
 manner. 
 
 " And is she the person you were going to Louvres to try and 
 find ? " asked Father Chatelain. 
 
 " She is," replied the blind man ; " but I think my son over- 
 rates her zeal on my account. However, under any circum- 
 stances, I shall speak to your excellent lady to-morrow, and en-
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 327 
 
 treat her aid to further my request with the kind, charitable 
 owner of this farm; but," added he, purposely to divert the 
 conversation into another channel, and so put an end to the im- 
 prudent remarks of Tortillard, " talking of farms, you promised 
 to explain to me the difference that exists in the management of 
 this farm and farms in general.'* 
 
 "I did so/' replied Father Chatelain, " and I will keep my 
 word. Now, after having planned all I told you about the charity 
 of labor, our master said to himself, ' There are many institu- 
 tions where plans are devised, and rewards assigned, for improve- 
 ments in the breed of horses, cattle, sheep, and other animals, 
 for the best-constructed plows, and other agricultural imple- 
 ments. And I cannot help thinking that all this time we are 
 not going to the fountain-head, and beginning, as we ought to 
 begin, by improving the condition of the laboring classes them- 
 selves, before we give all this heed to the beast which perisheth. 
 Good beasts are capital things, but good men are better, and 
 more difficult to meet with. Give your horses and cattle plenty 
 of good food, clear running water; place them either out of 
 doors in a fine healthy atmosphere, or give them a clean well- 
 managed stable, with good and regular attendance ; and they will 
 thrive to your heart's content, and be capable of reaching any 
 degree of excellence. But with men, look you, it is quite another 
 thing. You cannot elevate a man's mind as you can fatten an 
 ox. The animal fattens on his pasture, because its taste grat- 
 ifies his palate; he eats because he likes what he feeds on, and 
 his body profits and thrives in proportion to the pleasure with 
 which he has devoured his food. Well then, my opinion is, 
 that to make good advice really profitable to men, they should 
 be enabled clearly to perceive their own personal advantage in 
 following it." 
 
 " Just as the ox is profited by eating the fine grass that grows 
 around him, Father Chatelain?" said several voices. 
 
 " Precisely the same." 
 
 "But, Father Chatelain," exclaimed another voice, "I have 
 heard talk of a sort of farm where young thieves, who might in 
 other respects have conducted themselves very well, are taken 
 in, taught all sorts of farming knowledge, and fed and treated 
 like princes." 
 
 " You have heard quite right, my good fellow, there is such 
 an institution; and, as far as it goes, it is founded on pure and 
 just motives, and is calculated to do much good. We should 
 never despair for the wicked, but we should also hope all things 
 for the good. Suppose now a strong, healthy, and industrious
 
 328 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 young man, of excellent character, ready and willing to work, 
 but desirous of receiving good instruction in his way of life, 
 were to present himself at the place you were speaking of this 
 farm of reclaimed thieves well, the first question would be, 
 ' Well, my chap, are you a rogue and a vagabond ? ' ' No ! ' 
 ' Oh, then we can't receive you here we've no room for honest 
 lads.' " 
 
 " What you say, father, is right every word of it," rejoined 
 Jean Rene. "Rascals are provided for, while honest men want; 
 and beasts are considered, and their condition continually im- 
 proved, while men are passed over and left in ignorance and 
 neglect." 
 
 " It was purposely to remedy what you complain of, my brave 
 lad, that our master took this farm (as I was mentioning to our 
 blind visitor). ( I know very well/ said he, 'that honest men 
 will be rewarded on high; but then, you see, it is far and long 
 to look forward to, and there are many (and much to be pitied 
 are they) who can neither look to such a distance, nor wait 
 with patience the indefinite period which bids them live on hope 
 alone. Then how are these poor, depressed, and toil-worn creat- 
 ures to find leisure thus to seek religious comfort? Rising at 
 the first dawn of day, they toil and labor with weary limbs, till 
 night releases them and sends them to their wretched hovels. 
 Sunday is spent by them at the public-house drinking, to drive 
 away the recollections both of their past and future wretched- 
 ness. Neither can these poor beings turn their very hardships 
 to a good account by extracting a useful moral from them. 
 After a hard day's work does their bread seem less coarse and 
 black, their pallet less hard, their infants less sickly and meager, 
 their wives less worn down by giving nourishment to the feeble 
 babes of their breast? No, no! far from it. Alas, the thin, 
 half-starved mother is but ill calculated to nourish another, when 
 she is obliged to yield her slender share of the family meal to 
 still the clamors of her famishing children ! Yet all this might 
 be endured ay, even cheerfully; for use has familiarized them 
 with hardships and privations: their bread is food, though coarse 
 and homely; their straw bed rests their weary limbs; and their 
 children, though stunted and sickly, live on. All these, I say, 
 could be borne, did no comparison arise between their own 
 poverty and the condition of others; but, when they visit the 
 town or city on market-days, they see an abundance of good 
 white loaves crowding the windows of the bakers' shops, warm 
 soft mattresses and blankets are displayed for sate to such as 
 have the means of purchasing; children fresh and blooming as
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 329 
 
 the flowers of May are playing joyously about, and even from the 
 superabundance of their meals casting a portion to the dogs and 
 other pet animals. Ah ! human courage gives way at this re- 
 verse in the picture of human condition; and when the tired, 
 careworn men return to their mud hovels, their black bread and 
 straw pallet, and are surrounded by a number of squalid, half- 
 starved, wailing infants, to whom they would gladly have brought 
 the share of cakes and buns thrown by the pampered children 
 of great towns in the streets, or cast to the animals, then 
 bitter discontent and repining take possesion of their mind, 
 and, utterly forgetting that ON HIGH is One who careth for all, 
 they say, ' Why is this difference allowed ? and, if there must be 
 both rich and poor in the world, why were not we born to riches ? 
 why should not every man have his turn in worldly prosperity? 
 We are not justly used or fairly treated in being always poor 
 and hard worked/ Of course, all this is both sinful and un- 
 reasonable; neither does it in any manner serve to lighten their 
 load ; and yet they must go on, bending, staggering under the 
 burden too heavy for them to bear, till they sink, utterly ex- 
 hausted and worn-out. They must toil, toil on, without hope, 
 without relaxing their daily efforts, or without once daring to 
 entertain the idea that, by a long continuance in honest, virtu- 
 ous, industrious conduct, the day might come when, like the 
 great Creator of all, they might rest from their labors, and be- 
 hold peaceful ease succeeding the hard-griping hand of poverty. 
 Think of a whole life passed thus, in one continued struggle for 
 the bare means of life, without a glimmer of hope to cheer the 
 thorny path! What must such a life be like? Why, it would 
 resemble one long rainy day, without a single ray of brightness 
 from the blessed sun to help us through it. Then labor is re- 
 sumed with an unwilling and dissatisfied spirit. * What does it 
 signify to us/ cry the worn-out laborers, ' whether the harvest 
 yields ill or well? whether the ears of corn be heavy or light 
 makes no difference to us. Why should we over-work ourselves, 
 or trouble our heads with matters that only concern our master? 
 it is sufficient for us to act with strict honesty. We will not com- 
 mit any crime, because there are laws ready to punish such as 
 do ; but neither will we try to perform acts of goodness, because 
 for those the laws provide no recompense/ * Such a mode of 
 arguing, my boys, is as unwise as it is wrong and sinful ; but, 
 depend upon it, it is true to nature. From this indifference 
 comes idleness, and from idleness to crime the distance is very 
 short. Now unfortunately, among the class I have been describ- 
 ing, the far greater proportion consists of those whose conduct
 
 330 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 may be considered as neither good nor bad, that is to say, without 
 any particular leaning either way, and, consequently, a mere 
 trifle might firmly enlist them in the service of virtue or vice. 
 These are the very individuals,' continued our master, * we ought 
 to try and improve, just as we should have done had they been 
 born to the honor of figuring as animals with hoofs, horns, or 
 woolly coats. Let us continue to point out to them how com- 
 pletely it is to their interest to be active, industrious, steady, and 
 well qualified to discharge their several duties; let us effectually 
 convince them that, by becoming better men, they will also be 
 much happier; let them see how closely their good behavior and 
 prosperity are interwoven; and, that good advice may sink the 
 deeper into their hearts, give them -as it were such a taste of 
 earthly comfort as shall, in a slight degree, communicate to them 
 the hope and notion of expecting the unspeakable reward pre- 
 pared by the Great Giver of all, whose dwelling is on high.' 
 
 " Having well arranged his plans, our master caused it to be 
 made known in the environs that he wished to engage twelve 
 farm-servants, six men and six females ; but that his choice would 
 be entirely regulated by the most satisfactory certificates of good 
 conduct obtained from the civil and religious authorities in their 
 native place. They were to be paid like princes, fed upon the 
 best food to their hearts' content; and further, a tenth part of 
 the produce of the harvest was to be shared among the laborers. 
 The engagement at the farm was to last but two years, at the 
 end of which time they were to give place to other laborers, 
 chosen upon the same terms ; but, at the expiration of five years, 
 the original laborers were taken on again, in the event of there 
 being any vacancies : so that, since the establishment of this farm, 
 it is usual for the laborers and working classes in the neighbor- 
 hood to say, ' Let us be active, honest, and industrious, so as to 
 obtain a high character for such good qualities, and, perhaps, 
 one day we may be fortunate to get engaged at Bouqueval Farm. 
 There, for a couple of years, we shall lead a life of perfect hap- 
 piness. We shall learn our business thoroughly; we shall save 
 a little money, so that, when our time is up, everyone will be 
 glad to engage us, because they know that we must have had first- 
 rate characters to have been admitted on the establishment at 
 all.' " 
 
 " I am already bespoke by.M. Dubreuil for his farm at Arnou- 
 ville," said Jean Eene. 
 
 " And I am engaged to a first-rate service at Gonesse," chimed 
 in another laborer. 
 
 " You see, my good friend, by this plan everybody is a gainer,
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 331 
 
 the neighboring farmers particularly. There are but twelve 
 places for servants on the farm, but there are, perhaps, fifty 
 candidates who have all earned their right to solicit an engage- 
 ment by certificates and testimonials of excellent conduct. Well, 
 though thirty-eight out of the fifty must be disappointed, yet 
 the good which is in them will still remain; and there are so 
 many good and deserving characters in the environs we can 
 safely reckon upon : for, though they have failed in this appli- 
 cation, they still live in hopes of succeeding another time. Why, 
 for every prize animal to which the medal is assigned, whether 
 for swiftness, strength, or beauty, there must be a hundred or 
 more trained to stand forward and dispute the choice ; and those 
 animals rejected do not lose in any of those qualifications be- 
 cause they were not accepted: far from it; their value is ac- 
 knowledged, and they quickly find persons desirous of possessing 
 them. Now, friend," said Father Chatelain, having fairly talked 
 himself out of breath, " do you not confess that I was right when 
 I said ours was no common farm, any more than our employer 
 was no ordinary master?" 
 
 " Indeed," said the Schoolmaster, " your account is most in- 
 teresting, and fully bears out all you asserted. But, the more I 
 hear of the exalted views and noble generosity of your master, 
 the more earnestly do I pray he may be induced to look with 
 pity on my wretched condition. To such a man, so filled with a 
 desire to improve the condition of God's creatures, a charitable 
 action more or less would make but little difference. Oh, tell 
 me beforehand his name, and that of your kind Lady of the 
 Eeady Help, that I may already bless and thank them ; for full 
 certain am I, minds so bent upon good deeds will never turn a 
 deaf ear to my petition." 
 
 " Now I dare say you expect to be told the high-sounding titles 
 of some great, grand personages. But, bless you ! no such thing; 
 no more parade about their names than those of the saints them- 
 selves. Our Lady of Help is called Madame Georges, and our 
 good master plain M. Rodolph." 
 
 " Merciful powers ! My wife ! my judge ! my executioner ! " 
 faintly exclaimed the robber, struck almost speechless at this 
 unexpected revelation. " Rodolph ! Madame Georges ! " 
 
 It was wholly impossible for the Schoolmaster to entertain a 
 doubt respecting the identity of the persons to whom those 
 names belonged. Previously to adjudging him his fearful pun- 
 ishment, Rodolph had spoken of the lively interest he took in all 
 that concerned Madame Georges. The recent visit of the Negro 
 David to this farm was another conclusive proof of there being
 
 332 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 no mistake in the matter. It seemed as though the very hand 
 of Providence had brought about this singular rencounter, over- 
 throwing as it so completely did his recently cherished hopes of 
 emancipation from his present misery, through the intervention 
 of the generosity of the proprietor of this farm. To fly was his 
 first impulse. The very name of Rodolph inspired him with the 
 most intense terror. Possibly he was even now in the house. 
 Scarcely recovered from his first alarm, the brigand rose from 
 the table, and, grasping the hand of Tortillard, exclaimed, in a 
 wild and terrified manner, 
 
 " Let us be gone ! quick ! lead me hence. Let us go, I say." 
 
 The whole of the servants looked on with astonishment. 
 
 "Go!" said Father Chatelain, with much surprise. "Why? 
 wherefore should you go? What are you thinking about, my 
 friend? Come, what fresh whim is this? Are you quite in 
 your right senses ? " 
 
 Tortillard cleverly availed himself of this last suggestion, and, 
 uttering a deep sigh, touched his forehead significantly with his 
 forefinger, so as to convey to the minds of the wondering labor- 
 ers the impression that his pretended parent was not quite right 
 in his head. The signal elicited a corresponding gesture of pity 
 and due comprehension. 
 
 " Come, I say, come ! " persisted the Schoolmaster, endeavor- 
 ing to draw the boy along with him ; but, fully determined not 
 to quit such comfortable quarters to wander about in the fields 
 all night during the frost and snow, Tortillard began in a 
 whimpering voice to say, 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! poor father has got one of his old fits 
 come on again. There, there, father, sit down and keep yourself 
 quiet : pray do, and don't think of wandering out in the cold 
 it would kill you, maybe. No, not if you are ever so angry with 
 me, will I be so wicked as to lead you out in such weather." 
 Then, addressing himself to the laborers, he said, " Will none 
 of you good gentlemen help me to keep my poor dear father 
 from risking his life by going out to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my boy," answered Father Chatelain ; " make your- 
 self perfectly easy. We will not allow your father to quit the 
 place. He shall stay here to-night, in spite of himself." 
 
 " Surely you will not keep me here against my will ? " inquired 
 the wretched Schoolmaster, in hurried accents ; " and perhaps, 
 too, I should offend your master by my presence that Monsieur 
 Rodolph. You told me the farm was not an hospital ; once more, 
 therefore, I ask you to let me go forth in peace on my way." 
 
 " Offend our master ! that you would not, I am quite sure.
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 333 
 
 But make yourself easy on that score. I am sorry to say lie 
 does not live here, neither do we see him half as frequently as 
 we could wish. But, if even he had been here, your presence 
 would have made no sort of difference to him." 
 
 " No, no," persisted the blind man with continued alarm ; 
 " I have changed my mind about applying to him. My son is 
 right. No doubt my relation at Louvres will take care of me. 
 I will go there at once." 
 
 "All I have got to say," replied Father Chatelain, kindly 
 conceiving that he was speaking to a man whose brain was un- 
 Jiappily affected, " is just this that to attempt to proceed on 
 your journey with this poor child to-night is wholly out of the 
 question. Come, let me put matters to rights for you, and say 
 no more about it." 
 
 Although now reassured of Rodolph's not being at Bouqueval, 
 the terrors of the Schoolmaster were by no means dissipated; 
 and, spite of his frightfully disfigured countenance, he was in 
 momentary dread of being recognized by his wife, who might at 
 any moment enter the kitchen, when he was perfectly persuaded 
 she would instantly denounce and give him into custody; his 
 firm impression having been, from the hour of receiving his 
 horrible punishment from the hands of Rodolph, that it was 
 done to satisfy the hatred and vengeance of Madame Georges. 
 But, unable to quit the farm, the ruffian found himself wholly 
 at the mercy of Tortillard. Eesigning himself, therefore, to 
 what was unavoidable, yet anxious to escape from the eyes of his 
 wife, he said to the venerable laborer, 
 
 " Since you kindly assure me my being here will in no way 
 displease either your master or mistress, I will gladly accept your 
 hospitality ; but, as I am much fatigued, and must set out again 
 at break of day, I would humbly ask permission to go at once to 
 my bed." 
 
 " Oh, yes, to-morrow morning, by all means, and as soon as 
 you like; we are very early people here. And, for fear even that 
 you should again wander from the right road, someone shall 
 conduct you part of the way." 
 
 " Tf you have no objection," said Jean Rene", addressing Father 
 Ghfitelain, " I will see the poor man a good step on the road ; 
 because Madame Georges said yesterday, I was to take the chaise 
 and go to the lawyer's at Villiers le Bel to fetch a large sum of 
 money she requires of him." 
 
 " Go with the poor blind traveler by all means," replied Father 
 Chatelain ; " but you must walk, mind. Madame has changed 
 her mind about sending to Villiers le Bel, and, wisely reflecting
 
 334: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 that it was not worth while to have so large a sum lying useless 
 at the farm, has determined to let it remain with the lawyer till 
 Monday next, which will be the day she requires it." 
 
 "Of course, Father Chatelain; mistress knows best. But 
 please to tell me why she should consider it unsafe to have money 
 at the farm. What is she afraid of ? " 
 
 " Of nothing, my lad. Thank God, there is no occasion for 
 fear ! But, for all that, I would much rather have five hundred 
 sacks of corn on the premises than ten bags of crowns. Come," 
 said old Chatelain, addressing himself to the brigand and Tortil- 
 lard, " come, follow me, friend ; and you too, my lad." Then, 
 taking up a small lamp, he conducted his two guests to a chamber 
 on the ground-floor, first traversing a large passage into which 
 several doors opened. Placing the light on a table, the old 
 laborer said to the Schoolmaster, "Here is your lodging, and 
 may God grant you a good and peaceful night's repose, my good 
 friend ! As for you, my little man, you are sure to sleep sound 
 and well : it belongs to your happy age to do so." 
 
 The Schoolmaster, pensive and meditative, sat down by the 
 side of the bed to which Tortillard conducted him. At the 
 instant when Father Chatelain was quitting the room, Tortillard 
 made him a sign indicative of his desire to speak with him alone, 
 and hastily rejoined him in the passage. 
 
 " What is it, my boy, you have to say to me ? " inquired the 
 old man kindly. 
 
 " Ah, my kind sir, I only wanted to say that my father is 
 frequently seized during the night with most violent convulsion- 
 fits, which require a much stronger person than I am to hold 
 him; should I be obliged to call for help, is there any person 
 near who could hear me ? " 
 
 " Poor child ! " said the laborer, sympathizingly ; " make your- 
 self easy. There, do you see that door beside the staircase ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, good, kind gentleman ; I see it." 
 
 " Well, one of the farm-laborers sleeps in that room. You 
 will only just have to run to him. He never locks his door ; and 
 he will come to your father in an instant." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; God bless you ! I will remember all your 
 kindness when I say my prayers. But suppose, sir, the man and 
 myself were not strong enough together to manage my poor 
 father when these violent convulsions came on, could you, who 
 look so good, and speak so kind could you be kind enough to 
 come and tell us what to do? " 
 
 " Me, my boy ? Oh, I sleep, as well as all the other men- 
 servants, out of the house, in a large outbuilding in the court-
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM, 335 
 
 yard. But make yourself quite comfortable. Jean Rene could 
 manage a mad bull, he is so powerful. Besides, if you really 
 wished any further help, he would go and call up our old cook; 
 she sleeps on the first floor, even with our mistress and young 
 mademoiselle: and I can promise you that our old woman is a 
 most excellent sick-nurse, should your father require anyone to 
 attend to him when the fit is over." 
 
 " Thank you, kind gentleman, a thousand times. Good-night, 
 sir. I will go now and pray of God to bless you for your kind- 
 ness and pity to the poor blind." 
 
 " Good night, my lad ! Let us hope both you and your father 
 will enjoy a sound night's rest, and have no occasion to require 
 any person's help. You had better return to your room now; 
 your poor father may be wanting you." 
 
 "I will, sir. Good-night, and thank you!" 
 
 " God preserve you both, my child ! " And the old man re- 
 turned to the kitchen. 
 
 Scarcely had he turned his back, than the limping rascal made 
 one of those supremely insulting and derisive gestures familiar 
 to all the blackguards of Paris, consisting in slapping the nape 
 of the neck repeatedly with the left hand, darting the right hand 
 quite open continually out in a straight line. With the most 
 consummate audacity, this dangerous child had just gleaned, 
 under the mask of guileless tenderness and apprehension for 
 his father, information most important for the furtherance of 
 the schemes of the Chouette and Schoolmaster. He had ascer- 
 tained during the last few minutes that the part of the building 
 v.'hcre he slept was only occupied by Madame Georges, Fleur- 
 (ic-Marie, an old female servant, and one of the farm-laborers. 
 Upon his return to the room he was to share with the blind man, 
 Tortillard carefully avoided approaching him. The former, 
 however, heard his step, and growled out, 
 
 " Where have you been, you vagabond ? " 
 
 " What ! you want to know, do you, old blind 'un ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'll make you pay for all you have made me suffer this 
 evening, you wretched urchin ! " exclaimed the Schoolmaster, 
 rising furiously, and groping about in every direction after 
 Tortillard, feeling by the walls as a guide. " I'll strangle you 
 when I catch you, you young fiend you infernal viper ! " 
 
 "Poor, dear father! How prettily he plays at blindman's 
 buff with his own little boy," said Tortillard, grinning, and en- 
 joying the ease with which he escaped from the impotent 
 attempts of the Schoolmaster to seize him, who, though impelled 
 to the exertion by his over-boiling rage, was soon compelled to
 
 336 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 cease, and, as had been the case before, to give up all hopes of 
 inflicting the revenge he yearned to bestow on the impish son of 
 Bras Rouge. 
 
 Thus compelled to submit to the impudent persecution of his 
 juvenile tormentor, and await the propitious hour when all his 
 injuries could safely be avenged, the brigand determined to re- 
 serve his powerless wrath for a fitting opportunity of paying 
 off old scores, and, worn-out in body by his futile violence, threw 
 himself, swearing and cursing, on the bed. 
 
 "Dear father! sweet father! have you got the toothache 
 that you swear so? Ah, if Monsieur le Cure heard you, what 
 would he say to you ? He would give you such penance ! Oh, 
 my!" 
 
 "That's right! go on!'" replied the ruffian, in a hollow and 
 suppressed voice, after long enduring this entertaining vivacity 
 on the part of the young gentleman. "Laugh at me! mock 
 me! make sport of my calamity, cowardly scoundrel that you 
 are! That is a fine, noble action, is it not? Just worthy of 
 such a mean, ignoble, contemptible soul as dwells within that 
 wretched, crooked body ! " 
 
 " Oh, how fine we talk ! How nice we preach about being 
 generous, and all that, don't we ? " cried Tortillard, bursting 
 into peals of laughter. " I beg your pardon, dear father, but I 
 can't possibly help thinking it so funny to hear you, whose fingers 
 were regular fishhooks, picking and stealing whatever came in 
 their way; and, as for generosity, I beg you don't mention it, 
 because, till you got your eyes poked out, I don't suppose you 
 ever thought of such a word ! " 
 
 " But, at least, I never did you any harm. Why, then, tor- 
 ment me thus ? " 
 
 " Because, in the first place, you said what I did not like to 
 the Chouette; then you had a fancy for stopping and playing 
 the fool among the clodhoppers here. Perhaps you mean to com- 
 mence a course of asses' milk ? " 
 
 " You impudent young beggar! If I had only had the oppor- 
 tunity of remaining at this farm which I now wish sunk in the 
 bottomless pit, or blasted with eternal lightning you should 
 not have played your tricks of devilish cruelty with me any 
 longer ! " 
 
 "You to remain here! that would be a farce! Who, then, 
 would Madame la Chouette have for her bete de souff ranee? 
 Me, perhaps, thank ye ! don't you wish you may get it ? " 
 
 " Miserable abortion ! " 
 
 " Abortion ! ah, yes, another reason why I say, as well as Aunt
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 337 
 
 Chouette, there is nothing so funny as to see you in one of your 
 unaccountable passions you, who could kill me with one blow 
 of your fist; it's more funny than if you were a poor, weak 
 creature. How very funny you were at supper to-night ! Dieu 
 de Dieu! what a lark I had all to myself ! why, it was better than 
 a play at the Gaite. At every kick I gave you on the sly, your 
 passion made all the blood fly in your face, and your white eyes 
 became red all round ; they only wanted a bit of blue in the 
 middle to have been real tricolored. They would have made two 
 fine cockades for the town-sergeant, wouldn't they?" 
 
 "Come, come, you like to laugh you are merry: bah! it's 
 natural at your age it's natural I'm not angry with you," 
 said the Schoolmaster, in an air of affected carelessness, hoping 
 to propitiate Tortillard ; " but, instead of standing there, saying 
 saucy things, it would be much better for you to remember what 
 the Chouette told you : you say you are very fond of her. You 
 should examine all over the place, and get the print of the lock?. 
 Didn't you hear them say, they expected to have a large sum of 
 money here on Monday? we will be amongst them then, and have 
 our share. I should have been foolish to have stayed here; I 
 should have had enough of these asses of country-people at the 
 end of a week, shouldn't I, boy ? " asked the ruffian, to flatter 
 Tortillard. 
 
 " If you had stayed here, I should have been very much 
 annoyed, 'pon my word and honor," replied Bras Eouge's son, 
 in a mocking tone. 
 
 " Yes, yes, there's a good business to be done in this house ; 
 and, if there should be nothing to steal, yet I will return here 
 with the Chouette, if only to have my revenge," said the mis- 
 creant in a tone full of fury and malice, " for now I am sure it 
 is my wife who excited that infernal Eodolph against me; he, 
 who in blinding me has put me at the mercy of all the world 
 of the Chouette, and a young blackguard like yourself. Well, if 
 I cannot avenge myself on him, I will have vengeance against 
 my wife, yes, she shall pay me for all, even if I set fire to this 
 accursed house, and bury myself in its moldering ruins. Yes, 
 I will I will have 
 
 " You will, you want to get hold of your wife, eh, old gentle- 
 man ? She is within ten paces of you, that's vexing, ain't it ? If 
 I liked, I could lead you to the door of her room, that's what I 
 could, for I know the room. I know it I know it I know it," 
 added Tortillard, singing according to his custom. 
 
 " You know her room ? " said the Schoolmaster, in an agony 
 of fervent joy; "you know it?"
 
 338 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "I see you coming," said Tortillard; "come, play the pretty, 
 and get on your hind legs like a dog when they throw him a 
 dainty bone. Now, old Cupid ! " 
 
 " You know my wife's chamber ? " said the miscreant, turning 
 to the side whence the sound of Tortillard's voice proceeded. 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; and, what's still better, only one of the 
 farm-servants sleeps on that side of the house where we are. I 
 know his door the key is in it click ! one turn, and he's all 
 safe and fast. Come, get up, old blind Cupid ! * 
 
 " Who told you all this ? " asked the blind scoundrel, rising 
 involuntarily. 
 
 " Capital, Cupid ! By the side of your wife's room sleeps an 
 old cook one more turn of the key, and click ! we are masters 
 of the house masters of your wife, and the young girl with the 
 gray mantle, that you must catch hold of and carry off. Now, 
 then, your paw, old Cupid; do the pretty to your master 
 directly." 
 
 " You lie ! you lie ! how could you know all this ? " 
 
 " Why, I'm lame in my leg, but not in my head. Before we 
 left the kitchen, I said to the old guzzling laborer, that some- 
 times in the night you had convulsions, and I asked him where 
 I could get assistance if you were attacked. He said if you were 
 attacked I might call up the man-servant and the cook ; and he 
 showed me where they slept : one down, the other up-stairs in the 
 first floor, close to your wife your wife your wife ! " 
 
 And Tortillard repeated his monotonous song. After a 
 lengthened silence the Schoolmaster said to him, in a calm voice, 
 but with an air of desperate determination, 
 
 " Listen, boy. I have stayed long enough. Lately yes, yes, 
 I confess it I had a hope which now makes my lot appear still 
 more frightful : the prison, the bagne, the guillotine, are nothing 
 nothing to what I have endured since this morning; and I 
 shall have the same to endure always. Lead me to my wife's 
 room; I have my knife here; I will kill her. I shall be killed 
 afterwards : but what of that ? My hatred swells till it chokes 
 me; I shall have revenge, and that will console me. What I 
 now suffer is too much too much! for me, too, before whom 
 everybody trembled. Now, lad, if you knew what I endure, even 
 you would pity me. Even now my brain appears ready to 
 burst; my pulse beats as if my veins would burst; my head 
 whirls " 
 
 " A cold in your ' knowledge-box/ old chap that's it ; sneeze 
 that'll cure you," said Tortillard, with a loud grin; "what 
 say you to a pinch of snuff, old brick ? "
 
 AN EVENING AT THE FARM. 339 
 
 And striking loudly on the back of his left hand, which was 
 clenched, as if he were tapping on the lid of a snuff-box, he 
 sang, 
 
 " J'ai du bon tabac dans ma tabatiere; 
 J'ai du bon tabac, tu n'en auras pas." 
 
 " Oli, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! they will drive me mad! " cried 
 the brigand, becoming really almost demented by a sort of nerv- 
 ous excitement arising from the blood-thirsty revenge and im- 
 placable hatred, which in vain sought to satiate itself. The 
 exuberant strength of this monster could only be equaled by the 
 impossibility of satisfying his deadly desires. Let us imagine a 
 hungry, furious, maddened wolf, teazed during a whole day by a 
 child through the bars of his den, and scenting within two paces 
 of him a victim who would at once satisfy his hunger and his 
 rage. At the last taunt of Tortillard the brigand almost lost 
 his senses: unable to reach his victim, he desired in his frenzy 
 to shed his own blood, for his blood was stifling him. One 
 moment he resolved to kill himself, and, had he had a loaded 
 pistol in his hand, he would not have hesitated; he fumbled in 
 his pocket, and drew out a clasp-knife, opened it, and raised it 
 to strike : but, quick as were his movements, reflection, fear, and 
 vital instinct, were still more rapid, the murderer lacked cour- 
 age his arm fell on his knees. Tortillard had watched all his 
 actions with an attentive eye, and, when he saw the finale of this 
 pseudo-tragedy, he continued, mockingly, 
 
 " How, boys, a duel ? Ah, pluck the chickens ! " 
 
 The Schoolmaster, fearing that he should lose his senses if he 
 gave way to an ineffectual burst of fury, turned a deaf ear to 
 this fresh insult of Tortillard, who so impertinently commented 
 on the cowardice of an assassin who recoiled from suicide. De- 
 spairing of escape from what he termed, by a sort of avenging 
 fatality, the cruelty of his cursed child, the ruffian sought to try 
 what could be done by assailing the avarice of the son of Bras 
 Rouge. 
 
 " Ah," said he to him, in a tone almost supplicatory, " lead 
 me to the door of my wife's room, and take anything you like 
 that's in her room and run away with it! leave me to myself. 
 You may cry out 'murder' if you like; they will apprehend 
 me kill me on the spot I care not, I shall die revenged if I 
 have not the courage to end my existence myself. Oh, lead me 
 there lead me there: depend on it she has gold, jewels, any- 
 thing, and you may take all, all for yourself, for your own, do 
 you mind ? your own ; only lead me to the door where she is,"
 
 34:0 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Yes, I mind well enough : you want me to lead you to her 
 door, then to her bed, and then to tell you when to strike, then 
 to guide your hand eh ! that's it, ain't it ? You want to make 
 me a handle to your knife, old monster ! " replied Tortillard, 
 with an expression of contempt, anger, and horror, which, for the 
 first time in his life, gave an appearance of seriousness to his 
 weazel face, usually all impertinence and insolence ; I'll be killed 
 first, I tell you, sooner than I'll lead you to where your wife is ! " 
 
 "You refuse?" 
 
 The son of Bras Eouge made no reply. He approached with 
 bare feet and without being heard by the Schoolmaster, who, 
 seated on the bed, still held his large knife in his hand, and 
 then, in a moment, with marvelous quickness and dexterity, 
 Tortillard snatched from him his weapon, and with one jump 
 skipped to the further end of the chamber. 
 
 "My knife! my knife!" cried the brigand, extending his 
 arms. 
 
 " No ; for then you might to-morrow morning ask to speak 
 with your wife and try to kill her, since, as you say, you have had 
 enough of life, and are such a coward that you don't dare kill 
 yourself." 
 
 "How he defends my wife against me!" said the bandit, 
 whose intellect became obscured ; " This little wretch is a devil ! 
 Where am I ? why does he try to save her ? " 
 
 "Because I like it," said Tortillard, whose face resumed its 
 usual appearance of sly impudence. 
 
 "Ah, is that it?" murmured the Schoolmaster, whose mind 
 was wandering ; " well, then, I'll fire the house ! will all burn 
 all! I prefer that furnace to the other. The candle! the 
 candle ! " 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah! " exclaimed Tortillard, bursting out again into 
 loud laughter. " If your own candle your ' peepers ' had not 
 been snuffed out, and forever, you would have known that ours 
 had been extinguished an hour ago." And Tortillard sang, 
 
 " Ma chandelle est morte, 
 Je n'ai plus de feu." 
 
 The Schoolmaster gave a deep groan, stretched out his arms, 
 and fell heavily on the floor, his face on the ground, and, struck 
 by a rush of blood, remained motionless. 
 
 " Not to be caught, old boy," said Tortillard ; " that's only a 
 trick to make me come to you, that you may serve me out ! When 
 you have been long enough on the floor, you'll get up." 
 
 Bras Rouge's boy resolved not to go to sleep, for fear of being
 
 THE DREAM. 341 
 
 surprised by the Schoolmaster ; so seated himself in a chair, with 
 his eyes fixed on the ruffian, persuaded that it was a trap laid 
 for him, and not believing the Schoolmaster in any danger. 
 That he might employ himself agreeably, Tortillard drew silently 
 and carefully from his pocket a little red silk purse, and counted 
 slowly, and with looks of joy and avarice, the seventeen pieces 
 of gold which it contained. Tortillard had acquired his ill- 
 gotten riches thus : It may be remembered that Madame d'Har- 
 \ille was nearly surprised by her husband at the rendezvous 
 which she had granted to the commandant. Rodolph, when he 
 had given the purse to the young lady, had told her to go up to 
 the fifth story to the Morels, under the pretense of bringing them 
 assistance. Madame d'Harville ran quickly up the staircase, 
 holding the purse in her hands, when Tortillard, who was com- 
 ing from the quack's, caught a glimpse of the purse, and, pre- 
 tending to stumble as he passed the marquise, pushed against 
 her, and, in the shock, slyly stole the purse. Madame d'Harville, 
 bewildered, and hearing her husband's footsteps, hurried on to 
 the fifth story, without thinking or complaining of the impudent 
 robbery of the little cripple. After having counted and re- 
 counted his gold, Tortillard cast his eyes towards the School- 
 master, who was extended still on the ground. Disquieted for a 
 moment, he listened, and, hearing the robber breathe freely, he 
 thought that he was still meditating some trick against him. 
 Chance saved the Schoolmaster from a congestion of the brain, 
 which else must have proved mortal. His fall had caused a 
 salutary and abundant bleeding at the nose. He then fell into a 
 kind of feverish torpor half sleep, half delirium, and then had 
 this wild, this fearful dream ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 TUB DREAM. 
 
 THIS was the Schoolmaster's dream : 
 
 He was again in Rodolph's house in the Allee des Veuves. 
 The saloon in which the miscreant had received his appalling 
 punishment had not undergone any alteration. Rodolph him- 
 self was sitting at the table on which were the Schoolmaster's 
 papers and the little Saint-Esprit of lapis which he had given to 
 the Chouette. Rodolph's countenance was grave and sad. On 
 his right the Negro David was standing motionless and silent;
 
 342 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 on his left was the Chourineur, who looked on with a bewildered 
 mien. In his dream, the Schoolmaster was no longer blind, but 
 saw through a medium of clear blood, which filled the cavities 
 of his eyeballs. All and everything seemed to him tinted with 
 red. As birds of prey hover on motionless wing above the head 
 of the victim which they fascinate before they devour, so a 
 monstrous screech-owl (chouette), having for its head the hide- 
 ous visage of the one-eyed hag, soared over the Schoolmaster, 
 keeping fixed on him her round, glaring, and green eye. This 
 fixed stare was upon his breast like a heavy weight. The School- 
 master discerned a vast lake of blood separating him from the 
 table at which Rodolph was seated. Then his inflexible judge, 
 as well as the Chourineur and the Negro, grew and grew, ex- 
 panding into colossal proportions, until they touched the ceiling ; 
 and then it also became higher in proportion. The lake of blood 
 was calm, and as unruffled as a red mirror: the Schoolmaster 
 saw his hideous countenance reflected therein. Then that was 
 suddenly effaced by the tumult of the swelling waves. From 
 their troubled surface there arose a vapor resembling the foul 
 exhalation of a marsh, a livid-colored mist of that violet hue 
 peculiar to the lips of the dead. In proportion as this miasma 
 rises rises, the faces of Eodolph, the Chourineur, and the 
 Negro, continue to expand and expand in an extraordinary man- 
 ner, and always remain above this fearful cloud. In the midst 
 of the awful vapor, the Schoolmaster sees the pale ghosts, and 
 those murderous scenes in which he had been the actor. In this 
 fantastic mirage he first sees a little bald-headed old man, clad 
 in a long brown coat, and wearing an eye-shade of green silk. 
 He is employing himself in a dilapidated chamber in counting 
 and arranging pieces of gold into piles by the light of a lamp. 
 Through the window, lighted by the dim moonlight reflected on 
 the tops of some high trees waving in the wind, the Schoolmaster 
 recognizes his own figure. Pressing his distorted features against 
 the glass, following every motion of the old man with glaring 
 eyes, then breaking a pane, he opens the window itself, leaps with 
 a bound upon his victim, and stabs him between the shoulders 
 with his long and keen knife. The movement is so rapid, the 
 blow so quick and sure, that the dead body of the old man re- 
 mains seated in the chair. 
 
 The murderer tries to withdraw his weapon from the dead 
 body he cannot ! He redoubles his efforts in vain ! He then 
 seeks to quit the deadly steel impossible ! 
 
 The hand of the assassin clings to the handle of the poignard, 
 as the blade of the poignard clings to the frame of the wounded
 
 HE LEAPS WITH A BOUND UPON HIS VICTIM
 
 THE DREAM. 343 
 
 man. The murderer then hears the sound of clinking spurs and 
 clashing swords in the adjoining room. He must escape at all 
 risks, and attempts to carry with him the body of the feeble 
 old man, from which he cannot withdraw either his weapon or 
 his hand. 
 
 He cannot do even this. The light and feeble carcass weighs 
 him down like a mass of lead. Despite his herculean shoulders, 
 his desperate efforts, the Schoolmaster cannot even stir this 
 overwhelming weight. 
 
 The sound of echoing steps and jingling sabers comes nearer 
 and nearer. The key turns in the lock the door opens. The 
 vision disappears. 
 
 And then the screech-owl flaps her wings, and shrieks out, 
 
 "!T is THE OLD MISER OF THE RUE DE LA EOULE. YOUR 
 
 MAIDEN MURDER MURDER MURDER ! " 
 
 A moment's darkness then the miasma which covers the lake 
 of blood resumes its transparency, and another specter is 
 revealed. 
 
 The day begins to dawn the fog is thick and heavy. A man, 
 clothed like a cattle-dealer, lies stretched dead on the bank of 
 the highroad. The trampled earth, the torn turf, prove that the 
 victim has made a desperate resistance. The man has five bleed- 
 ing wounds in his breast. He is lifeless; yet still he seems to 
 whistle on his dogs, calling to them, "Help! help!" 
 
 But his whistling, his cries, proceed from five large and gaping 
 wounds, 
 
 " Each one a death in nature," 
 
 which move like so many complaining lips. The five calls, the 
 five whistlings, all made and heard at once, come from the dead 
 man by the mouths of his gushing wounds ; and fearful are they 
 to hear ! 
 
 At this instant the Chouette waves her wings, and mocks the 
 deathly groans of the victim with five bursts of laughter a 
 laughter as unearthly and as horrible as the madman's mirth; 
 and then again she shrieks, 
 
 "THE CATTLE-DEALER OF POISSY. MURDER! MURDER! 
 
 MURDER ! " 
 
 Protracted and underground echoes first repeat aloud the 
 malevolent laughter of the screech-owl. Then they seem to die 
 away in the very bowels of the earth. 
 
 At this sound two large dogs, as black as midnight, with eyes 
 glaring like burning coals, begin to run rapidly around around 
 around the Schoolmaster, baying furiously. They almost
 
 344 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 touch him, and yet their bark appears as distant as if carried on 
 the wind of the morning. 
 
 Gradually these specters fade away as the previous one did, 
 and are lost in the pale vapor which is continually ascending. 
 
 A new exhalation now arises from the lake of blood, and 
 spreads itself on its surface. It is a sort of greenish, transparent 
 mist; it resembles the vertical section of a canal filled with 
 water. At first he sees the bed of the canal covered in by a 
 thick vase formed of numberless reptiles usually imperceptible 
 to the unassisted eye, but which, enlarged, as if viewed through 
 a microscope, assume monstrous forms, vast proportions rel- 
 atively to their actual size. It is no longer mud, but a compact, 
 living, crawling mass an inextricable conglomeration which 
 wriggles and curls; so close, so dense, that a sullen and slow 
 undulation hardly stirs the level of this vase, or rather bed of 
 foulest animalcule. Above trickles gently gently, a turbid 
 stream, thick and stagnating, which, in its dilatory flow, disturbs 
 the filth incessantly vomited by the sewers of a great city frag- 
 ments of all sorts, carcasses of animals, etc., etc. Suddenly the 
 Schoolmaster hears the plash of a body, which falls heavily on 
 the water ; in its recoil the water sprinkles his very face. In the 
 midst of the air-bubbles which rise thick and fast to the surface 
 of the canal, he sees the body of a woman, which sinks rapidly as 
 she struggles struggles. 
 
 Then he sees himself and the Chouette running hastily along 
 the banks of St. Martin's Canal, carrying with them a box cov- 
 ered with black cloth; and yet he is still present during all the 
 variations of agony suffered by the victim whom he and the 
 Chouette have thrown into the canal. After the first immersion, 
 the victim rises to the surface and moves her arms in violent 
 agitation, like someone who, not knowing how to swim, tries 
 in vain to save herself. Then she utters a piercing cry a cry 
 of one in the last extremity despairing which ends in the 
 sullen, stifled sound of involuntary choking ; and the woman the 
 second time sinks beneath the troubled waters. 
 
 The screech-owl, which hovers continually motionless, imi- 
 tates the convulsive rattle of the drowning wretch, as she mocked 
 the dying groans of the cattle-dealer. In the midst of bursts 
 of deathlike laughter, the screech-owl utters, 
 " Glou! glou! glou! " 
 
 The subterranean echoes repeat the sounds. 
 
 A second time submerged, the woman is fast suffocating, and 
 makes one more desperate effort for breath ; but, instead of air, 
 it is water which she inspires. Then her head falls back, her
 
 THE DREAM, 315 
 
 convulsed features are swollen and become livid, her neck be- 
 comes blue and tumefied, her arms stiffen, and, in a last spas- 
 modic effort, the drowning woman in her agony moves her feet, 
 which are resting on the vase. Then she is surrounded by a mass 
 of black soil, which ascends with her to the surface of the water. 
 Scarcely has the choked wretch breathed her last sigh, than she 
 is covered with myriads of the microscopic reptiles the greedy 
 and horrible vermin of the mud. The carcass floats for a 
 moment, balances for a moment, and then sinks slowly, hori- 
 zontally, the feet lower than the head, and between the double 
 waters begins to follow the current of the land. Sometimes the 
 dead corse turns, and its pale face is before the Schoolmaster. 
 Then the specter fixes on him glaringly its two blue, glassy, and 
 opaque eyes ; the livid mouth opens. The Schoolmaster is far 
 away from the drowned woman, and yet her lips murmur in his 
 ears, " Glou! glou! glou!" accompanying these appalling sylla- 
 bles with that singular noise which a bottle thrust into water 
 makes when filling itself. 
 
 The screech-owl repeats, "Glou! glou! glou!" napping her 
 wings, and shrieking, 
 
 "THE WOMAN OF THE CANAL ST. MARTIN! MURDER! 
 MURDER ! MURDER ! " 
 
 The vision of the drowned woman disappears. The lake of 
 blood, through which the Schoolmaster still constantly beholds 
 Rodolph, becomes of a bronzed, black color, then red again, and 
 then changes instantaneously into a liquid furnace-like molten 
 metal. Then that lake of fire rises rises rises towards the sky 
 like an immense whirlpool. There is now a fiery horizon like 
 iron at a white heat. This immense, boundless horizon dazzles 
 and scorches the very eyes of the Schoolmaster, who, fascinated, 
 fastened to the spot, cannot turn away his gaze. Then, at the 
 bottom of this burning lava, whose reflection seems to consume 
 him, he sees pass and repass, one by one, the black and giant 
 specters of his victims. 
 
 "THE MAGIC-LANTERN OF REMORSE! REMORSE! RE- 
 MORSE ! " shrieks the night-bird, napping her hideous wings, and 
 laughing mockingly. 
 
 Notwithstanding the intolerable anguish which his impatient 
 gaze creates, the Schoolmaster has his eyes fixed on the grisly 
 phantoms which move in the blazing sheet. Then an inde- 
 finable horror steals over him. Passing through every step of 
 indescribable torture, by dint of contemplating this blazing 
 sight, he feels his eyeballs which have replaced the blood with 
 which his orbits were filled at the commencement of his dream
 
 34:6 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 he feels his eyeballs grow hot, burning, and melt in this furnace 
 to smoke and bubble and at last become calcined in their 
 cavities like two crucibles filled with red fire. By a fearful 
 power, after having seen as well as felt the successive transfor- 
 mations of his eyeballs into ashes, he falls into the darkness of 
 his actual blindness. 
 
 But now, suddenly, his intolerable agonies are assuaged as 
 though by enchantment. An odorous air of delicious freshness 
 passes over his burning eyeballs. This air is a lovely admixture 
 of the scents of springtime, which exhale from flowers bathed in 
 evening dew. The Schoolmaster hears all about him a gentle 
 murmur, like that of the breeze which just stirs the leaves like 
 that of a brook of running waters, which rushes and murmurs 
 on its bed of stone and moss, " in the leafy month of June." 
 Thousands of birds warble the most enchanting melodies. They 
 are stilled; and the voices of children, of angelic tone, sing 
 strange, unknown words words that are " winged " (if we may 
 use the expression), and which the Schoolmaster hears mount to 
 heaven with gentle motion. A feeling of moral health, of tran- 
 quillity, of undefined languor, creeps over him by degrees. It is 
 an expansion of the heart, an elevation of the mind, an effort 
 of the soul, of which no physical feeling, how delicious soever 
 it may be, can impart the least idea. He feels himself softly 
 soaring in a heavenly sphere : he seems to rise to an immeasurable 
 
 height. 
 
 ****** 
 
 After having for some moments reveled in this unspeakable 
 felicity, he again finds himself in the dark abyss of his habitual 
 thoughts. His dream continues ; but he is again but the muzzled 
 miscreant who blasphemes and curses in the paroxysm of his 
 impotent rage. A voice is heard sonorous solemn ! It is 
 Eodolph's ! The Schoolmaster starts, " like a guilty thing upon 
 a fearful summons." He has the vague consciousness of a 
 dream; but the alarm with which Eodolph inspires him is so 
 great, that he tries, but vainly, to escape from this fresh vision. 
 The voice speaks he listens! The tone of Eodolph is not 
 severe ; it is " rather in sorrow than in anger." 
 
 " Unhappy man/' he says to the Schoolmaster, " the hour of 
 your repentance has not yet sounded. God only knows when it 
 will strike. The punishment of your crimes is still incomplete: 
 you have suffered, but not expiated. Destiny follows out its work 
 of full justice. Your accomplices have become your tormentors. 
 A woman, a child, tame subdue conquer you. When I sen- 
 tenced you to a terrible punishment for your crimes, I said do
 
 THE DREAM. 3^7 
 
 you remember my words? ' You have wickedly abused the great 
 bodily strength bestowed upon you: I will paralyze that strength. 
 The strongest have trembled before you: I will make you hence- 
 forward shrink in the presence of the weakest of beings/ You 
 have left the obscure retreat in which you might have dwelt for 
 repentance and expiration. You were afraid of silence and soli- 
 tude. You sought to drown remembrance by new crimes. Just 
 now, in a fearful and blood-thirsty access of passion, you have 
 wished to kill your wife. She is here under the same roof as 
 yourself. She sleeps without defense. You have a knife; her 
 apartment is close at hand. There was nothing to prevent you 
 from reaching her; nothing could have protected her from your 
 rage nothing but your impotence. The dream you have had, 
 and in which you are still bound, may teach you much may 
 save you. The mysterious phantoms of this dream bear with 
 them a most pregnant meaning. The lake of blood, in which 
 your victims have appeared, is the blood you have shed. The 
 molten lava which replaced it is the gnawing, eating remorse, 
 which must consume you before one day, that the Almighty, 
 having mercy on your protracted tortures, shall call you to Him- 
 self, and let you taste the ineffable sweetness of His gracious 
 forgiveness. But this will not be! No, no! these warnings 
 will he useless. Far from repenting, you regret every day, with 
 horrid blasphemies, the time when you could commit such 
 atrocities. Alas! from this continual struggle between your 
 blood-thirsty desires and the impossibility of satisfying them 
 between your habits of fierce oppression and the compulsion of 
 submitting to beings as weak as they are depraved, there will 
 result to you a fate so fearful so appalling. Ah, unhappy 
 wretch ! " 
 
 Rodolph's voice faltered, and for a moment he was silent, as 
 if emotion and horror had hindered him from proceeding. The 
 Schoolmaster's hair bristled on his brow. What could be would 
 be that fate, which even his executioner pitied? 
 
 " The fate that awaits you is so horrible/' resumed Eodolph, 
 " that, if the Almighty, in His inexorable and all-powerful 
 vengeance, would make you in your person expiate all the crimes 
 of all mankind, He could not devise a more fearful punishment! 
 Ah, woe for you ! woe for you ! " 
 
 At this moment the Schoolmaster uttered a piercing shriek, 
 and awoke with a bound at this horrid, frightful dream.
 
 348 THE MYSTERIES OF PAEIS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 THE hour of nine had struck on the Bouqueval clock, when 
 Madame Georges softly entered the chamber of Fleur-de-Marie. 
 The light slumber of the young girl was quickly broken, and 
 she awoke to find her kind friend standing by her bedside. A 
 brilliant winter's sun darted its rays through the blinds and 
 chintz window-curtains, the pink linings of which cast a bright 
 glow on the pale countenance of La Goualeuse, giving it the 
 look of health it so greatly needed. 
 
 " Well, my child," said Madame Georges, sitting down and 
 gently kissing her forehead, " how are you this morning ? " 
 
 " Much better, madame, I thank you." 
 
 " I hope you were not awoke very early this morning ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, madame." 
 
 " I am glad of it : the blind man and his son, who were per- 
 mitted to sleep here last night, insisted upon quitting the farm 
 immediately it was light, and I was fearful that the noise made 
 in opening the gates might have woke you." 
 
 " Poor things ! why did they go so very early ? " 
 
 " I know not. After you became more calm and comfortable 
 last night I went down into the kitchen, for the purpose of seeing 
 them, but they had pleaded extreme weariness, and begged per- 
 mission to retire. Father Chatelain tells me the blind man does 
 not seem very right in his head ; and the whole body of servants 
 were unanimous in praising the tenderness and care with which 
 the boy attended upon his blind parent. But now, my dear 
 Marie, listen to me: you must not expose yourself to the risk 
 of taking fresh cold after the attack of fever you suffered from 
 last night, and, therefore, I recommend your keeping quite quiet 
 all day, and not leaving the parlor at all." 
 
 "Nay, madame, I have promised M. le Cure to be at th< 
 rectory at five o'clock; pray allow me to go, as I am expected.' 
 
 "Indeed I cannot, it would be very imprudent; I can per 
 ceive you have passed a very bad night, your eyes are quit 
 heavy." 
 
 "I have not been able to rest, through the most frightfi 
 dreams which pursued me whenever I tried to sleep. I fancie 
 myself in the power of a wicked woman who used to torment
 
 THE LETTER. 349 
 
 most cruelly when I was a child; and I kept starting up in dread 
 and alarm. I am ashamed of such silly weakness as to allow 
 dreams to frighten me, but, indeed, I suffered so much during 
 the night that when I awoke my pillow was wetted with my 
 tears." 
 
 " I am truly sorry for this weakness, as you justly style it, my 
 dear child," said Madame Georges, with affectionate concern, 
 seeing the eyes of Fleur-de-Marie again filling fast, " because I 
 perceive the pain it occasions you." 
 
 The poor girl, overpowered by her feelings, threw her arms 
 round the neck of her adopted mother and buried her sobs in 
 her bosom. 
 
 "Marie Marie! my child, you terrify me: why why is 
 this?" 
 
 " Pardon me, dear madame, I beseech you ! Indeed I know 
 not myself what has come over me, but for the last two days my 
 heart has seemed full almost to bursting. I cannot restrain my 
 tears, though I know not wherefore I weep. A fearful dread of 
 some great evil about to befall me weighs down my spirits and 
 resists every attempt to shake it off." 
 
 " Come ! come ! I shall scold you in earnest if you thus give 
 way to imaginary terrors." 
 
 At this moment Claudine, whose previous tap at the door had 
 been unheard, entered the room. 
 
 "What is it, Claudine?" 
 
 " Madame, Pierre has just arrived from Arnouville, in Ma- 
 dame Dubreuil's chaise : he brings a letter for you, which he says 
 is of great importance." 
 
 Madame Georges took the paper from Claudine's hand, opened 
 it, and read as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAR MADAME GEORGES, 
 
 " You could do me a considerable favor, and assist me under 
 very perplexing circumstances, by hastening to the farm here 
 without delay. Pierre has orders to wait till you are ready, and 
 will drive you back after dinner. I really am in such confusion 
 that I hardly know what I am about. M. Dubreuil has gone to 
 the wool-fair at Pontoise; I have, therefore, no one to turn to 
 for advice and assistance but you and Marie. Clara sends 
 her best love to her very dear adopted sister, and anxiously 
 expects her arrival. Try to be with us by eleven o'clock, to 
 luncheon. 
 
 "Ever yours most sincerely, 
 
 " F. DOBREOIL."
 
 350 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "What can possibly be the matter?" asked Madame Georges 
 of Fleur-de-Marie ; " fortunately the tone of Madame Dubreuil's 
 letter is not calculated to cause alarm." 
 
 "Do you wish me to accompany you, madame?" asked the 
 Goualeuse. 
 
 " Why that would scarcely be prudent, so cold as it is. But, 
 upon second thoughts," continued Madame Georges, " I think 
 you may venture if you wrap yourself up very warm; it will 
 serve to raise your spirits, and possibly the short ride may do 
 you good." 
 
 The Goualeuse did not immediately reply, but, after a few 
 minutes' consideration, she ventured to say, 
 
 " But, madame, M. le Cure expects me this evening, at five 
 o'clock, at the rectory." 
 
 " But I promise you to be back in good time for you to keep 
 your engagement : now will you go ? " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, madame ! Indeed, I shall be so delighted to 
 see Mademoiselle Clara." 
 
 " What ! again ? " uttered Madame Georges, in a tone of gentle 
 reproach. "MADEMOISELLE Clara? She does not speak so 
 distantly to you when she addresses you." 
 
 " Oh, no, madame ! " replied the poor girl, casting down her 
 eyes, while a bright flush rose even to her temples ; " but there is 
 so great a difference between us that " 
 
 " Dear Marie ! you are cruel and unkind thus needlessly to 
 torment yourself. Have you so soon forgotten how I chided you 
 but just now for the very same fault? There, drive away all 
 such foolish thoughts ! dress yourself as quickly as you can, and 
 pray wrap up very carefully. If we are quick, we may reach 
 Arnouville before eleven o'clock." 
 
 Then, leaving Fleur-de-Marie to perform the duties of her 
 simple toilette, Madame Georges retired to her own chamber, 
 first dismissing Claudine with an intimation to Pierre that her- 
 self and niece would be ready to start almost immediately. 
 
 Half-an-hour afterwards, Madame Georges and Marie were on 
 their way to Arnouville in one of those large, roomy cabriolets 
 in use among the rich farmers in the environs of Paris; and 
 briskly did their comfortable vehicle, drawn by a stout Norman 
 horse, roll over the grassy road which led from Bouqueval to 
 Arnouville. The extensive buildings and numerous appendages 
 to the farm tenanted by M. Dubreuil in the latter village bore 
 testimony to the wealth and importance of the property bestowed 
 as a marriage-portion on Mademoiselle Cesarine de Noirmont 
 upon her union with the Duke de Lucenay.
 
 THE LETTER. 351 
 
 The loud crack of Pierre's whip apprised Madame Dubreuil of 
 the arrival of her friend Madame Georges with Fleur-de-Marie, 
 who were most affectionately greeted by Clara and her mother. 
 Madame Dubreuil was a good-looking woman of middle age, 
 with a countenance expressive of extreme gentleness and kind- 
 ness; while her daughter Clara was a handsome brunette, with 
 rich hazel eyes, and a happy, innocent expression forever resting 
 on her full rosy lips, which seemed never to open but to utter 
 words of sweetness and amiability. As Clara eagerly threw her 
 arms round her friend's neck as she descended the vehicle, the 
 Goualeuse saw with extreme surprise that the kind-hearted girl 
 had laid aside her more fashionable attire and was habited as a 
 simple country-maiden. 
 
 " Why, Clara ! " said Madame Georges, affectionately return- 
 ing her embrace, " what is the meaning of this strange 
 costume ? " 
 
 " It is done in imitation and admiration of her sister Marie," 
 answered Madame Dubreuil ; " I assure you she let me have no 
 peace till I had procured her a woolen bodice and a fustian skirt 
 exactly resembling your Marie's. But, now we are talking of 
 whims and caprices, just come this way with me," added Ma- 
 dame Dubreuil, drawing a deep sigh, "while I explain to you 
 my present difficulty, as well as the cause of my so abruptly sum- 
 moning you hither; but you are so kind, I feel assured you will 
 not only forgive it, but also render me all the assistance I 
 require." 
 
 Following Madame Georges and her mother to their sitting- 
 room, Clara lovingly conducted the Goualeuse also thither, plac- 
 ing her in the warmest corner of the fireside, and tenderly 
 chafing her hands to prevent the cold from affecting her; then 
 fondly caressing her, and styling her again and again her very 
 dear sister Marie, she playfully reproached her for allowing so 
 long an interval to pass away without paying her a visit. After 
 the recent conversation which passed between the poor Goualeuse 
 and the cure (no doubt fresh in the reader's memory), it will 
 easily be believed that these tender marks of affection inspired 
 the unfortunate girl with feelings of deep humility, combined 
 with a timid joy. 
 
 " Now, then, dear Madame Dubreuil," said Madame Georges, 
 when they were comfortably seated, " do pray tell me what 
 has happened, and in what manner I can be serviceable to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, in several ways ! I will tell you exactly how : in the 
 first place, I believe you are not aware that this farm is the
 
 352 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 private property of the Duchesse de Lucenay, and that we are 
 accountable to her alone, having nothing whatever to do with 
 the duke or his steward/' 
 
 " No, indeed, I never heard that before." 
 
 " Neither should I have troubled you with so unimportant a 
 matter now, but that it forms a necessary part of the explanation 
 I am about to give you of my present pressing need of your kind 
 services. You must know, then, that we consider ourselves as 
 the tenants of Madame de Lucenay, and always pay our rent 
 either to herself or to Madame Simon her head femme de 
 chambre; and really, spite of some little impetuosity of temper, 
 Madame la Duchesse is so amiable, that it is delightful to have 
 business with her. Dubreuil and T would go through fire and 
 water to serve her : but, la ! that is only natural, considering we 
 have known her from her very cradle, and were accustomed to see 
 her playing about as a child during the visits she used annually 
 to pay to the estate during the lifetime of her late father, the 
 Prince de Noirmont. Latterly she has asked for her rent in 
 advance : forty thousand francs is not ' picked up by the road- 
 side/ as the old proverb says; but happily we had laid that sum 
 by as Clara's dowry; and the very next morning after the request 
 reached us we carried madame her money in bright, shining, 
 golden louis. These great ladies spend so much, you see, in 
 luxuries, such as you and I have no idea of. Yet it is only 
 within the last twelvemonth Madame de Lucenay has wished to 
 be paid beforehand, she used always to seem as though she had 
 plenty of money; but things are very different now." 
 
 " Still, my dear Madame Dubreuil, I do not yet perceive in 
 what way I can possibly assist you." 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry ! I am just coming to that part of my 
 story; but I was obliged to tell you all this that you might be 
 able to understand the entire confidence M. la Duchesse places 
 in us : to be sure, she showed her great regard for us by becom- 
 ing, when only thirteen years of age, Clara's godmother, her 
 noble father standing as the other sponsor; and, ever since, 
 Madame de Lucenay has loaded her godchild with presents and 
 kind attentions. But I must not keep you I see you are im- 
 patient; so I will at once proceed with the business part of my 
 tale. You must know, then, that last night I received by express 
 the following letter from Madame de Lucenay : 
 
 " ' MY DEAR MADAME DUBREUIL, 
 
 " ' You must prepare the small pavilion in the orchard for 
 occupation by to-morrow evening. Send there all the requisite
 
 THE LETTER. 353 
 
 furniture, such as carpets, curtains, etc., etc. Let nothing be 
 wanted to render it, in every respect, as comfortable as possible.' 
 
 " Do you mark the word comfortable, Madame Georges ? " 
 inquired Madame Dubreuil, pausing in the midst of her reading ; 
 " it is even underlined." Then looking up at her friend with a 
 thoughtful, puzzled expression of countenance, and receiving no 
 answer, she continued the perusal of her letter: 
 
 " l It is so long since the pavilion has been used that it will 
 require large and constant fires both night and day to remove the 
 dampness from the walls. I wish you to behave in every respect 
 to the person who will occupy the apartments as you would do 
 to myself. And you will receive by the hands of the new visitant 
 a letter from me explanatory of all I expect from your well- 
 known zeal and attachment. I depend entirely on you, and feel 
 every assurance that I may safely reckon on your fidelity and 
 desire to serve me. Adieu, my dear Madame Dubreuil : remem- 
 ber me most kindly to my pretty goddaughter; and believe me 
 ever, 
 
 '"Yours, sincerely and truly, 
 
 " ' NOIRMONT DE LUCENAY. 
 
 "'P.S. The person whom I so strongly recommend to your 
 best care and attention will arrive the day after to-morrow, about 
 dusk. Pray do your very utmost to render the pavilion as com- 
 fortable as you possibly can/ " 
 
 " Comfortable again, you see, and underlined as before," said 
 Madame Dubreuil, returning the letter of Madame de Lucenay 
 to her pocket. 
 
 "Well," replied Madame Georges, "all this is simple 
 enough ! " 
 
 " How do you mean, simple enough ? you cannot have heard 
 me read the letter. Madame la Duchesse wishes particularly 
 ' that the pavilion should be rendered as comfortaUe as possible/ 
 Now that is the very reason of my asking you to come to me 
 to-day; Clara and I have been knocking our heads together in 
 vain to discover what comfortable can possibly mean, but without 
 being able to find it out. Yet it seems odd, too, that Clara 
 should not know its meaning, for she was several years at school 
 at Villiers le Bel, and gained a quantity of prizes for history and 
 geography; however, she knows as little as I do about that out- 
 landish word. I dare say it is only known at court, or in the 
 fashionable world. However, be that as it may, Madame la
 
 354 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Duchesse has thrown me into a pretty fuss by making use of it ; 
 she says, and you see twice repeats the words, and even under- 
 lines it, ' that she requests I will furnish the pavilion as com- 
 fortably as possible.' Now what are we to do when we have not 
 the slightest notion of the meaning of that word ? " 
 
 " Well, Heaven be praised, then, that I can relieve your per- 
 plexity by solving this grand mystery ! " said Madame Georges, 
 smiling. " Upon the present occasion the word comfortable 
 merely means an assemblage of neat, well-chosen, well-arranged, 
 and convenient furniture, so placed, in apartments well warmed 
 and protected from cold or damp, that the occupant shall find 
 everything that is necessary combined with articles that to some 
 might seem superfluities/' 
 
 " Thank you : I perfectly understand what comfortable means 
 as regards furnishing apartments; but your explanation only 
 increases my difficulties." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Madame la Duchesse speaks of carpets, furniture, and many 
 et-cceteras; now we have no carpets here, and our furniture is of 
 the most homely description. Neither can I make out by the 
 letter whether the person I am to expect is a male or female; 
 and yet everything must be prepared by to-morrow evening. 
 What shall I do? What can I do? I can get nothing here. 
 Really, Madame Georges, it is enough to drive one wild to be 
 placed in such an awkward situation." 
 
 " But, mother," said Clara, " suppose you take the furniture 
 out of my room, and whilst you are refurnishing it I will go 
 and pass a few days with dear Marie at Bouqueval." 
 
 " My dear child, what nonsense you talk ! as if the humble 
 fittings-up of your chamber could equal what Madame la Du- 
 chesse means by the word comfortable," returned Madame Du- 
 breuil, with a disconsolate shrug of the shoulders. " Lord ! 
 Lord! why will fine ladies puzzle poor folks like me by going 
 out of their way to find such expressions as comfortable?" 
 
 "Then I presume the pavilion in question is ordinarily un- 
 inhabited ? " said Madame Georges. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! There, you see that small white building at the 
 end of the orchard that is it. The late Prince de Noirmont, 
 father of Madame la Duchesse, caused it to be built for his 
 daughter when, in her youthful days, she was accustomed to 
 visit the farm, and she then occupied it. There are three pretty 
 chambers in it, and a beautiful little Swiss dairy at the end of 
 the garden, where, in her childish days, Madame la Duchesse 
 used to divert herself with feigning to manage. Since her
 
 THE LETTER. 355 
 
 marriage, she has only been twice at the farm, but each time she 
 passed several hours in the pavilion. The first time was about 
 
 six years ago, and then she came on horseback with " Then, 
 
 as though the presence of Clara and Fleur-de-Marie prevented 
 her from saying more, Madame Dubreuil interrupted herself by 
 saying, " But I am talking instead of doing; and that is not the 
 way to get out of my present difficulty. Come, dear, good Ma- 
 dame Georges, and help a poor bewildered creature like myself ! " 
 
 " In the first place," answered Madame Georges, " tell me 
 how is this pavilion furnished at the present moment." 
 
 " Oh, scarcely at all ! In the principal apartment there is a 
 straw matting on the center of the floor; a sofa, and a few arm- 
 chairs composed of rushes, a table, and some chairs, comprise 
 all the inventory, which, I think you will allow, falls far short 
 of the word comfortable." 
 
 " Well, I tell you what I should do in your place. Let me see ; 
 it is eleven o'clock. I should send a person on whom you can 
 depend to Paris." 
 
 " Our overseer! * There cannot be a more active, intelligent 
 person." 
 
 " Exactly ! just the right sort of messenger. Well, in two 
 hours, at the utmost, he may be in Paris. Let him go to some 
 upholsterer in the Chaussee d'Antin never mind which and 
 give him the list I will draw out, after I have seen what is want- 
 ing for the pavilion ; and let him be directed to say that, let the 
 expense be what it may " 
 
 " I don't care about expense, if I can but satisfy the duch- 
 ess." 
 
 "The upholsterer, then, must be told that, at any cost, he 
 must see that every article named in the list be sent here either 
 this evening or before daybreak to-morrow, with three or four 
 of his most clever and active workmen to arrange them as quickly 
 as possible." 
 
 "They might come by the Gonesse diligence, which leaves 
 Paris at eight o'clock every evening/' 
 
 " And as they would only have to place the furniture, lay 
 down carpets, and put up curtains, all that could easily be done 
 by to-morrow evening." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Madame Georges, what a load you have taken 
 off my mind ! I should never have thought of this simple yet 
 proper manner of proceeding. You are the saving of me ! Now, 
 may I ask you to be so kind as draw me out the list of articles 
 
 * A Species of overseer employed in most of the large farming estab- 
 lishments in the environs of Paris.
 
 356 THB MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 necessary to render the pavilion What is that hard word? 
 
 1 never can recollect it." 
 
 " Comfortable ! Yes, I will at once set about it, and with 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Dear me ! here is another difficulty. Don't you see, we are 
 not told whether to expect a lady or a gentleman? Madame de 
 Lucenay, in her letter, only says ' a person.' It is very perplex- 
 ing, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Then make your preparations as if for a lady, my dear 
 Madame Dubreuil ; and, should it turn out a gentleman, why he 
 will only have better reason to be pleased with his accom- 
 modations." 
 
 " Quite right ; right again, as you always are." 
 
 A servant here announced that breakfast was ready. 
 
 " Let breakfast wait a little," said Madame Georges. " And, 
 while I draw out the necessary list, send some person you can 
 depend upon to take the exact height and width of the three 
 rooms, that the curtains and carpets may more easily be 
 prepared." 
 
 " Thank you. I will set our overseer to work out this com- 
 mission." 
 
 " Madame," continued the servant, speaking to her mistress, 
 " the new dairy-woman from Stains is here, with her few goods 
 in a small cart drawn by a donkey. The beast has not a heavy 
 load to complain of, for the poor body's luggage seems but very 
 trifling." 
 
 " Poor woman ! " said Madame Dubreuil, kindly. 
 
 " What woman is it? " inquired Madame Georges. 
 
 "A poor creature from Stains, who once had four cows of 
 her own, and used to go every morning to Paris to sell her milk. 
 Her husband was a blacksmith, and one day accompanied her to 
 Paris to purchase some iron he required for his work, agreeing 
 to rejoin her at the corner of the street where she was accus- 
 tomed to sell her milk. Unhappily, as it afterwards turned out, 
 the poor woman had selected a very bad part of Paris ; for, when 
 her husband returned, he found her in the midst of a set of 
 wicked, drunken fellows, who had, for mere mischief's sake, upset 
 all her milk into the gutter. The poor blacksmith tried to reason 
 with them upon the score of their unfair conduct, but that only 
 made matters worse; they all fell on the husband, who sought in 
 vain to defend himself from their violence. The end of the 
 story is, that, in the scuffle which ensued, the man received a stab 
 with a knife, which stretched him a corpse before the eyes of his 
 distracted wife."
 
 THE LETTER. 357 
 
 " Dreadful, indeed ! " ejaculated Madame Georges. " But, at 
 least, the murderer was apprehended ? " 
 
 " Alas, no ! He managed to make his escape during the con- 
 fusion which ensued, though the unfortunate widow asserts she 
 should recognize him at any minute she might meet him, having 
 repeatedly seen him in company with his associates, inhabitants 
 of that neighborhood. However, up to the present hour all 
 attempts to discover him have been useless. But, to end my tale, 
 I must tell you that, in consequence of the death of her husband, 
 the poor widow was compelled, in order to pay various debts he 
 had contracted, to sell, not only her cows, but some little land he 
 possessed. The bailiff of the chateau at Stains recommended 
 the poor creature to me as a most excellent and honest woman, as 
 deserving as she was unfortunate, having three children to pro- 
 vide for, the eldest not yet twelve years of age. I happened, just 
 then, to be in want of a first-rate dairy-woman, therefore offered 
 her the place, which she gladly accepted, and she has now come 
 to take up her abode on the farm." 
 
 "This act of real kindness on your part, my dear Madame 
 Dubreuil, does not surprise me, knowing you as well as 
 I do." 
 
 " Here, Clara," said Madame Dubreuil, as though seeking to 
 escape from the praises of her friend, " will you go and show 
 this good woman the way to the lodge she is to occupy, while I 
 hasten to explain to our overseer the necessity for his immediate 
 departure for Paris?" 
 
 " Willingly, dear mother ! Marie can come with me, can she 
 not?" 
 
 " Of course," answered Madame Dubreuil, " if she pleases." 
 Then added smilingly, " I wonder whether you two girls could 
 do one without the other? " 
 
 " And now," said Madame Georges, seating herself before a 
 table, " I will at once begin my part of the business, that no time 
 may be lost; for we must positively return to Bouqueval at four 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Madame Dubreuil ; " how early ! 
 Why, what makes you in such a hurry ? " 
 
 " Marie is obliged to be at the rectory by five o'clock." 
 
 " Oh, if her return relates to that good Abbe Laporte, I am 
 sure it is a sacred duty, with which I would not interfere for the 
 world. Well, then, I will go and give the necessary orders for 
 everything being punctual to that hour. Those two girls have 
 so much to say to each other, that we must give them as much 
 time as we can."
 
 358 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Then we shall leave you at three o'clock, my dear Madame 
 Dubreuil?" 
 
 " Yes ; I promise not to detain you, since you so positively 
 wish it. But pray let me thank you again and again for coming. 
 What a good thing it was I thought of sending to ask your kind 
 assistance ! " rejoined Madame Dubreuil. " Now then, Clara and 
 Marie, off with you ! " 
 
 As Madame Georges settled herself to her writing, Madame 
 Dubreuil quitted the room by a door on one side, while the young 
 friends, in company with the servant who had announced the 
 arrival of the milkwoman from Stains, went out by the opposite 
 side. 
 
 " Where is the poor woman ? " inquired Clara. 
 
 " There she is, mademoiselle, in the courtyard, near the barns, 
 with her children and her little donkey-cart." 
 
 " You shall see her, dear Marie," said Clara, taking the arm 
 of La Goualeuse. " Poor woman ! she looks so pale and sad in 
 her deep widow's mourning. The last time she came here to 
 arrange with my mother about the place, she made my heart 
 ache. She wept bitterly as she spoke of her husband; then 
 suddenly burst into a fit of rage as she mentioned his murderer. 
 Eeally, she quite frightened me, she looked so desperate and 
 full of fury. But, after all, her resentment was natural. Poor 
 thing ! I am sure I pity her ; some people are very unfortunate, 
 are they not, Marie ? " 
 
 " Alas, yes, they are, indeed ! " replied the Goualeuse, sighing 
 deeply. " There are some persons who appear born only to 
 trouble and sorrow, as you justly observe, Miss Clara." 
 
 " This is really very unkind of you, Marie," said Clara, color- 
 ing with impatience and displeasure. " This is the second time 
 to-day you have called me ' Miss Clara.' What can I have 
 possibly done to offend you ? For I am sure you must be angry 
 with me, or you would not do what you know vexes me so very 
 much." 
 
 " How is it possible that you could ever offend me ? " 
 
 " Then why do you say ' miss ? ' You know very well that 
 both Madame Georges and my mother have both scolded you 
 for doing it. And I give you due warning, if ever you repeat 
 this great offense, I will have you well scolded again. Now, then, 
 will you be good or not ? Speak ! " 
 
 " Dear Clara, pray pardon me ! Indeed, I was not thinking 
 when I spoke." 
 
 " Not thinking ! " repeated Clara, sorrowfully. " What ! after 
 eight long days' absence you cannot give me your attention even
 
 THE LETTKX. 359 
 
 for five minutes ? Not thinking ! That would be bad enough ; 
 but that is not it, Marie. And I tell you what, it is my belief 
 you are too proud to own so humble a friend as myself." 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie made no answer, but her whole countenance 
 assumed the pallor of death. 
 
 A woman, dressed as a widow, and in deep mourning, had just 
 caught sight of her, and uttered a cry of rage and horror which 
 seemed to freeze the poor girl's blood. This woman was the 
 person who supplied the Goualeuse with her daily milk, during 
 the time the latter dwelt with the ogress at the tapis-franc. 
 
 The scene which ensued took place in one of the yards belong- 
 ing to the farm, in the presence of all the laborers, both male 
 and female, who chanced just then to be returning to the house 
 to take their midday meal. Beneath a shed stood a small cart, 
 drawn by a donkey, and containing the few household possessions 
 of the widow : a boy of about twelve years of age, aided by two 
 younger children, was beginning to unload the vehicle. The 
 milkwoman herself was a woman of about forty years of age, 
 her countenance coarse, masculine, and expressive of great reso- 
 lution. She was, as we before stated, attired in the deepest 
 mourning, and her eyelids looked red and inflamed with recent 
 weeping. Her first impulse at the sight of the Goualeuse had 
 been terror; but quickly did that feeling change into grief and 
 rage, while the most violent anger contracted her features. 
 Rapidly darting towards the unhappy girl, she seized her by the 
 arm, and, presenting her to the gaze of the farm-servants, she 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Here is a creature who is acquainted with the assassin of my 
 poor husband ! I have seen her more than twenty times speak- 
 ing to the ruffian when I was selling my milk at the corner of 
 the Rue de la Vieille-Draperie ; she used to come to buy a ha'- 
 porth every morning. She knows well enough who it was struck 
 the blow that made me a widow, and my poor children father- 
 less. ' Birds of a feather flock together, and such loose char- 
 acters as she is are sure to be linked in with thieves and mur- 
 derers. Oh, you shall not escape me, you abandoned wretch ! " 
 cried the milkwoman, who had now lashed herself into a per- 
 fect fury, and who, seeing poor Fleur-de-Marie confused and 
 terror-stricken at this sudden attack, endeavoring to escape from 
 it by flight, grasped her fiercely by the other arm also. Clara, 
 almost speechless with surprise and alarm at this outrageous 
 conduct, had been quite incapable of interfering; but this in- 
 creased violence on the part of the widow seemed to restore her 
 to herself, and angrily addressing the woman she said,
 
 360 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this improper behavior? Are you 
 out of your senses ? Has grief turned your brain ? Good woman, 
 I pity you ! But let us pass on ; you are mistaken." 
 
 "Mistaken!" repeated the woman, with a bitter smile; "me 
 mistaken ! No, no, there is no mistake ! Just look at her pale, 
 guilty looks ! Hark how her very teeth rattle in her head ! Ah, 
 she knows well enough there is no mistake ! Ah, you may hold 
 your wicked tongue if you like; but justice will find a way to 
 make you speak. You shall go with me before the mayor; do 
 you hear? Oh, it is not worth while resisting! I have good 
 strong wrists; I can hold you. And, sooner than you should 
 escape, I would carry you every step of the way." 
 
 " You good-for-nothing, insolent -woman ! how dare you pre- 
 sume to speak in this way to my dear friend and sister?" 
 
 " Your sister, Mademoiselle Clara ! Believe me, it is you 
 who are deceived it is you who have lost your senses," bawled 
 .the enraged milkwoman, in a loud, coarse voice. " Your sister ! 
 A likely story a girl out of the streets, who was the companion 
 of the very lowest wretches in the worst part of the Cite, should 
 be a sister of yours ! " 
 
 At these words the assembled laborers, who naturally enough 
 took that part in the affair which concerned a person of their 
 own class, and who really sympathized with the bereaved milk- 
 woman, gave utterance to deep, threatening words, in which the 
 name of Fleur-de-Marie was angrily mingled. The three chil- 
 dren, hearing their mother speaking in a loud tone, and fearing 
 they knew not what, ran to her, and, clinging to her dress, 
 burst out into a loud fit of weeping. The sight of these poor 
 little fatherless things, dressed also in deep mourning, increased 
 the pity of the spectators for the unfortunate widow, while it re- 
 doubled their indignation against Fleur-de-Marie; while Clara, 
 completely frightened by these demonstrations of approaching 
 violence, exclaimed, in an agitated tone, to the group of farm- 
 laborers, 
 
 "Take this woman off the premises directly! Do you not 
 perceive grief has driven her out of her senses? Marie! dear 
 Marie! never mind what she says. She is mad, poor creature, 
 and knows not what she does ! " 
 
 The poor Goualeuse, pale, exhausted, and almost fainting, 
 made no effort to escape from the powerful grasp of the incensed 
 milkwoman; she hung her head, as though unable or unwilling 
 to meet the gaze of friend or foe. Clara, attributing her con- 
 dition to the terror excited by so alarming a scene, renewed her 
 commands to the laborers, " Did you not hear me desire that
 
 THE LETTER. 361 
 
 this mad woman might be instantly taken away from the farm? 
 However, unless she immediately ceases her rude and insolent 
 language, I can promise her, by way of punishment, she shall 
 neither have the situation my mother promised her, nor ever be 
 suffered to put her foot on the premises again." 
 
 Not a person stirred to obey Clara's orders; on the contrary, 
 one of the boldest among the party exclaimed, 
 
 " Well, but, Miss Clara, if your friend there is only a common 
 girl out of the streets, and, as such, acquainted with the murderer 
 of this poor woman's husband, surely she ought to go before the 
 mayor to give an account of herself and her bad companions ! " 
 
 " I tell you," repeated Clara, with indignant warmth, and 
 addressing the milkwoman, " you shall never enter this farm, 
 again unless you this very instant, and before all these people, 
 humbly beg pardon of Mademoiselle Marie for all the wicked 
 things you have been saying about her!" 
 
 " You turn me off the premises then, mademoiselle, do you ? " 
 retorted the widow, with bitterness. " Well, so be it. Come, 
 my poor children, let us put the things back in the cart, and go 
 and seek our bread elsewhere. God will take care of us. But, 
 at least, when we go, we will take this abandoned young woman 
 with us. She shall be made to tell the mayor, if she won't us, 
 who it was that took away your dear father's life ; for she knows 
 well enough she who was the daily companion of the worst set 
 of ruffians who infest Paris. And you, miss," added she, looking 
 spitefully and insolently at Clara, " you should not, because yon 
 choose to make friends with low girls out of the streets, and be- 
 cause you happen to be rich, be quite so hard-hearted and un- 
 feeling to poor creatures like me!" 
 
 "No more she ought," exclaimed one of the laborers; "the 
 poor woman is right ! " 
 
 " Of course she is she is only standing up for her own ! " 
 
 " Poor tiling, she has no one now to do so for her ! Why, they 
 have murdered her husband among them ! I should think that 
 might content them, without trampling the poor woman under 
 foot." 
 
 " One comfort is, nobody can stop her from doing all in her 
 power to bring the murderers of her husband to justice." 
 
 " It is a shame to send her away in this manner, like a dog ! " 
 
 " Can she help it, poor creature, if Miss Clara thinks proper 
 to take up with common girls and thieves, and make them her 
 companions? " 
 
 " Infamous, to turn an honest woman, a poor widow with help- 
 less children, into the streets for such a base girl as that ! "
 
 362 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 These different speeches, uttered nearly simultaneously by the 
 surrounding crowd, were rapidly assuming a most hostile and 
 threatening tone, when Clara joyfully exclaimed, 
 
 " Thank God, here comes my mother ! " 
 
 It was, indeed, Madame Dubreuil, who was crossing the court- 
 yard on her return from the pavilion. 
 
 " Now, then, my children," said Madame Dubreuil, gayly ap- 
 proaching the assembled group, " will you come in to breakfast ? 
 I declare it is quite late! I dare say you are both hungry? 
 Come, Marie ! Clara ! " 
 
 " Mother," cried Clara, pointing to the widow, " you are for- 
 tunately just in time to save my dear sister Marie from the in- 
 sults and violence of that woman.' Oh, pray order her away 
 instantly ! If you only knew what she had the audacity to say 
 to Marie ! " 
 
 " Impossible, Clara ! " 
 
 " Nay, but, dear mother, only look at my poor dear sister ! 
 See how she trembles ! She can scarcely support herself. Oh, 
 it is a shame and disgrace such conduct should ever have been 
 offered to a guest of ours ! My dear, dear friend Marie, dear ! 
 look up, and say you are not angry with us. Pray, pray tell 
 me, you will try and forget it ! " 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this?" inquired Madame 
 Dubreuil, looking around her with a disturbed and uneasy look, 
 after having observed the despairing agony of the Goua- 
 leuse. 
 
 " Ah, now we shall have justice done the poor widow wo- 
 man ! " murmured the laborers. " Madame will see her righted, 
 no doubt about it ! " 
 
 " Now then," exclaimed the milkwoman, exultingly, " here is 
 Madame Dubreuil. Now, my fine miss," continued she, address- 
 ing Fleur-de-Marie, "you will have your turn of being turned 
 out-of-doors ! " 
 
 " Is it true, then," cried Madame Dubreuil, addressing the 
 widow, who still kept firm hold of Fleur-de-Marie's arm, " that 
 you have dared to insult my daughter's friend, as she asserts? 
 Is this the way you show your gratitude for all I have done to 
 serve you ? Will you leave that young lady alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame," replied the woman, relinquishing her grasp 
 of Fleur-de-Marie, " at your bidding I will ; for I respect you 
 too much to disobey you. And, besides, I owe you much grati- 
 tude for all your kindness to a poor, friendless creature like 
 myself. But, before you blame me, and drive me off the premises 
 with my poor children, just question that wretched creature that 

 
 THE LETTER. 363 
 
 has caused all this confusion what she knows of me. I know a 
 pretty deal more of her than is to her credit ! " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Marie," exclaimed Madame Dubreuil, al- 
 most petrified with astonishment, " what does this woman allude 
 to? Do you hear what she says?" 
 
 " Are you, or are you not known by the name of the Goua- 
 leuse?" said the milkwoman to Marie. 
 
 " Yes/' said the wretched girl in a low, trembling voice, 
 and without venturing to lift up her eyes towards Madame 
 Dubreuil "yes, I am called so." 
 
 " There you see ! " vociferated the enraged laborers. " She 
 owns it ! she owns it ! " 
 
 " What does she own ? " inquired Madame Dubreuil, half 
 frightened at the assent given by Fleur-de-Marie. 
 
 " Leave her to me, madame," resumed the widow, " and you 
 shall hear her confess that she was living in a house of the most 
 infamous description, in the Rue-aux-Feves in the Cite, and that 
 she every morning purchased a half-pennyworth of milk of me. 
 She cannot deny either having repeatedly spoken in my presence 
 to the murderer of my poor husband. Oh, she knows him well 
 enough, I am quite certain : a pale young man, who smoked a 
 great deal, and always wore a cap and a blouse, and wore his 
 hair very long; she could tell his name if she chose. Is this 
 true, or is it a lie ? " vociferously demanded the milkwoman. 
 
 "I may have spoken to the man who killed your husband," 
 answered Fleur-de-Marie, in a faint voice ; " for, unhappily, there 
 are more than one in the Cite capable of such a crime. But, in- 
 deed, I know not of whom you are speaking ! " 
 
 " What does she say ? " asked Madame Dubreuil, horror-struck 
 at her words. " She admits having possibly conversed with 
 murderers ? " 
 
 " Oh, such lost wretches as she is," replied the widow, " have 
 no better companions ! " 
 
 At first, utterly stupefied by so singular a discovery, confirmed, 
 indeed, by Fleur-de-Marie's own admission, Madame Dubreuil 
 seemed almost incapable of comprehending the scene before her ; 
 but quickly the whole truth presented itself to her mental vision, 
 and, shrinking from the unfortunate girl with horror and dis- 
 gust, she hastily seized her daughter by the dress, as she was 
 about to sustain the sinking form of the poor Goualeuse, and, 
 drawing her towards her with a sudden violence, she ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Clara ! for Heaven's sake approach not that vile, that aban- 
 doned young woman! Oh, dreadful, indeed, ever to have ad-
 
 364 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 mitted her here ! But how came Madame Georges to have her 
 tinder her roof ? And how could she so far insult me as to bring 
 her here, and allow my daughter to This is, indeed, dis- 
 graceful! I hardly know whether to trust the evidence of my 
 own senses. But Madame Georges must have been as much im- 
 posed on as myself, or she never would have permitted such an 
 indignity. No, no ! she is incapable of such dishonorable con- 
 duct. It would, indeed, be a disgrace for one female so to have 
 deceived another." 
 
 Poor Clara, terrified and almost heart-broken at this distress- 
 ing scene, could scarcely believe herself awake. It seemed as 
 though she were under the influence of a fearful dream. Her 
 innocent and pure mind comprehended not the frightful charges 
 brought against her friend ; but she understood enough to fill 
 her with the most poignant grief at the unfortunate position of 
 La Goualeuse, who stood mute, passive, and downcast, like a 
 criminal in the presence of the judge. 
 
 " Come, come, my child/' repeated Madame Dubreuil, " let 
 'us quit this disgraceful scene." Then, turning towards Fleur- 
 de-Marie, she said, 
 
 " As for you, worthless girl, the Almighty will punish you as 
 you deserve for your deceit ! That my child, good and virtuous 
 as she is, should ever have been allowed to call you sister or 
 friend ! Her sister ! You the very vilest of the vile ! the 
 outcast of the most depraved and lost wretches ! What hardi- 
 hood, what effrontery, you must have possessed, to dare to show 
 your face among good and honest people, when your proper place 
 would have been along with your bad companions in a prison ! " 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " cried all the laborers at once ; " let her be sent off 
 to prison at once. She knows the murderer ! Let her be made 
 to declare who and what he is." 
 
 " She is most likely his accomplice ! " 
 
 " You see," exclaimed the widow, doubling her fist in the face 
 of the Goualeuse, " that my words have come true. Justice will 
 overtake you before you can commit other crimes." 
 
 " As for you, my good woman," said Madame Dubreuil to the 
 milkwoman, "far from sending you away, I shall well reward 
 you for the service you have done me in unmasking this in- 
 famous girl's real character." 
 
 " There, I told you," murmured the voices of the laborers, 
 " our mistress always does justice to everyone ! " 
 
 " Come, Clara," resumed Madame Dubreuil, " let us retire and 
 seek Madame Georges, that she may clear up her share of this 
 disgraceful business, or she and I never meet again; for either
 
 THE LETTER. 365 
 
 she has herself been most dreadfully deceived, or her conduct 
 towards us is of the very worst description." 
 
 " But, mother, only look at poor Marie ! " 
 
 " Oh, never mind her ! Let her die of shame, if she likes 
 there will be one wicked, hardened girl less in the world. Treat 
 her with the contempt she deserves. I will not suffer you to 
 remain another instant where she is. It is impossible for a 
 young person like you to notice her in any way without dis- 
 gracing herself." 
 
 " My dear mother," answered Clara, resisting her mother's 
 attempts to draw her away, "I do not understand what you 
 mean. Marie must be wrong in some way, since you say so! 
 But look, only look at her she is fainting! Pity her! Oh, 
 mother, let her be ever so guilty, pray take pity on her present 
 distress ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle Clara, you are good very, very good 
 to pardon me and care for me," uttered poor Fleur-de-Marie, 
 in a faint voice, casting a look of unutterable gratitude on her 
 young protectress. " Believe me, it was sorely against my will 
 ever to deceive you ; and daily, hourly, have I reproached myself 
 for so doing." 
 
 " Mother ! " exclaimed Clara, in the most piteous tones, " are 
 you then so merciless? Can you not pity her?" 
 
 " Pity ! " returned Madame Dubreuil, scornfully. " No, 
 I waste no pity on such as she is. Come, I say! Were it not 
 that I consider it the office of Madame Georges to clear the place 
 of so vile a creature, I would have her spurned from the doors, 
 as though she carried the plague about with her." So saying, 
 the angry mother seized her daughter's hand, and, spite of all her 
 struggles, led her away, Clara continually turning back her head, 
 and saying, 
 
 " Marie, my sister, I know not what they accuse you of ; but I 
 am quite convinced of your innocence. Be assured of my con- 
 stant love, whatever they may say or do." 
 
 " Silence ! silence, I command ! " cried Madame Dubreuil, 
 placing her hand over her daughter's mouth. " Speak not an- 
 other word, I insist! Fortunately, we have plenty of wit- 
 nesses to testify that, after the odious discovery we have just 
 made, you were not suffered to remain a single instant with this 
 lost and unfortunate young woman. You can all answer for 
 that, can you not, my good people ? " continued she, speaking to 
 the assembled laborers. 
 
 " Yes, yes, madame," replied one of them ; "we all know well 
 enough that Mademoiselle Clara was not allowed to stop with
 
 366 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 this bad girl a single instant after you found out her wickedness. 
 No doubt she is a thief, or she would not be so intimate with 
 murderers." 
 
 Madame Dubreuil led Clara to the house, while the Goualeuse 
 remained in the midst of the hostile circle which had now formed 
 around her. Spite of the reproaches of Madame Dubreuil, her 
 presence, and that of Clara, had, in some degree, served to allay 
 the fears of Fleur-de-Marie as to the probable termination of 
 the scene. But after the departure of both mother and daughter, 
 when she found herself so entirely at the mercy of the enraged 
 crowd, her strength seemed to forsake her, and she was obliged 
 to keep herself from falling by leaning on the parapet of the 
 deep watering-place where the farm cattle were accustomed to 
 drink. 
 
 Nothing could be conceived more touching than the attitude 
 of the unfortunate girl, nor could a more threatening appearance 
 have been displayed than was exhibited in the words and looks 
 of the countrymen and women who surrounded her. Seated, or 
 rather supporting herself on the narrow margin of the wall 
 which enclosed the drinking-place, her head hanging down, and 
 concealed by both hands, her neck and bosom hid by the ends 
 of the little red cotton handkerchief which was twisted around 
 her cap, the poor Goualeuse, mute and motionless, presented a 
 most touching picture of grief and resignation. 
 
 At some little distance from Fleur-de-Marie stood the widow 
 of the murdered man. Triumphant in her vindictive rage, and 
 still further excited by the indignation expressed by Madame 
 Dubreuil, she pointed out the wretched object of her wrath to 
 the laborers and her children, with gestures of contempt and 
 detestation. The farm-servants, who had now formed into a 
 close circle, sought not to conceal their disgust and thirst for 
 vengeance; their rude countenances expressed at once rage, 
 desire for revenge, and a sort of insulting raillery. The women 
 were even still more bitter, and bent upon mischief. Neither did 
 the striking beauty of the Goualeuse tend to allay their wrath. 
 But neither men nor women could pardon Fleur-de-Marie the 
 heinous offense of having, up to that hour, been treated by their 
 superiors as an equal ; and some of the men now present having 
 been unsuccessful candidates for the vacant situations at Bouque- 
 val, and attributing their failure to Madame Georges, when, in 
 reality, their disappointment arose entirely from their recom- 
 mendations not being sufficiently satisfactory, determined to avail 
 themselves of the opportunity now before them to wreak their 
 vexation and ill will on the head of one she was known to pro-
 
 THE LETTER, 367 
 
 tect and love. The impulses of ignorant minds always lead to 
 extremes either of good or bad. But they speedily put on a 
 most dangerous form, when the fury of an enraged multitude is 
 directed against those who may already have awakened their 
 personal anger or aversion. 
 
 Although the greater number of the laborers now collected to- 
 gether might not have been so strictly virtuous and free from 
 moral blame as to be justified in throwing the first stone at the 
 trembling, fainting girl, who was the object of all their con- 
 centrated wrath, yet, on the present occasion, they unanimously 
 spoke and acted as though her very presence were capable of 
 contaminating them ; and their delicacy and modesty alike re- 
 volted at the bare recollection of the depraved class to which she 
 had belonged, and they shuddered to be so near one who con- 
 fessed to having frequently conversed with assassins. Nothing, 
 then, was wanting to urge on a blind and prejudiced crowd, still 
 further instigated by the example of Madame Dubreuil. 
 
 " Take her before the mayor ! " cried one. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! and, if she won't walk, we'll drag her." 
 
 " And for her to have the impudence to dress herself like one 
 of us honest girls ! " said an awkward, ill-looking farm-wench. 
 
 " I'm sure," rejoined another female, with her mock-modest 
 air, " one might have thought she would go to heaven, spite of 
 priest or confession ! " 
 
 " Why, she had the assurance even to attend mass ! " 
 
 " Xo ! did she ? Why did she not join in the communion after- 
 wards then, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " And then she must play the young lady, and hold up her 
 head as high as our betters ! " 
 
 " As though we were not good company enough for her ! " 
 
 " However, every dog has his day ! " 
 
 " Oh, I'll make you find your tongue, and tell who it was took 
 my husband's life ! " vociferated the enraged widow, breaking 
 out into a fresh storm, now she felt her party so strong. " You 
 all belong to one gang; and I'm not sure but I saw you among 
 them at the very time and place when the bloody deed was done ! 
 Come, come; don't stand there shedding your crocodile tears: 
 you are found out, and may as well leave off shamming any 
 more. Show your face, I say ! You are a beauty ain't you ? " 
 And the infuriated woman, suiting the action to the word, 
 violently snatched the two hands of poor Fleur-de-Marie from 
 the pale and grief-worn countenance they concealed, and down 
 which tears were fast streaming. 
 
 The Goualeuse, sinking under a sense of shame, and terrified
 
 368 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 at finding herself thus at the mercy of her persecutors, joined her 
 hands, and, turning towards the milkwoman her supplicating 
 and timid looks, she said, in a gentle voice, 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, madam, I have been at the farm of Bouque- 
 val these last two months. How could I, then, have been wit- 
 ness to the dreadful misfortune you speak of? And " 
 
 The faint tones of Fleur-de-Marie's voice were drowned in 
 the loud uproarious cries of the surrounding multitude. 
 
 " Let us take her before the mayor ! She can speak ; and she 
 shall, too, to some purpose. March, march, my fine madam ! 
 On with you ! " 
 
 So saying, the menacing crowd pressed upon the poor girl, 
 who, mechanically crossing her hands on her bosom, looked 
 eagerly around, as though in search of help. 
 
 " Oh," cried the milkwoman, " you need not stare about in 
 that wild way. Mademoiselle Clara is not here now to take your 
 part. You don't slip through my fingers, I promise you ! " 
 
 " Alas ! madam," uttered Fleur-de-Marie, trembling violently, 
 " I seek not to escape from you. Be assured, I am both ready 
 and willing to answer all the questions put to me, if I can be of 
 any service to you by so doing. But what harm have I done to 
 these people, who surround and threaten me in this manner?" 
 
 " What have you done ? " repeated a number of voices ; " why, 
 you have dared to stick yourself up with our betters, when we, 
 who were worth thousands more than such as you, were made 
 to keep our distance that's what you have done ! " 
 
 " And what right had you to cause this poor woman to be 
 turned away with her fatherless children?" cried another. 
 
 " Indeed, it was no fault of mine. It was Mademoiselle Clara, 
 who wished " 
 
 " That is not true ! " interrupted the speaker. " You never 
 even opened your mouth in her favor. No, not you ! You were 
 too well pleased to see her bread taken from her." 
 
 " No, no ! no more she did," chimed in a burst of voices, male 
 and female. 
 
 " She is a regular bad one ! " 
 
 " A poor widow-woman, with three helpless children ! " 
 
 " If I did not plead for her with Mademoiselle Clara, it was 
 because I had not power to utter a word." 
 
 " You could find strength enough to talk to a set of thieves 
 and murderers ! " 
 
 And, as is frequently the case in public commotions, the 
 country people, more ignorant than vicious, actually talked them- 
 selves into a fury, until their own words and violence excited
 
 THE LETTER. 369 
 
 them to fresh acts of rage and vengeance against their un- 
 happy victim. 
 
 The menacing throng, gesticulating and loudly threatening, 
 advanced closer and closer towards Fleur-de-Marie, while the 
 widow appeared to have lost all command over herself. Sepa- 
 rated from the deep pond only by the parapet on which she was 
 leaning, the Goualeuse shuddered at the idea of their throwing 
 her into the water ; and, extending towards them her supplicat- 
 ing hands, she exclaimed, / 
 
 " Good, kind people ! what do you want with me ? For pity's 
 sake do not harm me ! " 
 
 And as the milkwoman, with fierce and angry gestures, kept 
 coming nearer and nearer, holding her clenched fist almost in 
 the face of Fleur-de-Marie, the poor girl, drawing herself back 
 in terror, said, in beseeching tones, 
 
 " Pray, pray, do not press so closely on me, or you will cause 
 me to fall into the water." 
 
 These words suggested a cruel idea to the rough spectators. 
 Intending merely one of those practical jokes which, however 
 diverting to the projectors, are fraught with serious harm and 
 suffering to the unfortunate object of them, one of the most 
 violent of the number called out, " Let's give her a plunge in ! 
 Buck her! duck her!" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " chimed several voices, accompanied with brutal 
 laughter, and noisy clapping of hands, with other tokens of 
 unanimous approval. " Throw her in ! in with her ! " 
 
 " A good dip will do her good. Water won't kill her ! " 
 
 "That will teach her not to show her face among honest 
 people again ! " 
 
 " To be sure. Toss her in ! fling her over ! " 
 
 " Fortunately, the ice was broken this morning ! " 
 
 " And when she has had her bath she may go and tell her 
 street companions how the folks at Arnouville farm serve such 
 vile girls as she is ! " 
 
 As these unfeeling speeches reached her ear, as she heard their 
 barbarous jokes, and observed the exasperated looks of the bru- 
 tally excited individuals who approached her to carry their threat 
 into execution, Fleur-de-Marie gave herself over for lost. But 
 to her first horror of a violent death succeeded a sort of gloomy 
 satisfaction. The future wore so threatening and hopeless an 
 aspect for her, that she thanked Heaven for shortening her trial. 
 Not another complaining word escaped her; but gently falling 
 on her knees, and piously folding her hands upon her breast, 
 ehe closed her eyes, and meekly resigned herself to her fate.
 
 370 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 The laborers, surprised at the attitude and mute resignation of 
 the Goualeuse, hesitated a moment in the accomplishment of 
 their savage design; hut, rallied on their folly and irresolution 
 by the female part of the assemblage, they recommenced their 
 uproarious cries, as though to inspire themselves with the neces- 
 sary courage to complete their wicked purpose. 
 
 Just as two of the most furious of the party were about to 
 seize on Fleur- de-Marie, a loud, thrilling voice was heard, ex- 
 claiming, 
 
 " Stop ! I command you ! " 
 
 And at the very instant Madame Georges, who had forced a 
 passage through the crowd, reached the still kneeling Goualeuse, 
 took her in her arms, and, raising her, cried, 
 
 " Eise up, my child ! Stand up, my beloved daughter ! the 
 knee should be bent to God alone ! " 
 
 The expression and attitude of Madame Georges were so full 
 of courageous firmness, that the actors in this cruel scene shrunk 
 back speechless and confounded. Indignation colored her usu- 
 ally pale features, and casting on the laborers a stern look she 
 said to them, in a loud and threatening voice, 
 
 " Wretches ! are you not ashamed of such brutal conduct to 
 a helpless girl like this ? " 
 
 " She is " 
 
 " My daughter ! " exclaimed Madame Georges, with severity, 
 and abruptly interrupting the man who was about to speak; 
 " and, as such, both cherished and protected by our worthy cure, 
 M. 1'Abbe Laporte, whom everyone venerates and loves; and 
 those whom he loves and esteems ought to be respected by every 
 one ! " 
 
 These simple words effectually imposed silence on the crowd. 
 The cure of Bouqueval was looked upon throughout his district 
 almost as a saint, and many there present were well aware of 
 the interest he took in the Goualeuse. Still a confused murmur 
 went on, and Madame Georges, fully comprehending its import, 
 added, 
 
 " Suppose this poor girl were the very worst of creatures the 
 most abandoned of her sex your conduct is not the less dis- 
 graceful ! What offense has she committed? And what right 
 have you to punish her ? you, who call yourselves men, to exert 
 your strength and power against one poor, feeble, unresisting 
 female! Surely it was a cowardly action all to unite against a 
 defenseless girl! Come, Marie! come, child of my heart! let 
 us return home: there, at least, you are known, and justly 
 appreciated."
 
 THE LETTER. 37^ 
 
 Madame Georges took the arm of Fleur-de-Marie, while the 
 laborers, ashamed of their conduct, the impropriety of which they 
 now perceived, respectfully dispersed. The widow alone re- 
 mained ; and, advancing boldly to Madame Georges, she said, in 
 a resolute tone, 
 
 " I don't care for a word you say ! and, as for this girl, she 
 does not quit this place until after she has deposed before the 
 mayor as to all she knows of my poor husband's murder." 
 
 " My good woman ! " said Madame Georges, restraining her- 
 self by a violent effort, " my daughter has no deposition to 
 make here, but, at any future period that justice may require 
 her testimony, let her be summoned, and she shall attend, with 
 myself: until then no person has a right to question her." 
 
 '"But, madame, I say " 
 
 Madame Georges prevented the milkwoman from proceeding 
 by replying, in severe tone, 
 
 " The severe affliction you have experienced can scarcely 
 excuse your conduct, and you will one day regret the violence 
 you have so improperly excited. Mademoiselle Marie lives with 
 me at the Bouqueval farm : inform the judge who received 
 your deposition of that circumstance, and say that we await his 
 further crders." 
 
 The widow, unable to argue against words so temperately and 
 wisely spoken, seated herself on the parapet of the drinking- 
 place, and, embracing her children, began to weep bitterly. 
 Almost immediately after this scene Pierre brought the chaise, 
 into which Madame Georges and Fleur-de-Marie mounted, to 
 return to Bouqueval. 
 
 As they passed before the farm-house of Arnouville, the 
 Goualeuse perceived Clara, who had hid herself behind a partly 
 closed shutter, weeping bitterly. She was evidently watching 
 for a last glimpse of of her friend, to whom she waved her 
 handkerchief in token of farewell. 
 
 " Ah, madame ! what shame to me, and vexation to you, has 
 arisen this morning from our visit to Arnouville ! " said Fleur- 
 de-Marie to her adopted parent, when they found themselves in 
 the sitting-room at Bouqueval : " you have probably quarreled 
 forever with Madame Dubreuil, and all on my account ! Oh, I 
 foresaw something terrible was about to happen ! God has justly 
 punished me for deceiving that good lady and her daughter! 
 I am the unfortunate cause of perpetual disunion between your- 
 self and your friend ! " 
 
 " My dear child, my friend is a warm-hearted, excellent 
 woman, but rather weak; still I know her too well not to feel
 
 372 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 certain, that by to-morrow she will regret her foolish violence 
 of to-day." 
 
 "Alas, madame, think not that I wish to take her part in 
 preference to yours ! No, God forbid ! but pardon me if I say 
 that I fear your great kindness towards me has induced you to 
 
 shut your eyes to Put yourself in the place of Madame 
 
 Dubreuil to be told that the companion of your darling daugh- 
 ter was what I was Ah, could anyone blame such natural 
 
 indignation ? " 
 
 Unfortunately, Madame Georges could not find any satis- 
 factory reply to this question of Fleur-de-Marie's, who con- 
 tinued, with much excitement, 
 
 " Soon will the degrading scene of yesterday be in everybody's 
 mouth ! I fear not for myself, but who can tell how far it may 
 affect the reputation of Mademoiselle Clara? Who can answer 
 for it that I may not have tarnished her fair fame forever? 
 for did she not, in the face of the assembled crowd, persist in 
 calling me her friend her sister? I ought to have obeyed my 
 first impulse, and resisted the affection which attracted me to- 
 wards Mademoiselle Dubreuil, and, at the risk of incurring her 
 dislike, have refused the friendship she offered me. But I for- 
 got the distance which separated me from her, and now, as you 
 perceive, I am suffering the just penalty: I am punished oh, 
 how cruelly punished ! for I have perhaps done an irreparable 
 injury to one so virtuous and so good." 
 
 " My child," said Madame Georges, after a brief silence, " you 
 are wrong to accuse yourself so cruelly. 'Tis true your past life 
 has been guilty very highly so : but are we to reckon as nothing 
 your having, by the sincerity of your repentance, obtained the 
 protection and favor of our excellent cure ? and was it not under 
 his auspices and mine you were introduced to Madame Dubreuil ? 
 and did not your own amiable qualities inspire her with the 
 attachment she so voluntarily professed for you ? was it not she 
 herself who requested you to call Clara your sister? and, finally, 
 as I told her just now, for I neither wished nor ought to conceal 
 the whole truth from her, how could I, certain as I felt of your 
 sincere repentance how could I, by divulging the past, render 
 your attempts to reinstate yourself more painful and difficult, 
 perhaps impossible, by throwing you, in despair of being again 
 received by the good and virtuous, back upon the scorn and 
 derision of those who, equally guilty, equally unfortunate as 
 you have been, would not perhaps like you have preserved the 
 secret instinct of honor and virtue ? The disclosure made by the 
 woman to-day is alike to be lamented and feared; but could I,
 
 THE LETTER. 373 
 
 in anticipation of an almost impossible casualty, sacrifice your 
 present comfort and future repose?" 
 
 " Ah, madame, a convincing proof of the false and miserable 
 position I must ever hold may be found in the fact of your being 
 obliged to conceal the past; and that the mother of Clara de- 
 spises me for that past; views me in the same contemptuous 
 light all will henceforward behold me, for the scene at the 
 farm at Arnouville will be quickly spread abroad everyone will 
 hear of it ! Oh, I shall die with shame ! never again can I meet 
 the looks of any human being ! " 
 
 " Not even mine, my child ? " said Madame Georges, bursting 
 into tears, and opening her arms to Fleur-de-Marie ; " you will 
 never find in my heart any other feeling than the devoted tender- 
 ness of a mother. Courage, then, dear Marie ! console yourself 
 with the knowledge of your hearty and sincere repentance ; you 
 are here surrounded with true and affectionate friends, let this 
 home be your world. We will anticipate the exposure you dread 
 so much: our worthy abbe shall assemble the people about the 
 farm, who all regard you with love and respect, and he shall tell 
 them the sad history of your past life; and, trust me, my child, 
 told as the tale would be by him, whose word is law here, such a 
 disclosure will but serve to increase the interest all take in your 
 welfare." 
 
 " 1 would fain think so, dear madame, and I submit myself. 
 Yesterday, when we were conversing together, M. le Cure pre- 
 dicted to me that I should be called upon painfully to expiate 
 my past offenses : I ought not, therefore, to be astonished at their 
 commencement. He told me also that my earthly trials would 
 be accepted as some atonement for the great wrong I have done : 
 I would fain hope so. Supported through these painful ordeals 
 by you and my venerable pastor, I will not I ought not to 
 complain." 
 
 " You will go to his presence ere long, and never will his 
 counsels have been more valuable to you. It is already half- 
 past four; prepare yourself for your visit to the rectory, my 
 child. I shall employ myself in writing to M. Rodolph an ac- 
 count of what occurred at the farm at Arnouville, and send my 
 letter off by express; I will then join you at our venerable abbe's, 
 for it is most important we should talk over matters together." 
 
 Shortly after, the Goualeuse quitted the farm, in order to 
 repair to the rectory by the hollow road, where the old woman, 
 the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, had agreed to meet. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 As may have been perceived in her conversations with Madame
 
 374 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 Georges and the cure of Bouqueval, Fleur-de-Marie had so nobly 
 profited by the example of her benefactors, so assimilated her- 
 self with their principles, that, remembering her past degrada- 
 tion, she daily became more hopeless of recovering the place she 
 had lost in society. As her mind expanded so did her fine and 
 noble instincts arrive at mature growth, and bring forth worthy 
 fruits in the midst of the atmosphere of honor and purity in 
 which she lived. Had she possessed a less exalted mind, a less 
 exquisite sensibility, or an imagination of weaker quality, Fleur- 
 de-Marie might easily have been comforted and consoled; but, 
 unfortunately, not a single day passed in which she did not 
 recall, and almost live over again, with an agony of horror and 
 disgust, the disgraceful miseries of her past life. Let the reader 
 figure to himself a young creature of sixteen, candid and pure, 
 and rejoicing in that very candor and purity, thrown, by fright- 
 ful circumstances, into the infamous den of the ogress, and 
 irrecoverably subjected to the dominion of such a fiend, such 
 was the reaction of the past on the present on Fleur-de-Marie's 
 mind. Let us still further display the resentful retrospect, or, 
 rather, the moral agony with which the ,Goualeuse suffered so 
 excruciatingly, by saying that she regretted, more frequently 
 than she had courage to own to the cure, the not having perished 
 in the midst of the slough of wickedness by which she was 
 encompassed. 
 
 However little a person may reflect, or however limited his 
 knowledge of life may be, he will not refuse to assent to our 
 remarks touching the commiseration which such a case as Fleur- 
 de-Marie's fully called for. She was deserving of both interest 
 and pity, not only because she had never known what it was to 
 have her affections fairly aroused, but because all her senses were 
 torpid, and as yet unawakened by noble impulses untaught, 
 unaided, unadvised. Is it not wonderful that this unfortunate 
 girl, thrown at the tender age of sixteen years in the midst of 
 the herd of savage and demoralized beings who infest the Cite, 
 should yet have viewed her degrading position with horror and 
 disgust, and have escaped from the sink of iniquity morally pure 
 and free from sin ?
 
 THE HOLLO W WA 7. 375 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 THE HOLLOW WAY. 
 
 THE sun was descending, and the fields were silent and desert- 
 ed. Fleur-de-Marie had reached the entrance to the hollow way, 
 which it was necessary to cross in her walk to the rectory, when 
 she saw a little lame lad, dressed in a gray blouse and blue cap, 
 come out of the ravine. He appeared in tears, and directly he 
 saw the Goualeuse he ran towards her. 
 
 " Oh, good lady, have pity on me, I pray ! " he exclaimed, 
 clasping his hands with a supplicating look. 
 
 " What do you want ? What is the matter with you, my poor 
 boy?" said the Goualeuse, with an air of interest. 
 
 " Alas, good lady ! my poor grandmother, who is very, very 
 old, has fallen down in trying to climb up the ravine, and hurt 
 herself very much. I am afraid she has broken her leg, and I 
 am too weak to lift her up myself. Mon dieu! what shall I do if 
 yon will not come and help me? Perhaps my poor grandmother 
 will die ! " 
 
 The Goualeuse, touched with the grief of the little cripple, 
 replied, 
 
 " I am not very strong myself, my child ; but perhaps I can 
 help you to assist your poor grandmother. Let us go to her as 
 quickly as we can ! I live at the farm close by here ; and, if the 
 poor old woman cannot walk there with us, I will send somebody 
 to help her ! " 
 
 " Oh, good lady, le Ion Dieu will bless you for your kindness ! 
 It is close by here not two steps down this hollow way, as I 
 told you. It was in going down the slope that she fell." 
 
 "You do not belong to this part of the country?" said the 
 Goualeuse, inquiringly following Tortillard, whom our readers 
 have, no doubt, recognized. 
 
 " No, good lady, we came from Ecouen ! " 
 
 "And where are you going?" 
 
 " To a good clergyman's, who lives on the hill out there," said 
 Bras Rouge's son, to increase Fleur-de-Marie's confidence. 
 
 "To the Abbe Laporte's, perhaps?" 
 
 "Yes, good lady; to the Abbe Laporte's. My poor grand- 
 mother knows him very, very well ! " 
 
 " And I was going there also. How strange that we should
 
 376 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 meet ! " said Fleur-de-Marie, advancing still further into the 
 hollow way. 
 
 " Grandmamma, I'm coming I'm coming ! Take courage, 
 and I will bring you help ! " cried Tortillard, to forewarn the 
 Schoolmaster and the Chouette to prepare themselves to lay 
 hands on their victim. 
 
 " Your grandmother, then, did not fall down far off from 
 here?" inquired the Goualeuse. 
 
 " No, good lady ; behind that large tree there, where the road 
 turns, about twenty paces from here." 
 
 Suddenly Tortillard stopped. 
 
 The noise of a horse galloping was heard in the silence of the 
 place. 
 
 " All is lost again ! " said Tortillard to himself. 
 
 The road made a very sudden bend a few yards from the spot 
 where Bras Rouge's son was with the Goualeuse. A horseman 
 appeared at the angle, and when he came nigh to the young girl 
 he stopped. And then was heard the trot of another horse ; and 
 some moments after there followed a groom in a brown coat, 
 with silver buttons, white leather breeches, and top-boots. A 
 leathern belt secured round his waist his master's macintosh. 
 His master was dressed simply in a stout brown frock-coat, and 
 a pair of light gray trousers, which fitted closely. He was 
 mounted on a thorough-bred and splendid bay horse, which he 
 sat admirably, and which, in spite of a fast gallop, had not a 
 bead of sweat on his skin, which was as bright and brilliant as 
 a star. The groom's gray horse, which stood motionless a few 
 paces behind his master, was also well-bred and perfect of his 
 kind. In the handsome dark face of the gentleman Tortillard 
 recognized the Vicomte de Saint-Remy, who was supposed to 
 be the lover of the Duchesse de Lucenay. 
 
 " My pretty lass," said the vicomte to the Goualeuse, whose 
 lovely countenance struck him, " would you be so obliging as to 
 tell me the way to the village of Arnouville ? " 
 
 Fleur-de-Marie's eyes sunk before the bold and admiring look 
 of the young man, as she replied, 
 
 " On leaving the sunken road, sir, you must take the first 
 turning to the right, and that path will lead you to an avenue of 
 cherry-trees, which is the straight road to Arnouville." 
 
 " A thousand thanks, my pretty lass ! You tell me better than 
 an old woman, whom I found a few yards further on stretched 
 under a tree, for I could only get groans and moans out of her." 
 
 " My poor grandmother ! " said Tortillard, in a whining tone. 
 
 "One word more," said M. de Saint-Remy, addressing La
 
 THE HOLLOW WAT. 377 
 
 Goualeuse. "Can you tell me if I shall easily find M. Du- 
 breuil's farm at Arnouville ? " 
 
 Goualeuse could not prevent a shudder at these words, which 
 recalled to her the painful scene of the morning. She 
 replied, 
 
 " The farm-buildings border the avenue which you must enter 
 to reach Arnouville, sir." 
 
 " Once more, many thanks, my pretty dear ! " said M. de 
 Saint-Kemy; and he galloped off with his groom. 
 
 The handsome features of the viscount were in full animation 
 whilst he was talking with Fleur-de-Marie, but when he was 
 again alone they became darkened and contracted by painful un- 
 easiness. Fleur-de-Marie, remembering the unknown person for 
 whom they were so hastily preparing a pavilion at the farm of 
 Arnouville by Madame de Lucenay's orders, felt convinced it was 
 for this young and good-looking cavalier. 
 
 The sound of the horses' feet as they galloped on was heard 
 for some time on the hard and frozen ground, and by degrees 
 grew fainter, then were no longer heard, and all was once more 
 hushed in silence. Tortillard breathed again. Desirous of en- 
 couraging and warning his accomplices, one of whom, the 
 Schoolmaster, was concealed from the horsemen, Bras Rouge's 
 son called out, 
 
 "Granny! granny! here I am! with the good lady who is 
 coming to help you ! " 
 
 " Quick, quick, my boy ! The gentleman on horseback has 
 made us lose some time," said the Goualeuse, walking at a 
 quicker pace, that she might reach the turning into the hollow 
 way. 
 
 She had scarcely entered it when the Chouette, who was 
 hidden there, exclaimed, 
 
 " Now then, fourline! " 
 
 Then springing upon the Goualeuse, the one-eyed hag seized 
 her by the neck with one hand, whilst with the other she pressed 
 her mouth ; and Tortillard, throwing himself at the young girl's 
 feet, clung round her legs, that she might not be able to stir. 
 
 This took place so rapidly, that the Chouette had no time 
 to examine the Goualeuse's features ; but during the few instants 
 it required for the Schoolmaster to quit the hole in which he 
 was ensconced, to grope his way along with his cloak, the 
 beldam recognized her old victim. 
 
 "La Pegriotte!" she exclaimed, in great surprise. Then 
 adding with savage delight, "What, is it you? Ah, the baker 
 (the devil) sends you! It is your fate, then, to fall into my
 
 378 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 clutches ! I have my vitriol in the fiacre now, and your white 
 skin shall have a touch, miss; for it makes me sick to see your 
 fine lady countenance. Come, my man, mind she don't bite; 
 and hold her tight whilst we bundle her up." 
 
 The Schoolmaster seized the Goualeuse in his two powerful 
 hands, and before she could utter a cry the Chouette threw the 
 cloak over her head, and wrapped her up in it, tightly and 
 securely. In a moment, Fleur-de-Marie, tied and enveloped, 
 was without any power to move or call for assistance. 
 
 " Now take up your parcel, fourline," said the Chouette. 
 " He ! he ! he ! This is not such a load as the ' black peter ' of 
 the woman who was drowned in the Canal of St. Martin is it, 
 my man?" And as the brigand shuddered at these words, 
 which reminded him of his fearful vision, the one-eyed hag re- 
 sumed, "Well, well, what ails you, fourline? Why, you seem 
 frozen! Ever since the morning, your teeth chatter as if you 
 had the ague ; and you look in the air as if you were looking for 
 something there ! " 
 
 " Vile impostor ! He is looking to see the flies," said Tortil- 
 lard. 
 
 " Come, quick ! Haste forward, my man ! Up with Pegri- 
 otte ! That's it ! " said the Chouette, as she saw the ruffian lift 
 Fleur-de-Marie in his arms as he would carry a sleeping infant. 
 " Quick to the coach ! quick quick ! " 
 
 " But who will lead me ? " inquired the Schoolmaster, in a 
 hoarse voice, and securing his light and flexible burden in his 
 herculean arms. 
 
 " Old wise head ! he thinks of everything ! " said the Chou- 
 ette. 
 
 Then, lifting aside her shawl, she unfastened a red pocket- 
 handkerchief which covered her skinny neck, and, twisting it 
 into its length, said to the Schoolmaster, 
 
 " Open your ivories, and take the end of this wipe between 
 them. Hold tight! Tortillard will take the other end in his 
 hand, and you have nothing to do but to follow him. The good 
 blind man requires a good dog ! Here, brat ! " 
 
 The cripple cut a caper, and made a sort of low and odd 
 barking. Then, taking the other end of the handkerchief in 
 his hand, he led the Schoolmaster in this way, whilst the Chou- 
 ette hastened forward to apprise Barbillon. We have not at- 
 tempted to paint Fleur-de-Marie's terror when she found her- 
 self in the power of the Chouette and the Schoolmaster. She 
 felt all her strength leave her, and could not offer the slightest 
 resistance.
 
 CLEMENCE HEAR VILLE. 379 
 
 Some minutes afterwards the Goualeuse was lifted into the 
 fiacre which Barbillon drove, and although it was night they 
 closed the window blinds carefully; and the three accomplices 
 went, with their almost expiring victim, towards the Plain of 
 Saint-Denis, where Thomas Seyton awaited them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 
 
 THE reader will kindly excuse our having left one of our 
 heroines in a most critical situation, the denotement of which 
 we shall state hereafter. 
 
 It will be remembered that Rodolph had preserved Madame 
 d'Harville from an imminent danger, occasioned by the jealousy 
 of Sarah, who had acquainted M. d'Harville with the assigna- 
 ation Clemenee had so imprudently granted to M. Charles 
 Robert. Deeply affected with the scene he had witnessed, the 
 prince returned directly home after quitting the Rue du Temple, 
 putting off till the next day the visit he purposed paying to 
 Mdlle. Rigolette and the distressed family of the unfortunate 
 artisan, of whom we have spoken, believing them out of the 
 reach of present want, thanks to the money he had given 
 Madame d'Harville to convey to them, in order that her pre- 
 tended charitable visit to the house might assume a more con- 
 vincing appearance in the eyes of her husband. 
 
 Unfortunately, Rodolph was ignorant of Tortillard's having 
 possessed himself of the purse, although the reader has already 
 been told how the artful young thief contrived to effect the 
 barefaced cheat. 
 
 About four o'clock the prince received the following letter, 
 which was brought by an old woman, who went away the instant 
 she had delivered it, without awaiting any answer. 
 
 " MY LORD, 
 
 " I owe you more than life ; and I would fain express 
 my heartfelt gratitude for the invaluable service you have ren- 
 dered me to-day. To-morrow shame would, perhaps, close my 
 lips. If your royal highness will honor me with a call this 
 evening, you will finish the day as you began it by a generous 
 action. D'ORBIGNY-D'HARVILLE. 
 
 " P.S. Do not, my lord, take the trouble to write an answer. 
 I shall be at home all the evening."
 
 380 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 However rejoiced Rodolph felt at having been the happy in- 
 strument of good to Madame d'Harville, he yet could not help 
 regretting the sort of forced intimacy which this circumstance 
 all at once established between ' himself and the marquise. 
 Deeply struck with the graceful vivacity and extreme beauty of 
 Clemence, yet wholly incapable of infringing upon the friend- 
 ship which existed between himself and the marquis, Rodolph, 
 directly he became aware of the passion which was springing 
 up in his heart for the wife of his friend, almost denied himself 
 (after having previously devoted a whole month to the most 
 assiduous attentions) the pleasure of beholding her. And now, 
 too, he recollected with much emotion the conversation he had 
 overheard at the embassy between -Tom and Sarah, when the 
 latter, by way of accounting for her hatred and jealousy, had 
 affirmed, and not without truth, that Madame d'Harville still 
 felt, even unknown to herself, a serious affection for Rodolph. 
 
 Sarah was too acute, too penetrating, too well versed in the 
 knowledge of the human heart, not to be well aware that 
 Clemence, believing herself scorned by a man who had made 
 so deep an impression on her heart, and yielding, from the 
 effects of her irritated feelings, to the importunities of a per- 
 fidious friend, might be induced to interest herself in the imagin- 
 ary woes of M. Charles Robert, without, consequently, forgetting 
 Rodolph. Other women, faithful to the memory of a man they 
 had once distinguished, would have remained indifferent to the 
 melancholy looks of the commandant. Clemence d'Harville 
 was therefore doubly blamable, although she had only yielded to 
 the seduction of unhappiness, and, fortunately for her, had been 
 preserved alike by a keen sense of duty and the remembrance of 
 the prince (which still lurked in her heart, and kept faithful 
 watch over it) from the commission of an irreparable fault. 
 
 A thousand contradictory emotions disturbed the mind of 
 Rodolph, as he thought of his interview with Madame d'Har- 
 ville. Firmly resolved to resist the predilection which attracted 
 him to her society, sometimes he congratulated himself on being 
 able to cast off his love for her by the recollection of her having 
 entangled herself with such a being as Charles Robert; and the 
 next instant he bitterly deplored seeing the flattering veil with 
 which he had invested his idol fall to the ground. 
 
 Clemence d'Harville, on her part, awaited the approaching in- 
 terview with much anxiety; but the two prevailing sentiments 
 pervaded her breast were painful confusion, when she re-
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 381 
 
 membered the interference of Bodolph, and a fixed aversion 
 when she thought of M. Charles Robert: and many reasons 
 were concerned in this feeling of dislike almost approaching 
 hatred itself. A woman will risk her honor or her life for a man, 
 but she will never pardon him for having placed her in a mortify- 
 ing or a ridiculous situation. 
 
 Madame d'Harville felt her cheeks flush, and her pulse beat 
 rapidly, as she indignantly recalled the insulting looks and im- 
 pertinent remarks of Madame Pipelet: nor was this all; after 
 receiving from Rodolph an intimation of the danger she was in- 
 curring, Clemence had proceeded rapidly toward the fifth floor, 
 as directed, but the position of the staircase was such that, as she 
 hurried on, she perceived M. Charles Robert in his dazzling robe 
 de chambre, at the very instant when, recognizing the light step 
 of the woman he expected, he, with a self-satisfied, confident, 
 and triumphant look, set the door of his apartment half open. 
 The air of insolent familiarity, expressed by the negligee toilette 
 he had assumed, quickly enabled the marquise to perceive how 
 entirely she had been mistaken in his character. Led away by 
 the kindness and goodness of her heart, and the generosity of her 
 disposition, to take a step which might forever destroy her repu- 
 tation, she had accorded this meeting, not from love, but solely 
 from commiseration, in order to console him for the ridiculous 
 part the bad taste of the Duke de Lucenay had made him play 
 before her at the embassy. Words can ill describe the disgust 
 and vexation with which Madame d'Harville beheld the slip- 
 shod deshabille of the commandant, implying as it did his 
 opinion how completely her ill-judged condescension had broken 
 down the barriers of etiquette, and led him to consider no 
 further respect towards her necessary. 
 
 The timepiece in the small salon which Madame d'Harville 
 ordinarily occupied struck nine o'clock. Dressmakers and 
 tavern-keepers have so much abused the style of Louis XV. and 
 the Renaissance, that the marquise, a woman of infinite taste, 
 had excluded from her apartments this description of ornament, 
 now become so vulgarized, and confined it to that part of the 
 hotel devoted to the reception of visitors and grand entertain- 
 ments. Nothing could be more elegant or more distingue than 
 the fitting up of the salon in which the marquise awaited Ro- 
 dolph. The color of the walls as well as the curtains (which, 
 without either valances or draperies, were -of Indian texture) 
 was bright straw color, on which were embroidered, in a darker 
 shade, in unwrought silk, arabesques of the most beautiful de- 
 signs and whimsical devices. Double curtains of point
 
 382 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 d'Alengon entirely concealed the windows. The rosewood doors 
 were set off with gold moldings, most beautifully carved, sur- 
 rounding in each panel an oval medallion of Sevres china, nearly 
 a foot in diameter, representing a numberless variety of birds 
 and flowers of surpassing brilliancy and beauty. The frames of 
 the looking-glasses and the cornices of the curtains were also of 
 rosewood, ornamented with similar raised work of silver gilt. 
 The white marble mantelpiece, with its supporting Caryatides of 
 antique beauty and exquisite grace, was from the chisel of the 
 proud and imperious Marochetti, that great artist having con- 
 sented to sculpture this delicious chef-d'oBuvre in imitation of 
 Benvenuto Cellini, who disdained not to model ewers and armor. 
 Two candelabras, and two candlesticks of vermeil, forming 
 groups of small figures beautifully executed, stood on either side 
 of the timepiece, which was formed of a square block of lapis- 
 lazuli raised on a pedestal of Oriental jasper, and surmounted 
 with a large and magnificently enameled golden cup, richly 
 studded with rubies and pearls, once the property of the Floren- 
 tine Eepublic. Several excellent pictures of the Venetian 
 school, of middle size, completed this assemblage of elegance and 
 refined taste. 
 
 Thanks to a most charming invention but recently introduced, 
 this splendid yet simple apartment was lighted only by the soft 
 rays of a lamp, the unground surface of whose crystal globe was 
 half hid among a mass of real flowers, contained in an im- 
 mensely large and deep blue and gold Japan cup, suspended 
 from the ceiling like a luster by three chains of vermeil, round 
 which were entwined the green stalks of several climbing plants; 
 while some of the flexible branches, thickly laden with flowers, 
 overhanging the edge of the cup and hanging gracefully down, 
 formed a waving fringe of fresh verdure, beautifully contrasting 
 with the blue and gold enamel of the purple porcelain. 
 
 We have been thus precise in these details, trifling as they 
 may seem, in order to give some idea of the exquisite taste 
 possessed by Madame d'Harville (the most invariable companion 
 of an elevated mind), and also because misfortunes always strike 
 us as more poignantly cruel when they insinuate themselves into 
 abodes like this, the favored possessors of which seem gifted 
 by Providence with everything to make life happy and envi- 
 able. 
 
 Buried in the downy softness of a large arm-chair, totally 
 covered by the same straw-colored Indian silk as formed the rest 
 of the hangings, Clemence d'Harville sat, awaiting the arrival 
 of Eodolph. Her hair was arranged in the most simple manner.
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 383 
 
 She wore a high dress of black velvet, which well displayed the 
 beauty and admirable workmanship of her large collar and cuffs 
 of English lace, which prevented the extreme black of the velvet 
 from contrasting too harshly with the dazzling whiteness of her 
 throat and hands. 
 
 In proportion as the hour approached for her interview with 
 Rodolph, the emotion of the marquise increased ; but by degrees 
 her embarrassment ceased, and firmer resolves took possession of 
 her mind. After a long and mature reflection she came to the 
 determination of confiding to Rodolph a great, a cruel secret, 
 hoping by her frankness to win back that esteem she now so 
 highly prized. Awakened by gratitude, her pristine admiration 
 of Rodolph returned with fresh force; one of those secret 
 whispers, which rarely deceives the heart that loves, told her that 
 chance alone had not brought the prince so opportunely to her 
 succor, and that his studied avoidance of her society during the 
 last few months had originated in anything but indifference A 
 vague suspicion also arose in her mind as to the reality and sin- 
 cerity of the affection Sarah professed for her. 
 
 While deeply meditating on all these things a valet de 
 chambre, having first gently tapped at the door, entered, say- 
 ing* 
 
 " Will it please you, my lady, to see Madame Ashton and my 
 young lady ? " 
 
 Madame d'Harville made an affirmative gesture of assent, and 
 a little girl slowly entered the room. 
 
 The child was about four years old, and its countenance would 
 have been a very charming one but for its sickly pallor and ex- 
 treme meagerness. Madame Ashton, the governess, held it by 
 the hand, but, directly Claire (that was the name of the little 
 girl) saw her mother, she opened her arms, and, spite of her 
 feebleness, ran towards her. Her light brown hair was plaited, 
 'and tied at each side of her forehead with bows of cherry- 
 colored ribbon. Her health was so delicate that she wore a 
 wrapping dress of dark brown silk instead of one of those pretty 
 little white muslin frocks trimmed with ribbons of a similar 
 color as those in the hair, and well cut over the bosom to show 
 the plump, pinky arms, and smooth, fair shoulders, so lovely in 
 healthy children. So sunken were the cheeks of poor Claire that 
 her large dark eyes looked quite enormous. But, spite of every 
 appearance of weakness, a sweet and gentle smile lit up her 
 small features when she was placed on the lap of her mother, 
 whom she kissed and embraced with intense yet mournful 
 affection.
 
 384 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "How has she been of late, Madame Ashton?" inquired 
 Madame d'Harville of the governess. 
 
 " Tolerably well, madame ; although at one time I greatly 
 feared." 
 
 " Again ! " cried Clemence, pressing her daughter to her heart 
 with a movement of involuntary horror. 
 
 " Fortunately, madame, I was mistaken," said the governess, 
 "and the whole passed away without any further alarm; Ma- 
 demoiselle Claire became composed, and merely suffered from a 
 momentary feeling of weakness. She has not slept much this 
 afternoon, but I could not coax her to bed without allowing her 
 the pleasure of paying a visit to you." 
 
 " Dear little angel ! " cried Madame d'Harville, covering her 
 daughter with kisses. 
 
 The interesting child repaid her mother's caresses with in- 
 fantine delight, when the groom of the chambers entered, and 
 announced, 
 
 " His royal highness the Grand Duke of Gerolstein." 
 
 Claire, standing on her mother's lap, had thrown her arms 
 about her neck, and was clasping her with all the force of which 
 her tiny arms were capable. At the sight of Eodolph, Clemence 
 blushed deeply, set her child gently down on the carpet, and 
 signed to Madame Ashton to take her away; she then rose to 
 receive her guest. 
 
 " You must give me leave," said Rodolph, smilingly, after 
 having respectfully bowed to the marquise, " to renew my ac- 
 quaintance with my little friend here, who I fear has almost 
 forgotten me." 
 
 And, stooping down a little, he extended his hand to Claire, 
 who, first gazing at him with her large eyes, curiously scrutinized 
 his features, then, recognizing him, she made a gentle inclination 
 of the head, and blew him a kiss from the tips of her small, thin 
 fingers. 
 
 " You remember my lord, then, my child ? " asked Clemence 
 of little Claire, who gave an assenting nod, and kissed her hand 
 to Rodolph a second time. 
 
 " Her health appears to me much improved since I last saw 
 her," said he, addressing himself with unfeigned interest to 
 Clemence. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, my lord, she is better, though still sadly 
 delicate and suffering." 
 
 The marquise and the prince, mutually embarrassed at the 
 thoughts of the approaching interview, would have been equally 
 glad to defer its commencement, through the medium of Claire's 
 
 i
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 385 
 
 presence; but, the discreet Madame Ashton having taken her 
 away, Rodolph and Clemence were left quite alone. 
 
 The arm-chair in which Madame d'Harville was reclining 
 stood on the right hand of the chimney, and Rodolph remained, 
 without attempting to seat himself, gracefully leaning his elbow 
 on the mantelpiece. Never had Clemence been so strongly im- 
 pressed with admiration at the noble and prepossessing appear- 
 ance of the prince; never had his voice sounded more gentle or 
 sweet upon her ear. Fully understanding how painful it must 
 be to the marquise to open the conversation, Rodolph at once 
 proceeded to the main point by observing, 
 
 " You have been, madame, the victim of a base and treach- 
 erous action. A cowardly and dishonorable disclosure on the 
 part of the Countess Macgregor has well-nigh effected irre- 
 mediable mischief." 
 
 " Is it, indeed, so?" exclaimed Clemence, painfully surprised; 
 " then my presentiments were not ill-founded ! And by what 
 means did your royal highness discover this ? " 
 
 " Last night, at the ball given by the Countess C * * *, I dis- 
 covered this infamous secret. I was sitting in a lone part of the 
 ' Winter Garden/ when Countess Sarah and her brother, uncon- 
 scious that a mass of verdure alone concealed me from them, 
 while it enabled me to hear each word they spoke, began con- 
 versing freely upon their own projects, and the snare they had 
 spread for you. Anxious to warn you of the danger with which 
 you were threatened, I hastened to Madame de Nerval's ball, 
 hoping to meet you there, but you did not appear. To write 
 and direct my letter here was to incur the risk of its falling into 
 the hands of the marquis, whose suspicions were already aroused 
 by your treacherous friend; and I therefore preferred awaiting 
 your arrival in the Rue du Temple, that I might unfold to you 
 the perfidy of Countess Macgregor. Let me hope you will 
 pardon my thus long dwelling on a subject which must be 
 so painful to you. And, but for the few lines you were kind 
 enough to write, never would my lips have in any way reverted 
 to it." 
 
 After a momentary silence, Madame d'Harville said to 
 Rodolph, 
 
 " There is but one way, my lord, in which I can prove to you 
 my gratitude for your late generous conduct. It is to confess to 
 you that which I have never revealed to a human being. What 
 I have to say will not exculpate me in your estimation, but it 
 will, perhaps, enable you to make some allowances for my im- 
 prudence."
 
 386 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "Candidly speaking, madame," said Rodolph, smiling, "my 
 position as regards you is a very embarrassing one." 
 
 Clemence, astonished at the almost jesting tone in which he 
 spoke, looked at Rodolph with extreme surprise, while she said, 
 " How so, my lord ? " 
 
 " Thanks to a circumstance you are doubtless acquainted with, 
 I am obliged to assume the grave airs of a Mentor touching an 
 incident which, since you have so happily escaped the vile snare 
 laid for you by Countess Sarah, scarcely merits being treated 
 with so much importance. But," continued Rodolph, with a 
 slight shade of gentle and affectionate earnestness, "your hus- 
 band and myself are almost as brothers; and, before our time, 
 our fathers had vowed the sincerest friendship for each other. 
 I have, therefore, a double motive in most warmly congratulat- 
 ing you on having secured the peace and happiness of your 
 husband ! " 
 
 " And it is from my knowledge of the high regard and esteem 
 with which you honor M. d'Harville, that I have determined 
 upon revealing the whole truth, as well as to explain myself 
 relative to an interest which must appear to you as ill-chosen 
 and unworthy as it now seems to me. I wish also to clear up 
 that part of my conduct which bears an injurious appearance 
 against the tranquillity and honor of him your highness styles 
 ' almost a brother.' " 
 
 " Believe me, madame, I shall at all times be most proud and 
 happy to receive the smallest proof of your confidence. Yet 
 permit me to say, as regards the interest you speak of, that I 
 am perfectly aware it originated as much in sincere pity as from 
 the constant importunities of Countess Sarah Macgregor, who 
 had her own reasons for seeking to injure you. And I also 
 know equally well that you long hesitated ere you could make 
 up your mind to take the step you now so much regret. 
 
 Clemence looked at the prince with surprise. 
 
 " You seem astonished ! Well, that you may not fancy I 
 dabble in witchcraft, some of these days I will tell you all about 
 it," said Rodolph, smiling. "But your husband is perfectly 
 tranquillized, is he not ? " 
 
 "Yes, my lord," said Clemence, looking down in much con- 
 fusion; "and it is most painful to me to hear him asking my 
 pardon for having ever suspected me, and then eulogizing my 
 modest silence respecting my good deeds." 
 
 " Nay, do not chide an illusion which renders him so happy. 
 On the contrary, endeavor to maintain the innocent deception. 
 Were it not forbidden to treat your late adventure lightly, and
 
 CLEMENCE ITHARVILLE. 387 
 
 had not you, madame, been so much involved in it, I would say 
 that a woman never appears more charming in the eyes of her 
 husband than when she has some fault to conceal. It is incon- 
 ceivable how many little cajoleries, and what winning smiles, 
 are employed to ease a troubled conscience. When I was 
 young," added Rodolph, smiling ; " I always, in spite of myself, 
 mistrusted any unusual marks of tenderness. And, by the same 
 rule, I can say of myself, that I never felt more disposed to 
 appear in an amiable light than when I was conscious of re- 
 quiring forgiveness. So, directly I perceived a more than or- 
 dinary anxiety to please and gratify me, I was very sure 
 (judging by my own conduct) to ascribe it to some little pecca- 
 dillo that needed overlooking and pardoning." 
 
 The light tone with which Rodolph continued to discuss an 
 affair which might have been attended with circumstances so 
 fearful, at first excited Madame d'Harville's wonder; but she 
 quickly perceived that the prince, beneath this outward appear- 
 ance of trifling, sought to conceal, or at least lessen, the im- 
 portance of the service he had rendered her. And, profoundly 
 touched with his delicacy, she said, 
 
 " I conprehend your generous meaning, my lord ; and you are 
 fully at liberty to jest and forget as much as you like the peril 
 from which you have preserved me. But that which I have to 
 relate to you is of so grave, so serious, and mournful a nature 
 is so closely connected with the events of this morning and 
 your advice may so greatly benefit me that I beseech you to 
 remember that to you I owe both my honor and my life: yes, 
 my lord my life ! My husband was armed ; and he has owned, 
 in the excess of his repentance, that it was his intention to have 
 killed me, had his suspicions proved correct." 
 
 " Great God ! " exclaimed Rodolph, with emotion. 
 
 " And he would have been justified in so doing," rejoined 
 Madame d'Harville, bitterly. 
 
 " I beseech you, madame," said Rodolph, and this time he 
 spoke with deep seriousness, " I beseech you to be assured I 
 am incapable of being careless or indifferent to any matter in 
 which you are concerned. If I seemed but now to jest, it was 
 but to make you think less of a circumstance which has already 
 occasioned you so much pain. But now, madame, you may 
 command my most solemn attention. Since you honor me by 
 saying my advice may be useful, I listen most anxiously and 
 eagerly. 
 
 "You can, indeed, counsel me most beneficially, my lord. 
 But, before I explain to you my reasons for seeking your aid,
 
 388 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 I must say a few words concerning a period of which you are 
 ignorant I mean the years which preceded my marriage with 
 M. d'Harville." 
 
 Kodolph bowed, and Clemence continued, 
 
 "At sixteen years of age I lost my mother (and here a tear 
 stole down the fair cheek of Madame d'Harville). I cannot 
 attempt to describe how much I adored that beloved parent. 
 Imagine, my lord, the very personification of all earthly good- 
 ness. Her fondness for me was excessive, and appeared her only 
 consolation amid the many bitter sorrows she had to endure. 
 Caring but little for what is styled the world, with delicate 
 health, and a natural predilection for sedentary occupation, her 
 great delight had been in attending solely to my education, and 
 her ample store of solid and varied knowledge well fitted her 
 for the task. Conceive, my lord, her astonishment and mine 
 when, in my sixteenth year, my dear preceptress considered my 
 education nearly completed, my father making the feeble 
 health of my mother a pretext announced to us that a young 
 and accomplished widow, whose misfortunes rendered her justly 
 interesting, would henceforward be charged with finishing what 
 my dear parent had begun. My mother at first resolutely refused 
 obedience to my father's command, while 'I in vain besought 
 him not to interpose a stranger's authority between myself and 
 my beloved mother. He was inexorable alike to our tears and 
 prayers, and Madame Roland, who stated herself to be the 
 widow of a colonel who had died in India, came to take up her 
 abode with us, in the character of governess to myself." 
 
 " What ! the same Madame Roland your father married 
 almost immediately after the death of your mother ? " 
 
 " The same, my lord," 
 
 " Was she, then, very beautiful ? " 
 
 " Tolerably so nothing more." 
 
 " Clever witty perhaps ? " 
 
 " She was a clever dissembler a skilful maneuverer ; her 
 talent went no higher. She might be about five-and-twenty 
 years of age, with extremely light hair and nearly white eye- 
 lashes; her eyes were large, round, and a clear blue; the expres- 
 sion of her countenance was humble and gentle ; and while her 
 outward manner was attentive, even to servility, her real dis- 
 position was as perfidious as it was unfeeling." 
 
 "And what were her acquirements?" 
 
 " Positively none at all, my lord ; and I cannot conceive how 
 my father, who until then had been so completely a slave to the 
 dictates of worldly propriety, did not reflect that the utter in-
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 339 
 
 capacity of this woman must shamefully proclaim the real cause 
 of her being in the house. My mother earnestly pointed out to 
 him the extreme ignorance of Madame Roland ; he, however, 
 merely replied, in a tone which admitted of no further argu- 
 ment, that, competent or otherwise, the young and interesting 
 widow should retain the situation in his establishment in which 
 he had placed her. This I heard subsequently. From that 
 instant my poor mother comprehended the whole affair, over 
 which she deeply grieved; regretting less, I fancy, her husband's 
 infidelity than the domestic unhappiness which would result 
 from so indecorous a liaison the account of which she feared 
 might reach my ears." 
 
 " But, even so far as his foolish passion was concerned, it 
 seems to me that your father acted very unwisely in introducing 
 this woman into his house." 
 
 " And you would be still more at a loss to understand his con- 
 duct if you had but known the extreme formality and circum- 
 spection of his character. Nothing could ever have induced 
 him thus to trample under foot all the established rules of society 
 but the unbounded influence of Madame Roland, an influence 
 she exercised with so much the more certainty as she veiled 
 her designs under the mask of the most passionate love for 
 him." 
 
 " But what was your father's age then ? " 
 
 " About sixty/' 
 
 " And he really credited the professions of love made by so 
 much younger a woman ? " 
 
 " My father had been in his time one of the most fashionable 
 and admired men of the day. And Madame Roland, either fol- 
 lowing the suggestions of her own artful mind or urged on by 
 the counsels of others, who could countenance much more " 
 
 " Counsel such a person ! " 
 
 " I will tell you, my lord. Imagining that a man whose repu- 
 tation for gallantry had always stood high in the world would, 
 as he advanced in years, be more easily delighted than another by 
 being flattered upon his personal advantages, and more credu- 
 lously receive such compliments as served to recall those days 
 most soothing to his vanity to remember, well, my lord, incred- 
 ible as it may appear, this woman began to flatter my poor mis- 
 guided father upon the graceful tournure of his features and the 
 inimitable elegance of his shape. And he in his sixtieth year! 
 Strange as you may consider it, spite of the excellent sense with 
 which my father was endowed, he fell blindly into the snare, 
 coarse and vulgar as it was. Such was such still is, I doubt
 
 390 THE MYSTERIES OF PARI8. 
 
 not, the secret of the unbounded influence this woman obtained 
 over him. And really, my lord, spite of my present disinclination 
 for mirth, I can scarcely restrain a smile at the recollection of 
 having frequently, before my marriage, heard Madame Koland 
 assert and maintain that what she styled real maturity was the 
 finest portion of a person's existence, and that this maturity 
 never began until about the fifty-fifth or sixtieth year of one's 
 age." 
 
 " I suppose that happened to be your father's age ? " 
 
 " Precisely so, my lord ! Then, and then only, according to 
 Madame Roland, had the understanding, combined with ex- 
 perience, attained their full development: then only could a 
 man, occupying a distinguished position in the world, enjoy the 
 consideration to which he was entitled; at that period only were 
 the tout-ensemble of his countenance, and the exquisite grace 
 of his manners, in their highest perfection; the physiognomy 
 offering at this delightful epoch of a man's life a heavenly 
 mixture of winning serenity and gentle gravity. Then the 
 slight tinge of melancholy, caused by the many recollections 
 of past deceit experience is fain to look back upon, completes 
 the irresistible charm of real maturity; unappreciable (Madame 
 Roland hastily added) except by women with head and heart 
 sufficiently good to despise the youthful frivolity of a poor, 
 inexperienced forty years, when the character and countenance 
 can scarcely be called formed, and when good taste turns away 
 from the boyish folly of such an immature season of life, and 
 seeks the fine, majestic features impressed with the sublime and 
 poetic expression resulting from a sixty years' study of the vast 
 book of human existence." 
 
 Rodolph could not restrain smiling at the powerful irony with 
 which Madame d'Harville sketched the portrait of her mother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " There is one thing," said he to the marquise, " for which I 
 cannot forgive ridiculous people." 
 
 " What is that, my lord ? " 
 
 " The being also wicked ; which prevents our being able to. 
 laugh at them as much as they deserve." 
 
 "They probably calculate upon that available advantage," 
 replied Clemence. 
 
 " Indeed, it is very probable, though equally lamentable, for, 
 if it were not for the recollection of all the pain Madame Roland 
 has occasioned you, I could be highly diverted with her system 
 of real maturity as opposed to the insipidity of mere boys of only 
 forty years of age, who, according to her assertion, would be
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 391 
 
 scarcely out of their leading-strings, as our grandfathers and 
 grandmothers would say." 
 
 " What principally excited my aversion for her was the shame- 
 fulness of her conduct towards my dear mother, and the 
 unfortunately over-zealous part she took in my marriage,'* said 
 the marquise, after a moment's pause. 
 
 Rodolph looked at her with much surprise. 
 
 " Nay, my lord," said Clemence, in a firm, though gentle tone, 
 " I well remember that M. d'Harville is your friend and my 
 husband. I know perfectly the grave importance of the words I 
 have just uttered : hereafter you yourself shall admit the justice 
 of them. But to return to Madame Roland, who was now, spite 
 of her acknowledged incapacity, established as my instructress: 
 my mother had a long and most painful altercation with my 
 father on the subject, which drew down on us his extreme dis- 
 pleasure, and from that period my mother and myself remained 
 secluded in our apartments, while Madame Roland, in quality 
 of my governess, directed the whole household, and almost 
 publicly did the honors of the mansion." 
 
 " What must your mother have suffered ! " 
 
 " She did indeed, my lord ; but her sorrow was less for herself 
 than me, whose future destiny might be so deeply affected by 
 the introduction of this woman. Her health, always delicate, 
 became daily weaker, and she fell seriously ill. It chanced, 
 most unfortunately, that our family doctor, M. Sorbier, in 
 whom she had the highest confidence, died about this period, 
 to my mother's extreme regret. Madame Roland immediately 
 urged my father to place my mother's case in the hands of an 
 Italian doctor, a particular friend of her own, and whom she 
 described as possessing a more than ordinary skill in the treat- 
 ment of diseases. Thanks to her importunities, my father, who 
 had himself consulted him in trifling maladies, and found DO 
 cause to be dissatisfied, proposed him to my mother, who, alas ! 
 raised no objection. And this man it was who attended upon 
 her during her last illness." 
 
 Tears filled the eyes of Madame d'Harville as she uttered these 
 words. 
 
 " I am ashamed to confess my weakness, my lord," added she ; 
 " but, for the simple reason of this doctor having been appointed 
 at the suggestion of Madame Roland, he inspired me (and at 
 that time without any cause) with the most involuntary repug- 
 nance, and it was with the most painful misgivings I saw him 
 established in my mother's confidence. Still, as regarded his 
 knowledge of his profession, Doctor Polidori "
 
 392 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "What do I hear?" exclaimed Rodolph. 
 
 " Are you indisposed, my lord ? " inquired Clemence, struck 
 with the sudden expression the prince's countenance had 
 assumed. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Rodolph, as though unconscious of the 
 presence of Madame d'Harville, " no, I must be mistaken. 
 Five or six years must have elapsed since all this occurred, while 
 I am informed that it is not more than two years since Polidori 
 came to Paris, and then under a feigned name. He it was I 
 saw yesterday I am sure of it the quack-dentist Brada- 
 manti and Polidori are one and the same. Still 'tis singu- 
 lar ; two doctors of the same name * what a strange ren- 
 counter ! " 
 
 " Madame," said Rodolph, turning to Madame d'Harville, 
 whose astonishment at his preoccupation still increased, " we 
 will, if you please, compare notes as to this Italian. What age 
 was he?" 
 
 " About fifty." 
 
 " And his appearance his countenance ? " 
 
 " Most sinister. Never shall I forget his clear, piercing, 
 green eye, and his nose curved like the bill of an eagle." 
 
 "'Tis he 'tis he himself!" exclaimed Rodolph. "And do 
 you think, madame, that the Doctor Polidori you were describing 
 is still in Paris?" 
 
 " That I cannot tell you, my lord. He quitted Paris about a 
 year after my father's marriage. A lady of my acquaintance, 
 who at this period also employed the Italian as her medical 
 adviser this lady, Madame de Lucenay " 
 
 " La Duchesse de Lucenay ? " interrupted Rodolph. 
 
 " Yes, my lord. But why this surprise ? " 
 
 " Permit me to be silent on that subject. But, at the time of 
 which you speak, what did Madame de Lucenay tell you of this 
 man ? " 
 
 " She said that he traveled much after quitting Paris, and 
 that she often received from him very clever and amusing 
 letters, descriptive of the various places he visited. Now I 
 recollect, that about a month ago, happening to ask Madame de 
 Lucenay whether she had heard lately from M. Polidori, she 
 replied, with an embarrassed manner, l that nothing had been 
 heard of or concerning him for some time; that no one knew 
 what had become of him; and that by many he was supposed 
 to be dead/ " 
 
 * We must remind the reader, that Polidori was a doctor of some emi- 
 nence when he undertook the education of Rodolph.
 
 CLEMENCE D'lIARVILLE. 393 
 
 " Strange, indeed," said Eodolph, recalling the recent visit 
 of Madame de Lucenay to the charlatan Bradamanti. 
 
 " You know this man, then, my lord? " 
 
 " Unfortunately for myself, 1 do ; but let me beseech you to 
 continue your recital; hereafter I will give you an insight into 
 the history of this Polidori." 
 
 " Do you mean the doctor ? " 
 
 "Say, rather, the wretch stained with the most atrocious 
 crimes." 
 
 " Crimes ! " cried Madame d'Harville, in alarm ; " can it be 
 possible, the man whom Madame Roland so highly extolled, and 
 into whose hands my poor mother was delivered, was guilty of 
 crimes? Alas, my dear parent lingered but a very short time 
 after she passed into his care ! Ah, my lord, my presentiments 
 have not deceived me ! " 
 
 " Your presentiments ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I was telling you just now of the invincible 
 antipathy I felt for this man from the circumstance of his 
 having been introduced among us by Madame Roland; but I did 
 not tell you all, my lord." 
 
 "How so?"' 
 
 " I was fearful lest the bitterness of my own griefs should 
 make me guilty of injustice towards an innocent person; but 
 now, my lord, you shall know everything. My mother had lain 
 dangerously ill about five days, I had always watched beside her, 
 night as well as day. One evening, that I felt much oppressed 
 with confinement and fatigue, I went to breathe the fresh air 
 on the terrace of the garden : after remaining about a quarter of 
 an hour, I was returning by a long and obscure gallery; by a 
 faint light which streamed from the apartment of Madame 
 Roland I saw M. Polidori quit the room, accompanied by the 
 mistress of the chamber. Being in the shadow, they did not 
 perceive me, Madame Roland spoke some words to the doctor, 
 but in so low a tone I could not catch them ; the doctor's answer 
 was given in a louder key, and consisted only of these words, 
 ' The day after to-morrow; ' and, when Madame Roland seemed 
 to urge him, still in so low a voice as to prevent the words reach- 
 ing me, he replied, with singular emphasis, ' The day after to- 
 morrow, I tell you the day after to-morrow.' " 
 
 " What could those words mean ? " 
 
 "What did they mean? Alas! alas! my lord, it was on the 
 Wednesday evening I heard M. Polidori say ' The day after to- 
 morrow;' on the Friday my mother was a corpse!" 
 
 " Horrible, indeed ! "
 
 394: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 After this mournful event I was consigned to the care of a 
 relation, who, forgetful of the afflicted state of my mind, as well 
 as tender age, told me, without reserve or consideration of the 
 consequences, what powerful reasons there were for my hating 
 Madame Eoland, and fully enlightened me as to the ambitious 
 projects entertained by this woman: full well I could then 
 imagine all my poor mother must have endured. I thought 
 my heart would break the first time I again saw my father, 
 which was upon the occasion of his coming to fetch me from the 
 house of my relation to take me into Normandy, where we were 
 to pass the first months of our mourning. During the journey 
 he informed me, without the least embarrassment, and as though 
 it had been the most natural thing -in the world, that, out of 
 regard for himself and me, madame had kindly consented to 
 take the command of the establishment, and to act as my guide 
 and friend. On arriving at Aubiers (so was my father's estate 
 called), the first object we beheld was Madame Roland, who had 
 established herself here on the very day of my mother's death. 
 Spite of her modest, gentle manner, her countenance betrayed an 
 ill-disguised triumph; never shall I forget the look, at once 
 ironical and spiteful, she cast on me as I descended the carriage ; 
 it seemed to say, ' I am mistress here, 'tis you who are the 
 intruder.' A fresh grief awaited me: whether from an inex- 
 cusable want of proper judgment or unpardonable assurance, 
 this woman occupied the apartment which had been my mother's: 
 in my just indignation I loudly complained to my father of this 
 unpleasant forgetfulness of my rights as well as wishes. He rep- 
 rimanded me severely for making any remonstrance on the sub- 
 ject, adding, that it was needless for me either to feel or express 
 surprise on the subject, as it was his desire I should habituate 
 myself to consider Madame Eoland in every respect as a second 
 mother, and show her a corresponding deference. I replied, 
 that it would be a profanation to that sacred name to act as he 
 commanded; and, to his extreme wrath, I never allowed any 
 opportunity to escape by which I could evince my deeply rooted 
 aversion to Madame Roland. At times my father's rage knew 
 no bounds, and bitterly would he reproach me in the presence 
 of that woman for the coldness and ingratitude of my conduct 
 towards an angel, as he styled her, sent by Heaven for our 
 consolation and happiness. ' Let me entreat of you to speak for 
 yourself alone,' said I, one day, quite wearied with the 
 hypocritical conduct of Madame Roland and my father's blind 
 infatuation. The harshness and unreasonableness of his con- 
 duct became at last quite unendurable; while Madame Roland,
 
 CLEMENCB VIIARVILLE. 395 
 
 with the honeyed words of feigned affection, would artfully 
 intercede for me, because she well knew by so doing she should 
 only increase the storm she had raised. ' You must make some 
 allowances for Clemence/ she would say; 'the sorrow she ex- 
 periences for the excellent parent we all deplore is so natural, 
 and even praiseworthy, that you should respect her just grief, 
 and pity her for her unfounded suspicions/ ' You hear her ! you 
 hear her!' would my father exclaim, pointing with mingled 
 triumph and admiration to the accomplished hypocrite ; ' what 
 angelic goodness ! what enchanting nobleness and generosity ! 
 Instantly entreat her pardon for the unworthiness of your 
 conduct/ ' Never ! ' I used to reply ; ' the spirit of my angel 
 mother, who now beholds me, would be pained to witness such 
 a degradation in her child ; ' and, bursting with grief and 
 mortification, I would fly to my own chamber, leaving my father 
 to dry the tears, and calm the ruffled feelings, of the woman 
 I despised and hated. You will, I hope, excuse me, my lord, 
 for dwelling so long and so minutely on all my early troubles, 
 but it is only by so doing I can accurately describe to you 
 the sort of life I led at that period." 
 
 "I can enter fully into the painful subject; yet how often 
 have the same scenes been enacted in other families, and still, 
 it is much to be feared, will they be repeated till the end of 
 time. But in what capacity did your father introduce Madame 
 Roland to the neighborhood ? " 
 
 "As my instructress and his friend, and she was estimated 
 accordingly." 
 
 "I need scarcely inquire whether he shared in the soli- 
 tude to which her questionable character condemned the 
 lady?" 
 
 " With the exception of some few and unavoidable visits, she 
 saw no one. My father, guided by his passion, or influenced by 
 Madame Roland, threw off his mourning for my mother ere he 
 had worn it three months, under the plea that the sable garb 
 continually reminded him of his loss, and prevented him from 
 regaining his lost tranquillity. His manners to me daily became 
 colder and more estranged, while his perfect indifference con- 
 cerning me allowed a degree of liberty almost incredible in a per- 
 son of my age. I met him only at breakfast, after which he re- 
 turned to his study with Madame Roland, who acted as his 
 secretary, read and answered all his letters, etc. ; that completed, 
 they either walked or drove out together, returning only an hour 
 before dinner, against which, Madame Roland would array 
 herself in an elegant and well-chosen evening dress; while my
 
 396 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 father would make a most studiously elaborate toilette, as 
 uncalled for as ill adapted to his time of life. Occasionally, 
 after dinner, he received a few persons he could not avoid asking 
 to his house, when he would play at tric-trac with Madame 
 Eoland until ten o'clock, at which hour he would offer his arm 
 to conduct her to my mother's apartment, and return to his 
 guests. As for myself, I had unrestrained permission to go 
 where I pleased throughout the whole day. Attended by a 
 servant, I used to take long rides in the extensive woods sur- 
 rounding the chateau, and when, as occasionally happened, I 
 felt my spirits unequal to appearing at the dinner-table, not the 
 slightest inquiry was ever made after me, or my absence 
 noticed/* 
 
 " What singular neglect and forgetf ulness ! " 
 
 " Having accidentally encountered one of our neighbors 
 during several successive days of my excursions in the woods, 
 I gave up riding there, and confined myself entirely to the 
 park." 
 
 " And how did this infamous woman conduct herself towards 
 you when alone?" 
 
 " She shunned all occasions of being with me as sedulously 
 as I avoided her; but once that we were unexpectedly tete-a-tete 
 with each other, and that she was reproaching me for some 
 severe words I had spoken the preceding evening, she said, coldly, 
 ' Have a care : you cannot contend against my power ; any such 
 attempt will bring down certain ruin on your head.' * As it 
 did upon that of my mother/ answered I. 'It is a pity, 
 madame, you have not M. Polidori by your side, to announce to 
 you that your vengeance can be satisfied the day after to- 
 morrow.' " 
 
 " And what reply did she make when you thus recalled those 
 fearful words ? " 
 
 " She changed color rapidly, her features were almost con- 
 vulsed, then, by a strong effort conquering her emotion, she 
 angrily demanded what I meant by the expression ? ' Ask your 
 own heart, madame/ answered I, ' in the solitude of your 
 chamber inquire of yourself to what I allude: your conscience 
 will find a ready explanation/ Shortly after that, a scene 
 occurred which forever sealed my destiny. 
 
 " Among a great number of family portraits which graced the 
 walls of the salon in which we usually spent the evening was 
 that of my mother. One day I observed it had been removed 
 from its accustomed place. Two neighbors had dined with us; 
 one of them, a M. Dorval, a country lawyer, had always ex-
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 397 
 
 pressed the utmost veneration and respect for my mother. 
 When we reached the salon after dinner, I inquired of my father 
 what had become of my dear mother's picture ? ' Cease ! ' cried 
 my father, significantly pointing to our guests, as though 
 intimating his desire that they should not hear any discussion on 
 the subject ; ' the reason of the picture being taken away is that 
 the sight of it continually reminded me of the heavy loss I 
 have sustained, and so prevented my regaining my usual calm- 
 ness and peace of mind/ ' And where is the portrait at 
 present?' inquired I. Turning towards Madame Roland, with 
 an impatient and uneasy air, he said, * Where has the picture 
 been put ? ' ' In the lumber-room/ replied she, casting on me 
 a glance of defiance, evidently under the impression that the 
 presence of witnesses would prevent me from proceeding further 
 in the matter. 'I can easily believe, Madame/ cried I, 
 indignantly, * that the recollection of my mother must have been 
 painful to you; but that was not a sufficient reason for banish- 
 ing from the walls the likeness of her who, when you were 
 in want and misery, kindly and charitably afforded you the 
 shelter of her roof.' " 
 
 "Excellent!" exclaimed Rodolph; "yours was, indeed, a 
 stinging and a just reproach." 
 
 " * Mademoiselle/ cried my father, 'you forget that this lady 
 lias watched, and still continues to preside, with maternal 
 solicitude over your education : you also seem to banish from your 
 recollection the very high esteem and respect you are aware / 
 entertain for her; and, since you allow yourself thus to attack 
 her before strangers, you will permit me to tell you that, in my 
 opinion, the charge of ingratitude lies at the door of her who, 
 overlooking the tender cares she has received, presumes to re- 
 proach a person, deserving of the utmost interest and respect, 
 with misfortunes and calamities she so nobly sustained/ * I 
 cannot venture to discuss the subject with you, my dear father/ 
 said I, submissively. ' Perhaps, then, mademoiselle, you will 
 favor me with your polite arguments in favor of rudeness and 
 unmerited abuse/ cried Madame Roland, carried away by rage 
 into a neglect of her usual caution and prudence ' perhaps you 
 will permit me to assert that, so far from owing the slightest 
 obligation to your mother, I have nothing to remember but the 
 constant coldness and dislike she invariably manifested towards 
 me, fully expressive of the disgust and displeasure with which 
 my residence in the house inspired her/ * Forbear, madame ! ' 
 exclaimed I, interrupting her. ' Out of respect for my father, 
 if not to spare your own blushes, cease such shameful confes-
 
 398 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 sions as the one you have just made, or you will make even 
 me regret having exposed you to so humiliating a disclo- 
 sure.' " 
 
 " Better and better ! " cried Eodolph ; " this was, indeed, 
 cutting with a two-edged sword. Pray go on. And what said 
 this woman ?" 
 
 " By a very hackneyed, though convenient expedient, Madame 
 Koland contrived to end a scene in which she felt she was likely 
 to have the worst. With a sudden cry she threw herself into 
 a chair, and very naturally imitated a fainting-fit. Thanks to 
 this incident, the two visitors quitted the room in search of 
 restoratives; while I retired to my own apartment, leaving my 
 father hanging in deep anxiety over the wicked cause of all 
 this confusion." 
 
 " Doubtless your next interview with your father must have 
 been a stormy one." 
 
 " He came to me next morning, and, without further pream- 
 ble, addressed me as follows : ' In order to prevent a recurrence 
 of the disgraceful scene of yesterday, I think proper to inform 
 you that, immediately that decency permits both you and my- 
 self to throw off our mourning, it is my intention to celebrate 
 my marriage with Madame Roland, which will compel you to 
 treat her with the respect and deference due to my wife. For 
 certain reasons, it is expedient you should marry before me: 
 you will have as a dowry your mother's fortune, amounting to 
 more than a million francs. From this very day I shall take 
 the necessary steps to form a suitable match for you, and for 
 that purpose I shall accept one of the many offers I have re- 
 ceived for your hand. After this conversation, I lived more 
 alone than ever, never meeting my father except at meal-times, 
 which generally passed off in the utmost silence. So really dull 
 and lonely was my present existence, that I only waited for my 
 father to propose any suitor he might approve of, to accept him 
 with perfect willingness. Madame Eoland, having relinquished 
 all further ill-natured remarks upon the memory of my deceased 
 parent, indemnified herself by inflicting on me the continual 
 pain of seeing her appropriate to herself the various trifles 
 my dear mother had exclusively made use of. Her easy-chair, 
 embroidery-frame, the books which composed her private library, 
 even a screen I myself had embroidered for her, and in the 
 center of which were our united ciphers: this woman laid her 
 sacrilegious hands on all the elegant articles with which my 
 mother's taste and my affection had ornamented her apart- 
 ments."
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 399 
 
 " I can well imagine all the horror these profanations must 
 have caused you." 
 
 " Still, great as were my sufferings, the state of loneliness in 
 which I found myself rendered them even greater." 
 
 " And you had no one, no person in whom you could 
 confide?"* 
 
 " No one ; hut at this time I received a touching proof of the 
 interest my fate excited, and which might have opened my eyes 
 to the dangers preparing for me. One of the two persons 
 present during the scene with Madame Roland I so lately de- 
 scribed was a M. Dorval, a worthy old notary, to whom my 
 mother had rendered some signal service. By my father's 
 orders, I never since then entered the salon when strangers 
 were there; I had never, therefore, seen M. Dorval after the 
 eventful day when I spoke so undisguisedly to Madame Roland : 
 great, therefore, was my surprise to see him coming towards me 
 one day, in the park, while I was taking my accustomed walk. 
 ' Mademoiselle,' said he to me, with a mysterious air, ' I am fear- 
 ful of heing observed by your father; here is a letter read it, 
 and destroy it immediately its contents are most important to 
 you/ So saying, he disappeared as quickly as he came. In the 
 letter he informed me that it was in agitation to marry me to 
 the Marquis d'Harville, and that the match appeared in every 
 respect eligible, inasmuch as everyone concurred in bearing 
 testimony to the many excellent qualities of M. d'Harville, who 
 was young, rich, good-looking, and highly distinguished for his 
 talents and mental attainments; yet that the families of two 
 young ladies, with whom he had been on the point of marriage, 
 had abruptly broken off the matches. The notary added, that, 
 although entirely ignorant of the cause of these ruptures, he 
 still considered it his duty to appraise me of them, without in 
 the slightest degree insinuating that they originated in any 
 circumstance prejudicial to the high opinion entertained of M. 
 d'Harville. The two young ladies alluded to were, one, the 
 daughter of M. Beauregard, a peer of France;. the other, of 
 Lord Dudley. M. Dorval concluded by saying, that his motive in 
 making the communication was because my father, in his 
 extreme desire to conclude the marriage, did not appear to attach 
 sufficient importance to the facts now detailed." 
 
 " Now you recall it to my recollection," said Rodolph, after 
 some minutes spent in deep meditation on what he had just 
 heard, " I remember that your husband, at intervals of nearly 
 twelve months, told me of two marriages which had been broken 
 off just as they were on the point of taking place, and ascribing
 
 400 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 their abrupt termination to a difficulty in arranging matters 
 of a mere pecuniary nature." 
 
 Madame d'Harville smiled bitterly as she replied, 
 " You shall know what those motives really were, my lord, very 
 shortly. After reading the letter, so kindly intentioned on the 
 part of the worthy notary, I felt both my uneasiness and 
 curiosity rapidly increase. Who was D'Harville ? my father had 
 never mentioned him to me ; in vain I ransacked my memory, I 
 could not recollect ever to have heard the name. Soon, however, 
 the current of my thoughts was directed into another channel 
 by the abrupt departure of Madame Roland for Paris. 
 Although the period of her absence was limited to eight days 
 at the utmost, yet my father expressed the deepest grief at even 
 this trifling separation from her: his temper became altogether 
 soured, and his coldness towards me hourly increased; he even 
 went so far as to reply, when one day I inquired after his 
 health, * I am ill and all through you/ e Through me ? ' ex- 
 claimed I. ' Assuredly, through you ; you know full well how 
 indispensable to my happiness is the company of Madame 
 Roland, yet this incomparable woman, who has been so grossly 
 insulted by you, has left me to undertake her present journey 
 solely on your account.' This mark of interest on the part of 
 Madame Roland filled me with the most lively apprehensions of 
 evil, and a vague presentiment floated across my mind that my 
 marriage was in some way or other mixed up with it. I must 
 leave it to your imagination, my lord, to picture the delight of 
 my father upon the return of my future mother-in-law. The 
 next day he sent to desire my company; I found him alone with 
 her. * I have for some time/ said he, * been thinking of establish- 
 ing you in the world ; in another month your mourning will have 
 expired. To-morrow I expect M. d'Harville, a young man 
 possessed of every requisite, both as to fortune and figure, to 
 secure any woman's approbation; he is well looked upon in 
 society, and is capable of securing the happiness of any lady 
 he may seek in marriage. Now, having seen you, though 
 accidentally, his choice has fallen on you. In fact, he is most 
 anxious to obtain your hand. Every pecuniary arrangement is 
 concluded. It therefore remains solely with yourself to be 
 married ere the next six weeks have elapsed. If, on the con- 
 trary, from any capricious whim impossible for me to foresee, 
 you think fit to refuse the unlooked-for good offer now before you, 
 it will in no respect alter my own plans, as my marriage will 
 take place, according to my original intention, directly my 
 mourning expires. And, in this latter case, I am bound to
 
 CLEMENCE D'UARVILLE. 401 
 
 inform you, that your presence in my house will not be agreeable 
 to me, unless I have your promise to treat my wife with the 
 respect and tenderness to which she is entitled.' * I understand 
 you,' replied I ; ' whether I accept M. d'Harville or no, you will 
 marry; and my only resource will then be to retire to the Con- 
 vent of the Holy Heart?' 'It will,' answered he, coldly." 
 
 " His conduct now ceases to be classed under the term weak- 
 ness," said Rodolph; "it assumes the form of positive cmelty." 
 
 " Shall I tell you, my lord, what has always prevented me 
 from feeling the least resentment at my father's conduct? It 
 is because I have always had a strong presentiment that he 
 would one day pay dearly too dearly, alas ! for his blind 
 passion for Madame Roland. Thank Heaven, that evil day has 
 not yet arrived ! " 
 
 " And did you not mention to your father what the old notary 
 had informed you of the abrupt breaking off of the two 
 marriages M. d'Harville had been on the point of contracting? " 
 
 " Indeed, I did, my lord. I signified to my father upon the 
 occasion of the conversation I was relating to you a wish to speak 
 with him alone, upon which Madame Roland abruptly rose and 
 quitted the apartment. ' I have no objection to the union you 
 propose with M. d'Harville/ said I ; ' only, as I understand, he 
 
 has twice been upon the point of marriage, and ' ' Enough 
 
 enough ! ' interrupted he, hastily. ' I know all about those two 
 affairs, which were so abruptly broken off merely because matters 
 of a pecuniary nature were not satisfactorily arranged ; although, 
 I am bound to assure you, that not the slightest shadow of 
 blame was attributable to M. d'Harville. If that be your only 
 objection, you may consider the match as concluded on, and 
 yourself as married ay, and happily, too ! for, spite of your 
 conduct, my first wish is for your happiness.' " 
 
 " No doubt Madame Roland was delighted with your mar- 
 riage ? " 
 
 " Delighted ? Yes, my lord," said Clemence, with bitterness. 
 " She was, and well might be, delighted with this union, which 
 was, in fact, of her effecting. She it was who had first sug- 
 gested it to my father; she knew full well the real occasion of 
 breaking off the marriages so nearly completed by M. d'Harville, 
 and hence arose her exceeding anxiety for him to become my 
 husband." 
 
 " What motive could she possibly have had ? " 
 
 " She sought to avenge herself on me by condemning me to a 
 life of wretchedness." 
 
 " But your father "
 
 4:02 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Deceived by Madame Eoland, he fully and implicitly believed 
 that interested motives alone had set aside the two former 
 marriages of M. d'Harville." 
 
 " What a horrible scheme ! But what was this mysterious 
 reason ? " 
 
 "You shall know shortly. Well, M. d'Harville arrived at 
 Aubiers, and, I confess, I was much pleased with his appearance, 
 manners, and cultivated mind. He seemed very amiable and 
 kind, though somewhat melancholy. I remarked in him a con- 
 tradiction which charmed and astonished me at the same time. 
 His personal and mental advantages were considerable, his 
 fortune princely, and his birth illustrious; yet, at times, the 
 expression of his countenance would change, from a firm and 
 manly energy and decision of purpose, to an almost timid, 
 shrinking look, as though he feared even his own self; then an 
 utter dejection of spirits and exhaustion would ensue. There 
 was, at these strangely contrasted periods, such a look of depre- 
 cating humility, such an appearance of conscious wrong, as 
 touched me deeply, and won my pity to a great extent. I 
 admired greatly the kindness of manner he ever evinced to an 
 old servant a valet-de-chambre, who had been about him from 
 his birth and who alone was suffered to attend upon his master 
 now he had reached man's estate. Shortly after M. d'Harville's 
 arrival he remained for two days secluded in his apartment. 
 My father wished to visit him; but the old servant alluded to 
 objected, stating that his master had so violent a headache, he 
 could receive no one. When M. d'Harville emerged from his 
 chamber, he was excessively pale, and looked extremely ill. He 
 afterwards appeared to experience a sort of impatience and 
 uneasiness when any reference was made to his temporary 
 indisposition. In proportion as I became better acquainted with 
 M. d'Harville, I discovered that, on many points, a singular 
 similarity of taste existed between us. He had so much to be 
 proud of, and so many reasons for being happy, that his 
 excessive and shrinking modesty struck me as something more 
 than admirable. The day for our marriage being fixed, he 
 seemed to delight in anticipating every wish I could form for 
 the future, and, when sometimes I alluded to the deep melancholy 
 which at times possessed him, and begged to know the cause, he 
 would speak of his deceased parents, and of the delight it would 
 have afforded them to see him married, to their hearts' dearest 
 wish, to one so justly approved both by his own judgment and 
 affections, I could not well find fault with reasons so compli- 
 mentary to myself. M. d'Harville easily guessed the terms on
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 403 
 
 which I must have been living with my father and Madame 
 Roland, although the former, delighted at my marriage, which 
 would serve as a plea for accelerating his own, had latterly 
 treated me with excessive tenderness. In some of our conversa- 
 tions, M. d'Harville, with infinite tact and good feeling, ex- 
 plained to me that his regard was considerably heightened by 
 the knowledge of all I had suffered since my dear mother's 
 death. I thought it my duty to hint to him, at such a time, 
 that, as my father was about to marry again, it might very 
 possibly affect the property I might be expected to inherit. He 
 would not even permit me to proceed, but most effectually con- 
 vinced me of his own utterly disinterested motives in seeking 
 my hand. I could not but think that the families, who had 
 so abruptly broken off his former projected alliances, must have, 
 been very unreasonable or avaricious people if they made 
 pecuniary matters a stumbling-block with one so generous, easy, 
 and liberal as M. d'Harville." 
 
 " And, such as you describe him, so have I always found him/' 
 cried Rodolph ; " all heart, disinterestedness, and delicacy ! But 
 did you never speak to him of the marriages so hastily broken 
 off?" 
 
 " I will confess to you, my lord, that the question was several 
 times on my lips: but, when I recollected the sensitiveness of 
 his nature, I feared to pain him by questions, which might, at 
 any rate, have wounded his self-love, or taxed his honor to reply 
 to truly. The nearer the day fixed for our marriage approached, 
 the more delighted did M. d'Harville appear. Yet I several 
 times detected him absorbed in the most perfect dejection, the 
 deepest melancholy. One day, in particular, I caught his eyes 
 fixed on me with a settled gaze, as though resolving to confide to 
 me some important secret he yet could not bring himself to 
 reveal. I perceived a large tear trickle slowly down his cheek, 
 as though wrung from his very heart. The recollection of his 
 two former prospects of marriage, so suddenly destroyed, rose to 
 my mind; and, I confess, I almost felt afraid to proceed. A 
 vague presentiment whispered within me that the happiness 
 of my whole life was at stake perhaps periled forever. But 
 then, on the other hand, such was my eager desire to quit my 
 father's house, that I turned a deaf ear to every suggestion of 
 evil arising from my union with M. d'Harville." 
 
 " And did M. d'Harville make you no voluntary confession ? " 
 
 " Not any. When I inquired the cause of his continual fits 
 of melancholy, he would answer, * Pray do not heed it. But I 
 am always most sad when most happy!' These words, pro-
 
 404: THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 nounced in the kindest and most touching manner, reassured 
 me a little. And how, indeed, was it possible, when his voice 
 would quiver with emotion, and his eyes fill with tears, to mani- 
 fest any further suspicion, by repeating my questions as to the 
 past, when it was with the future only I had any business? 
 The persons appointed to witness the contract on the part of 
 M. d'Harville, M. de Lucenay and M. de Saint-Remy, arrived at 
 Aubiers some days previous to the marriage; my nearest rela- 
 tions alone were invited. Immediately after the conclusion of 
 the ceremony, we were to depart for Paris; and it is true I felt 
 for M. d'Harville none of that love with which a young wife 
 ought to regard the man she vows her future life to, but I ad- 
 mired and respected his character and disposition, and, but 
 for the disastrous events which followed this fatal union, a 
 more tender feeling could doubtless soon have attached me to 
 him. Well, we were married." 
 
 At these words, Madame d'Harville turned rather pale, and 
 her resolution appeared to forsake her. After a pause, she re- 
 sumed, 
 
 " Immediately after the ceremony, my father embraced me 
 tenderly, as did Madame Roland also : before so many persons I 
 could not avoid the display of this fresh exhibition of hypocrisy. 
 With her dry and white hand she squeezed mine so hard as to 
 pain me, and said, in a whisper, and in a tone as gentle as it 
 was perfidious, these words, which I never can forget, ' Think of 
 me sometimes in the midst of your bliss, for it was I who ar- 
 ranged your marriage' Alas, I was far from comprehending 
 at that moment the full force of those words ! Our marriage 
 took place at eleven o'clock, and we immediately entered our 
 carriage, followed by my waiting-woman and the old valet-dc- 
 chambre of M. d'Harville's, and we traveled so rapidly that we 
 reached Paris before ten o'clock in the evening. I should have 
 been surprised at the silence and melancholy of M. d'Harville 
 had I not known that he had what he termed his happy sadness. 
 I was myself painfully disturbed ; I was returning to Paris for 
 the first time since my mother's death; I arrived there alone 
 with my husband, whom I had hardly known more than six 
 weeks, and who, up to the evening before, had not addressed a 
 word to me but what was marked by respectful formality. 
 Men, however well-bred, do not think sufficiently of the fear 
 which the sudden change in their tone and manners occasions 
 to a young female as soon as she belongs to them ; they do not 
 reflect that a youthful maiden cannot in a few hours forget all 
 her timidity and virgin scruples."
 
 CLEMEXCE D'HAR V1LLE. 405 
 
 e< Nothing is to me more barbarous than this system of carrying 
 off a young female as soon as the wedding ceremony is over, a 
 ceremony which ought to consecrate the right and duty to employ 
 still more every tenderness of love and effort to render mutual 
 affection still stronger and more endearing." 
 
 " You will imagine, monseigneur, the indefinable alarm with 
 which I found myself in Paris in the city in which my mother 
 had died hardly a year before. We reached the Hotel d'Har- 
 ville " 
 
 The emotion of the young lady redoubled, her cheeks were 
 flushed with scarlet, and she added, in a voice scarcely intelli- 
 gible, 
 
 " You must know all ; if not, I shall appear too contemptible 
 in your eyes. Well, then," she resumed, with desperate resolu- 
 tion, " I was led to my apartment and left there alone ; after an 
 hour M. d'Harville joined me there, I was weeping bitterly. 
 My husband came towards me, and was about to take my arm, 
 when he fell at my feet in agony. He could not hear my voice, 
 his countenance was spasmodic with fearful convulsions, his eyes 
 rolled in their orbits with a rapidity that appalled me, his con- 
 torted mouth was filled with blood and foam, and his hand 
 grasped me with inconceivable force. I made a desperate effort, 
 and his stiffened fingers at length unclasped from my wrist, and 
 I fainted at the moment when M. d'Harville was struggling in 
 the paroxysm of this horrible attack. This was my wedding 
 night, my lord, this was the vengeance of Madame Roland ! " 
 
 " Unhappy woman ! " said Rodolph, overwhelmed. " I 
 understand an epileptic. Ah, 'tis horrible ! " 
 
 " And that is not all," added Clemence, in a voice almost 
 choked by emotion ; " my child, my angel girl, she has in- 
 herited this frightful malady." 
 
 " Your daughter ? she ! What ! her paleness her weak- 
 ness " 
 
 " Is, I dread to believe, hereditary ; and the physicians think, 
 therefore, that it is incurable." 
 
 Madame d'Harville hid her face in her hands; overcome by 
 this painful disclosure, she had not courage to add another 
 word. Rodolph also remained silent. His mind recoiled af- 
 frighted from the terrible mysteries of this night. He pictured 
 to himself the young maiden, already sad, in consequence of her 
 return to the city in which her mother had died, arriving at a 
 strange house, alone with a man for whom she felt an interest 
 and esteem, but not love, nor any of those sentiments which 
 enchant the mind, none of the engrossing feeling which removes
 
 406 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 the chaste alarms of a woman in the participation of a lawful 
 and reciprocal affection. No, no; on the contrary, Clemence 
 arrived agitated and distressed, with depressed spirits and tear- 
 ful eyes. She was, however, resolved on resignation and the 
 fulfilment of duty, when, instead of listening to language full 
 of devotion, love, and tenderness, which would compensate for 
 the sorrowful feelings which were uppermost in her mind, she 
 sees convulsed at her feet a stricken man, who twists, and foams, 
 and shrieks, in the hideous convulsions of one of the most fear- 
 ful infirmities with which a man can be incurably smitten ! 
 This is not all : his child, poor little innocent angel ! is also 
 withered from her birth. These sad and painful avowals excited 
 bitter reflections in Rodolph's mind.- " Such," said he, " is the 
 law of the land. A young, handsome, and pure girl, the con- 
 fiding and gentle victim of a shameful dissimulation, unites 
 her destiny to that of a man tainted with an incurable 
 malady a fatal inheritance which he will assuredly transmit to 
 his children. The unhappy wife discovers this horrid mystery. 
 What can she do? Nothing nothing but suffer and weep; 
 nothing but endeavor to overcome her disgust and fright ; noth- 
 ing but pass her days in anguish, in indefinable and endless 
 terror; nothing but seek, perhaps, culpable consolation without 
 the desolate existence which has been created around her. 
 Again/' said Rodolph, "these strange laws sometimes produce 
 horrible unions: fearful for humanity. In these laws, animals 
 always appear superior to man in the care bestowed upon them; 
 in the improvements that are studied for them ; in the protection 
 which encircles, the guarantees which attend them. Buy an 
 animal, and, if an infirmity decried by the law is detected after 
 the purchase, the sale is null and void. Indeed, what a shame, 
 what a case of public injury would it be to compel a man to keep 
 an animal which has a cough, is lame, or has lost an eye ! Why 
 it would be scandalous, criminal, unheard-of infamy! Only 
 imagine being compelled to keep, and keep forever, a mule with 
 a cough, a horse that was blind, or an ass that was lame! 
 What frightful consequences might not such injustice entail on 
 the community ! Therefore, no such bargains hold good, no 
 words bind, no contract is valid : the omnipotent law unlooses all 
 that was thus bound. But if it relates to a creature made after 
 God's own image, if it respects a young girl who, in the full and 
 innocent reliance on the good faith of a man, unites her lot with 
 his, and wakes up in the company of an epileptic, an unhappy 
 wretch stricken with a fearful malady, whose moral and physi- 
 cal consequences are immeasurably distressing, a malady which
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 407 
 
 may throw disorder and aversion into a family, perpetuate a 
 horrible disease, vitiate whole generations, yes, this law, so inex- 
 orable when lame, blind, or coughing animals are the considera- 
 tion this law, so singularly clear-sighted, which will not allow 
 an unsound horse to increase the species this law will not 
 loosen the victim of a union such as we have described. These 
 bonds are sacred, indissoluble: it is to offend God and man to 
 break them. In truth," continued Rodolph, " men sometimes 
 display a humility most shameful and an egotistical pride which 
 is only execrable. He values himself at less than the beast 
 which he protects by warranties which he refuses for himself; 
 and he imposes on himself, makes sacred, and perpetuates his 
 most distressing infirmities by putting them under the protection 
 of the immutability of laws human and divine." Rodolph 
 greatly blamed M. d'Harville, but he promised to himself to 
 excuse him in the eyes of Clemence, although fully persuaded 
 after her sad disclosure that the marquis was forever alienated 
 from her heart. One thought led to another, and Rodolph said 
 to himself, " I have kept aloof from a woman I love, and who, 
 perhaps, already feels a secret inclination for me. Either from 
 an attachment of heart or friendship, she has bestowed her 
 honor her life for the sake of a fool whom she thought un- 
 happy. If, instead of leaving her, I had paid her all sorts of 
 attentions, love, and consideration, my name would have been 
 such, that her reputation would not have received the slightest 
 stain, the suspicions of her husband would never have been ex- 
 cited : whilst, now, she is all but at the mercy of such an ass as 
 M. Charles Robert, who, I fear, will become the more indiscreet 
 in proportion as he has the less right to be so. And then, too, 
 who knows if, in spite of the dangers she has risked, the heart of 
 Madame d'Harville will always remain free? Any return to 
 her husband is henceforward impossible. Young, handsome, 
 courted, with a disposition sympathizing with all who suffer, 
 what clangers, what shoals and quicksands, lie before her ! For 
 M. d'Harville, what anguish and what deep chagrin! At the 
 same time, jealous of and in love with his wife, who cannot sub- 
 due the disgust and fright which he excited in her on their 
 nuptials what a lot is his ! " 
 
 Clemence, with her forehead hidden by her hands, her eyes 
 brimful of tears, and her cheeks reddened by embarrassment, 
 avoided Rodolph's look: such pain had the disclosure cost her. 
 
 " Ah, now," said Rodolph, after a long silence, " I can under- 
 stand the cause of M. d'Harville's sadness, which I could not 
 before account for. I can imagine his regrets "
 
 408 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " His regrets ! " exclaimed Clemence ; " say his remorse, mon- 
 seigneur, if he have any, for never was such a crime more coolly 
 meditated." 
 
 " A crime, madame ? " 
 
 " What else is it, my lord, to bind to yourself in indissoluble 
 bonds a young girl, who confides in your honor, when you are 
 fatally stricken with a malady which inspires fear and horror? 
 What else is it, to devote with certainty an unhappy child to 
 similar misery? What forced M. d'Harville to make two vic- 
 tims? A blind, insensate passion? No; he found my birth, 
 my fortune, and my person, to his taste. He wished to make a 
 convenient marriage, because, doubtless, a bachelor's life wearied 
 him." 
 
 " Madame, at least pity him." 
 
 "Pity him? If you wish pity, pray let it be bestowed on 
 my child. Poor victim of this odious union, what nights and 
 days have I passed near her ! what tears have not her mis- 
 fortunes wrung from me ! " 
 
 " But her father suffers from the same unmerited afflictions." 
 
 " Yet it is that father who has condemned her to a sickly 
 infancy, a withering youth, and, if she should survive, to a life 
 of isolation and misery, for she will never marry. Ah, no, I 
 love her too well to expose her to the chance of one day's weeping 
 over her own offspring, similarly smitten, as I weep over her. 
 I have suffered too much from treachery, to render myself 
 guilty of, or an accomplice in, such wickedness ! " 
 
 "You are right; the vengeance of your mother-in-law was 
 really atrocious. But patience, and perhaps in your turn 
 you will be avenged," said Eoclolph, after a moment's reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 " What do you mean, my lord ? " inquired Clemence, aston- 
 ished at the change in his voice. 
 
 " I have generally had the satisfaction of seeing those whom I 
 have known to be wicked most severely punished," he replied, in 
 a voice that made Clemence shudder. " But the day after this 
 unhappy event what did your husband say? " 
 
 " He confessed, with singular candor, that his two former 
 marriages had been broken off in consequence of the families be- 
 coming acquainted with the secret of his fearful malady. Thus, 
 then, after having been twice rejected, he had the shameful, the 
 unmanly courage, to drag a third poor victim into the abyss of 
 misery the kind intervention of friends had preserved the others 
 from. And this is what the world calls a gentleman and a man 
 of honor ! "
 
 CLEMEXCE VIIARVILLE. 409 
 
 " For one so good, so full of pity to others, yours are harsh 
 words." 
 
 " Because I feel I have been unworthily treated. M. d'Har- 
 ville easily penetrated the girlish openness of my character : why, 
 then, did he not trust to my sympathy and generosity of feeling, 
 and tell me the whole truth ? " 
 
 " Because you would have refused him." 
 
 " This very expression proves how guilty he was, and how 
 treacherous was his conduct, if he really entertained the idea of 
 my rejecting his hand if informed of the truth ! " 
 
 " He loved you too well to incur the risk of losing you." 
 
 " No, no, my lord ; had he really loved me, he would never 
 have sacrificed me to his selfish passion. Nay, so wretched was 
 my position at that time, and such was my desire to quit my 
 father's roof, that, had he been candid and explicit with me, it 
 is more than probable he would have moved me to pity the 
 species of misery he was condemned to endure, and to sympa- 
 thize with one so cut off from the tender ties which sweeten 
 life. I really believe, at this moment, that, touched by his open, 
 manly confession, as well as interested for one laboring under so 
 severe an infliction of the Almighty's hand, I should scarcely 
 have had the courage to refuse him my hand ; and, once aware of 
 all I had undertaken, nothing should have deterred me from the 
 full and conscientious discharge of every solemn duty towards 
 him. But to compel this pity and interest, merely because he 
 had me in his power, and to exact my consideration and sym- 
 pathy, because unhappily I was his wife, and had sworn to ob- 
 ligations, the full force of which had been concealed from me, 
 was at once the act of a coward and a wrong-judging mind. 
 How could I hold myself bound to endure the heavy penalties 
 of my unfortunate marriage, when my husband had trampled 
 on every tie which binds an honorable mind? And now, my 
 lord, you may form some little idea of my wedded life; you are 
 now aware how shamefully I was deceived, and that, too, by the 
 person in whose hands I unsuspectingly placed the future happi- 
 ness of my whole existence. I had implicitly trusted in 
 M. d'Harville, and he had most dishonorably and treacherously 
 repaid my trustfulness with bitter and irremediable wrongs. 
 The gentle, timid melancholy which had so greatly interested 
 me in his favor, and which he attributed to pious recollections, 
 was, in truth, only the workings of a conscience ill at ease, and 
 the knowledge of his own incurable infirmity." 
 
 " Still, were he a stranger or an enemy, a heait so noble and 
 generous as yours would pity such sufferings as he endures ? "
 
 410 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "But can I calm those sufferings? If he could distinguish 
 my voice, or if only a look of recognition answered my sorrow- 
 ing glance! But no. Oh, my lord, it is impossible for such 
 as have never seen them to form an idea of those frightful par- 
 oxysms, in which every sense is suspended, and the unfortunate 
 sufferer merely recovers from his frenzy to fall into a sort of 
 sullen dejection ! When my dear child experiences one of these 
 attacks, it almost breaks my heart to see her tender frame 
 twisted, stiffened, and distorted, by the dreadful convulsions 
 which accompany it. Still she is my own, my beloved infant, 
 and, when I see her bitter agonies, my hatred and aversion to 
 her father are increased an hundredfold. But, when my poor 
 child becomes calmer, so does my irritation against my husband 
 subside also; and then ah, then the natural tenderness of my 
 heart makes my angry feelings give place to a species of sorrow 
 and pity for him. Yet surely I did not marry at only seventeen 
 years of age merely to experience the alternations of hatred and 
 painful commiseration, and to weep over a frail and sickly infant, 
 whom after all I may not be permitted to rear. And, as regards 
 this beloved object of my incessant prayers, permit me, my lord, 
 to anticipate a reproach, I doubtless deserve, and which you 
 would be unwilling to make. My daughter, young as she is, is 
 capable of interesting my affections and fully occupying my 
 heart ; but the love she inspires is so cruelly mixed with present 
 anguish and future apprehensions, that my tenderness for my 
 child invariably ends in tears and bitter grief. When I am 
 with her, my heart is torn with agony, a heavy crushing weight 
 presses on my heart at the thoughts of her hopeless, suffering 
 state. N"ot all the fondest devices of a mother's love can over- 
 come a malady pronounced by all our faculty as incurable. 
 Thus, then, by way of relief and refuge from the atmosphere of 
 wretchedness which surrounded me, I had pictured to myself 
 the possibility of finding calm and repose for my troubled spirit 
 
 in an attachment, so vain, so empty, that But I have been 
 
 deceived a second time, most unworthily deceived; and there is 
 now nothing left for me but to resign myself to the gloom and 
 misery of the life my husband's want of candor has entailed 
 upon me. But tell me, my lord, is it such an existence as I was 
 justified in expecting when I bestowed my hand on M. d'Har- 
 ville? And am I alone to blame for those injuries, to avenge 
 which my husband had this day determined to take my life? 
 My fault was great, very great; and the more so, because the 
 object I had selected was every way so unworthy, and leaves me 
 the additional shame of having to blush for my choice. Hap-
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 411 
 
 pily for me, my lord, the conversation you overheard between 
 the Countess Sarah and her brother on the subject of M. Charles 
 Eobert spares me much of the humiliation I should otherwise 
 have experienced in making this confession. I only venture 
 to hope that, since listening to my relation, you may be induced 
 to consider me as much an object of pity as I admit I am of 
 blame." 
 
 " I cannot express to you, madame, how deeply your narrative 
 lias touched me. What gnawing grief, what hidden sorrows 
 have you not been called upon to endure, from the death of 
 your mother to the birth of your child ! Who would ever believe 
 such ills could reach one so envied, so admired, and so calculated 
 to enjoy and impart happiness to others ? " 
 
 " Oh, my lord, there are some sorrows so deep, so unapproach- 
 able, that for worlds we would not even have them suspected ; and 
 the severest increase of suffering would arise from the very doubt 
 of our being the enviable creatures we are believed to be." 
 
 "You are right; nothing would be more painful than the 
 question, openly expressed, ' Is she or he as happy as they seem 
 to be ? ' Still, if there is any happiness in the knowledge, be as- 
 sured you are not the only one who has to struggle with the fear- 
 ful contrast between reality and that which the world believes." 
 
 "How so, my lord?" 
 
 " Because, in the eyes of all who know you, your husband is 
 esteemed even happier than yourself, since he possesses one so 
 rich in every good gift: and yet is not he also much to be 
 pitied? Can there be a more miserable existence than the one 
 he leads? He has acted unfairly and selfishly towards you, but 
 has he not been bitterly punished ? He loves you with a passion 
 deep and sincere, worthy of you to have inspired, yet he knows 
 that your only feeling towards him is insurmountable aversion 
 and contempt. In his feeble, suffering child he beholds a con- 
 stant reproach; nor is that all he is called upon to endure, 
 jealousy also assails him with her nameless tortures." 
 
 " And how can I help that, my lord ? By giving him no oc- 
 casion for jealousy, you reply. And certainly you are right. 
 But think you, because no other person would possess my love, 
 it would any the more be his? He knows full well it would not. 
 Since the fearful scene I related to you, we have lived entirely 
 apart; while in the eyes of the world I have kept up every 
 necessary appearance of married happiness. With the excep- 
 tion of yourself, my lord, I have never breathed a syllable of 
 this fatal secret to mortal ears : thus, therefore, I venture to ask 
 advice of you I could not solicit from any human being."
 
 412 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 "And I, madame, can with truth assure you, that, if the 
 trifling service I have rendered you be deemed worthy of notice, 
 I hold myself a thousand times overpaid by the confidence you 
 have reposed in me. But, since you deign to ask my advice, 
 and permit me to speak candidly " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my lord, I beseech you to use the frankness and 
 sincerity you would show to a sister ! " 
 
 " Then allow me to tell you that, for want of employing one 
 of your most precious qualities, you lose vast enjoyments, which 
 would not only fill up that void in your heartjbut would distract 
 you from your domestic sorrows and supply that need of stirring 
 emotions, excitement, and," added the prince, smiling, " I dare 
 almost to venture to add (pray forgive me for having so bad an 
 opinion of your sex,) that natural love for mystery and intrigue 
 which exercises so powerful an empire over many, if not all, 
 females/' 
 
 " What do you mean, my lord ? " 
 
 " I mean that, if you would play at the game of doing good, 
 nothing would please or interest you more." 
 
 Madame d'Harville surveyed Rodolph with astonishment. 
 
 " And understand," resumed he, " I speak not of sending 
 large sums carelessly, almost disdainfully, to unfortunate crea- 
 tures, of whom you know nothing, and who are frequently un- 
 deserving of your favor. But if you would amuse yourself, as I 
 do, at playing from time to time at the game of Providence, you 
 would acknowledge that occasionally our good deeds put on all 
 the piquancy and charms of a romance." 
 
 " I must confess, my lord," said Clemence, with a smile, " it 
 never occurred to me to class charity under the head of 
 amusements." 
 
 " It is a discovery I owe to my horror of all tediums, all 
 wearisome, long-protracted affairs a sort of horror which has 
 been principally inspired by long political conferences and min- 
 isterial discussions. But to return to our game of amusing 
 beneficence: I cannot, alas, aspire to possess that disinterested 
 virtue which makes some people content to intrust others with 
 the office of either ill or well distributing their bounty ! and, if 
 it merely required me to send one of my chamberlains to carry 
 a few hundred louis to each of the divisions in and round Paris, 
 I confess, to my shame, that the scheme would not interest me 
 nearly as much as it does at present; while doing good, after my 
 notions on the subject, is one of the most entertaining and ex- 
 citing amusements you can imagine. I prefer the word amus- 
 ing, because to me it conveys the idea of all that pleases, charms,
 
 CLEMENCE D'HAR VILLE. 413 
 
 and allures us. And really, madame, if you would only become 
 my accomplice in a few dark intrigues of this sort, you would see 
 that, apart from the praiseworthiness of the action, nothing is 
 really more curious, inviting, attractive, or diverting, than these 
 charitable adventures. And, then, what mystery is requisite to 
 conceal the benefits we render ! what precautions to prevent 
 ourselves from being discovered ! what varied, yet powerful, 
 emotions are excited at the aspect of poor but worthy people 
 shedding tears of joy and calling down Heaven's blessing on 
 your head ! Depend upon it, such a group is, after all, more 
 gratifying than the pale angry countenance of either a jealous 
 or an unfaithful lover, and there are very few who do not class 
 either under one head or the other. The emotions I describe 
 are closely allied to those you experienced this morning while 
 going to the Rue du Temple. Simply dressed, that you may 
 escape observation, you go forth with a palpitating heart; you 
 also ascend with a throbbing breast some modest fiacre, care- 
 fully drawing down the blinds to prevent yourself from being 
 seen ; then, looking cautiously from side to side that you are not 
 observed, you quickly enter a mean-looking dwelling, just like 
 this morning, you see, the only difference being, that whereas 
 to-day you said, * If I am discovered I am lost ! ' then you would 
 only smile as you mentally uttered, ' If I am discovered, they 
 will overwhelm me with praises and blessings!' Now, since 
 you possess your many adorable qualities in all their pure 
 modesty, you would employ the most artful schemes, the most 
 complicated maneuvers, to prevent yourself from being known, 
 and consequently wept over and blessed as an angel of goodness." 
 
 "Ah, my lord/' cried Madame d'Harville, deeply moved, 
 "you are indeed my preserver! I cannot express the new 
 ideas, the consoling hopes, awakened within me by your vrords. 
 You are quite right ; to endeavor to gain the blessing and grati- 
 tude of such as are poor and in misery is almost equal to being 
 loved even as 7 would wish to be; nay, it is even superior in its 
 purity and absence of self. When I compare the existence I now 
 venture to anticipate with the shameful and degraded lot I was 
 preparing for myself, my own reproaches become more bitter 
 and severe." 
 
 " I should, indeed, be grieved," said Eodolph, smiling, " were 
 that to be the case, since all my desire is to make you forget the 
 past, and to prove to you that there are various modes of re- 
 creating and distracting our minds: the means of good and evil 
 are very frequently nearly the same, it is the end, only, which 
 differs. In a word, if good is as attractive, as amusing, as evil,
 
 414 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 why should we prefer the latter? I am going to use a very 
 commonplace and hackneyed simile. Why do many women take 
 as lovers men not nearly as worthy of that distinction as their 
 own husbands? Because the greatest charm of love consists 
 in the difficulties which surround it; for once deprived of the 
 hopes, the fears, the anxieties, difficulties, mysteries, and dangers, 
 and little or nothing would remain, merely the lover, stripped 
 of all the prestige derivable from these causes, and a very every- 
 day object he would appear; very much after the fashion of the 
 individual who, when asked by a friend why he did not marry 
 his mistress, replied, ' Why I was thinking of it, but, if I did, 
 where should I go to pass my evenings ? " 
 
 " Your picture is colored after nature, my lord," said Madame 
 d'Harville, smiling. 
 
 " Well, then, if I can find the means of enabling you to ex- 
 perience the fears, the anxieties, the excitement, which seem to 
 have such charms for you, if I can render useful your natural 
 love for mystery and romance, your inclination for dissimula- 
 tion and artifice, you see my bad opinion of your sex will peep 
 out in spite of me/' added Rodolph, gaily, " shall I not change 
 into fine and generous qualities instincts, which otherwise are 
 mere ungovernable and unmanageable impulses, excellent, if 
 well employed, most fatal, if directed badly. Now, then, what 
 do you say ? shall we get up all manner of benevolent plots and 
 charitable dissipations? We will have our rendezvous, our 
 correspondence, our secrets,, and, above all, we will carefully 
 conceal all our doings from the marquis, for your visit of to-day 
 to the Morels has, in all probability, excited his suspicions. 
 There, you see, it only requires your consent to commence a 
 regular intrigue." 
 
 " I accept with joy and gratitude the mysterious associations 
 you propose, my lord," said Clemence ; " and, by way of begin- 
 ning our romance, I will return to-morrow to visit those poor 
 creatures to whom, unfortunately, this morning I could only utter 
 a few words of consolation ; for, taking advantage of my terror 
 and alarm, the purse you so thoughtfully supplied me with was 
 stolen from me by a lame boy as I ascended the stairs. Ah, my 
 lord," added Clemence (and her countenance lost the expression 
 of gentle gaiety by which a few minutes before it was animated), 
 " if you only knew what misery, what a picture of wretchedness 
 
 No ! oh, no ! I never could have believed so horrid a scene, 
 
 or that such want existed; and yet I bewail my condition and 
 complain of my severe destiny." 
 
 Rodolph, wishing to conceal from Madame d'Harville how
 
 CLEMEN CE D'UAR VILLE. 415 
 
 deeply he was touched at this application of the woes of others, 
 as teaching patience and resignation, yet fully recognizing in the 
 meek and subdued spirit the fine and noble qualities of her 
 mind, said, gaily, 
 
 " With your permission, I shall except the Morels from your 
 jurisdiction; you shall resign them to my care, and, above all 
 things, promise me not again to enter that miserable place, for, 
 to tell you the truth, I live there." 
 
 " You, my lord ? What an idea ! " 
 
 " Nay but you really must believe me when I say I live 
 there, for it is actually true. I confess mine is somewhat a 
 humble lodging, a mere matter of eight pounds a year, in addi- 
 tion to which I pay the large and liberal sum of six francs 
 a month to the porteress, Madame Pipelet, that ugly old woman 
 you saw ; but, to make up for all this, I have as my next neighbor 
 Mademoiselle Rigolette, the prettiest grisette in the Quartier du 
 Temple. And you must allow that, for a merchant's clerk, with 
 a salary of only seventy-two pounds a year (I pass as a clerk), 
 such a domicile is well suited to my means." 
 
 " Your unhoped-for presence in that fatal house proves to me 
 that you are speaking seriously, my lord ; some generous action 
 leads you there, no doubt! But what good action do you 
 reserve for me ? what part do you propose for me to sustain ? " 
 
 "That of an angel of consolation, and pray excuse and 
 allow me the word a very demon of cunning and maneuvers! 
 For there are some wounds so painful as well as delicate, that 
 the hand of a woman only can watch over and heal them. There 
 are, also, unfortunate beings, so proud, so reserved, and so hidden 
 from observation, that it requires uncommon penetration to 
 discover them, and an irresistible charm to win their confidence." 
 
 " And when shall I have an opportunity of displaying the 
 penetration and skill for which you give me credit?" asked 
 Madame d'Harville impatiently. 
 
 " Soon, I hope, you will have to make a conquest worthy of 
 you. But, to succeed, you must employ all your most ingenious 
 resources." 
 
 " And when, my lord, will you confide this great secret to 
 me?" 
 
 " Let me see ! You perceive, we have already got as far as 
 arranging our rendezvous. Could you do me the favor to grant 
 me an audience in four days' time?" 
 
 " Dear me ! so long first ? " said Cl&nence, innocently. 
 
 " But what would become of the mystery of the affair, and all 
 the strict forms and appearances necessary to be kept up, if we
 
 416 TIIE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 were to meet sooner ? Just imagine ! If our partnership were 
 suspected, people would be on their guard, and we should 
 seldom achieve our purpose. I may very probably have to 
 write to you. Who was that aged female who brought me your 
 note?" 
 
 " An old servant of my mother's, the very personification of 
 prudence and discretion." 
 
 " I will then address my letters under cover to her, and she 
 will deliver them into your hands. If you are kind enough 
 to return any answer, address 'To M. Kodolph, Eue Plumet,' 
 and let your maid put your letters in the post." 
 
 " I will do that myself, my lord, when taking my usual morn- 
 ing's walk." 
 
 " Do you often walk out alone ? " 
 
 " In fine weather, nearly every day." 
 
 " That's right ! It is a custom all young women should 
 observe from the very earliest period of their marriage either 
 from a good or an improper provision against future evil. The 
 habit once established, it becomes what the lawyers style a 
 precedent; and, in subsequent days, these habitual promenades 
 excite no dangerous interpretations. If I had been a woman 
 (and, between ourselves, I fear I should have been very chari- 
 table, but equally flighty), the very day after my marriage I 
 should, in all possible innocence, have taken the most mysterious 
 steps, and, with perfect simplicity, have involved myself in all 
 manner of suspicious and compromising proceedings, for the 
 purpose of establishing the precedent I spoke of, in order to be 
 at liberty either to visit my poor pensioners or to meet my 
 lover." 
 
 " But that would be downright perfidy to one's husband, would 
 it not, my lord?" said Madame d'Harville, smiling. 
 
 " Fortunately for you, madame, you have never been driven 
 to the necessity of admitting the utility of such provisionary 
 measures." 
 
 Madame d'Harville's smile left her lips. She cast down her 
 eyes, and, blushing deeply, said, in a low and sad voice, " This 
 is not generous, my lord ! " 
 
 At first Eodolph regarded the marquise with astonishment, 
 then added, "I understand you, madame. But, once for all, 
 let us weigh well your position as regards M. Charles Eobert. 
 I will just imagine that one of your acquaintances may one day 
 have pointed out to you one of those pitiable-looking mendicants 
 who roll their eyes most sentimentally, and play or the clarionet 
 with desperate energy, to awaken the sympathy of the passers-
 
 CLEMENCE D'HARVILLE. 417 
 
 by. 'That is really and truly a genuine case of distress,' 
 observes your friend. ' That interesting musician has at least 
 seven children, and a wife deaf, dumb, blind, etc. ' Ah, poor 
 fellow ! ' you reply, charitably aiding him with your purse. 
 And so, each time you meet this case of genuine distress, the 
 clarionet player, the moment he discerns you from afar, fixes 
 his imploring eyes upon you, while the most touching strains 
 of his instrument are directed to touch your charitable sym- 
 pathies, and that, too, so successfully, that again your purse 
 opens at this fresh appeal. One day, more than usually disposed 
 to pity this very unfortunate object by the importunities of the 
 friend who first pointed him out to you, and who is most 
 wickedly abusing your generous heart, you resolve to visit this 
 case of genuine distress, as your false friend terms it, and to 
 behold the poor object of your solicitude in the midst of his 
 misery. Well, you go. But, lo ! the grief-stricken musician has 
 vanished; and in his place you find a lively, rollicking fellow, 
 enjoying himself over some of the good things of this world, 
 and mirthfully caroling forth the last new alehouse catch. Then 
 disgust succeeds to pity; for you have bestowed your sympathy 
 and charity alike upon a mere impostor, neither more nor less. 
 Is it not so?" 
 
 Madame d'Harville could not restrain a smile at this singular 
 apologue. She, however, soon checked it, as she added, 
 
 " However grateful I may feel for this mode of justifying my 
 great imprudence, my lord, I can but confess I dare not avail 
 myself of so favorable a pretext as that of mistaken charity." 
 
 " Yet, after all, yours was an error based upon motives of noble 
 and generous pity for the wounded feelings of one you believed 
 a genuine object for commiseration. Fortunately, there are so 
 many ways left you of atoning for one indiscretion, that your 
 regret need be but small. Shall I not have the pleasure of see- 
 ing M. d'Harville this evening? " 
 
 " No, my lord. The scene of this morning has so much af- 
 fected him that he is ill," said the marquise, in a low, tremu- 
 lous tone. 
 
 "Ah," replied Eodolph, sadly, "I understand! Come, 
 courage ! you were saying that you required an aim, a motive, a 
 means of directing your thoughts. Permit me to hope that all 
 this will be accomplished by following out the plan I have pro- 
 posed. Your heart will be then so filled with the delightful recol- 
 lection of all the happiness you have caused, and all the good 
 you have effected, that, in all probability, you will find no room 
 for resentment against your husband. In place of angry feel-
 
 418 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 ings, you will regard him with the same sorrowing pity you look 
 on your dear child. And as for the interesting little creature 
 herself, now you have confided to me the cause of her delicate 
 health, I almost think myself warranted in bidding you yet enter- 
 tain hopes of overcoming the fearful complaint which has 
 hitherto affected her tender frame." 
 
 " Oh, my lord ! " exclaimed Clemence, clasping her hands 
 with eagerness, " can it be possible ? How ? in what manner 
 can my child be saved ? " 
 
 " I have, as physician to myself and household, a man almost 
 unknown, though possessed of first-rate science. Great part 
 of his life was passed in America; and I remember his 
 speaking to me of some marvelous cures performed by him on 
 slaves attacked by this distressing complaint." 
 
 " And do you really think, my lord " 
 
 " Nay, you must not allow yourself to dwell too confidently 
 upon success; the disappointment would be so very severe. 
 Only, do not let us wholly despair." 
 
 Clemence d'Harville cast a hasty glance of unutterable grati- 
 tude over the noble features of Rodolph, the firm, unflinching 
 friend, who reconciled her to herself with so much good sense, 
 intelligence, and delicacy of feeling. Then she asked herself 
 how, for one instant, she could ever have been interested in the 
 fate of such a being as M. Charles Robert the very idea was 
 hateful to her. 
 
 " What do I not owe you, my lord ? " cried she, in a voice of 
 thrilling emotion ; " you console me for the past ; you open to me 
 a glimpse of hope for my child ; and you place before me a plan 
 of future occupation which shall afford me both consolation and 
 the delight of doing my duty. Ah, was I not right when I said 
 that, if you would come here to-night, you would finish the day 
 as you had- begun it by performing a good action ? " 
 
 " And pray, madame, do not omit to add, an action after my 
 own heart, where all is pleasure and unmixed enjoyment in its 
 performance. And now, adieu!" said Rodolph rising as the 
 clock struck half-past eleven. 
 
 " Adieu, my lord ! and pray do not forget to send me news 
 ere long of those poor people in the Rue du Temple." 
 
 " I will see them to-morrow, for, unfortunately, I knew not 
 of that little limping rascal having stolen your purse ; and I fear 
 that the unhappy creatures are in the most deplorable want. 
 Have the kindness to bear in mind that, in the course of four 
 days, I shall come to explain to you the nature of the part you 
 will be required to undertake. One thing I must prepare you
 
 MISERY. 419 
 
 for; and that is, the probability of its being requisite for you 
 to assume a disguise on the occasion." 
 
 " A disguise ? oh, how charming ! What sort of one, my 
 lord ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you at present. I will leave the choice to you." 
 ****** 
 
 " All that is requisite," said the prince, on his return home, 
 " to save this excellent woman from the perils of another attach- 
 ment is to fill her mind with generous thoughts; and, since an 
 invincible repugnance separates her from her husband, to em- 
 ploy her love for the romantic in such charitable actions as shall 
 require being enshrouded in mystery." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 MISERY. 
 
 THE reader has probably not forgotten that the garret in the 
 Rue du Temple was occupied by an unfortunate family, the 
 father of whom was a working lapidary, named Morel. We shall 
 now endeavor to describe the wretched abode of Morel and his 
 children. 
 
 It was six o'clock in the morning; a deep silence dwelt around. 
 The streets were still deserted, for the snow fell fast, and the 
 cold biting wind froze as it blew. A miserable candle, stuck 
 upon a small block of wood, and supported by two slips of the 
 same material, scarcely penetrated with its yellow flickering 
 light the misty darkness of the garret, a narrow, low-built 
 place, two-thirds of which were formed by the sloping roof, 
 which communicated by a sharp angle with the wretched floor- 
 ing, and freely exposed the moss-covered tiles of the outer roof. 
 Walls covered with plaster, blackened by time, and split into 
 countless crevices, displayed the rotten, worm-eaten laths, which 
 formed the frail division from other chambers, while in one 
 corner of this deplorable habitation a door off the hinges opened 
 upon a narrow staircase. The ground, of a nameless color, but 
 foul, fetid, and slippery, was partly strewed with bits of dirty 
 straw, old rags, and bones, the residue of that unwholesome and 
 vitiated food sold by the dealers in condemned meat, and fre- 
 quently bought by starving wretches, for the purpose of gnawing 
 the few cartilages that may adhere.* 
 
 * It is no uncommon thing to meet, in densely crowded parts of Paris, 
 with persons who openly sell the flesh of animals born dead, as well as of 
 others who have died of disease, etc,
 
 420 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 So wretched a condition either arises from improvidence and 
 vice, or from unavoidable misery, misery so great, so over- 
 whelming, and paralyzing, as to enfeeble every energy, and to 
 render the unhappy object of it too hopeless, too despairing, 
 even to attempt to extricate himself from the squalor of his utter 
 destitution, and he crouches in his dirt and desolation like an 
 animal in its den. 
 
 During the day, Morel's garret was lighted by a species of 
 long, narrow skylight formed in the descending roof, framed and 
 glazed, and made to open and shut by means of a pulley and 
 string; but, at the hour which we are describing, a heavy fall of 
 snow encumbered the window, and effectually prevented its af- 
 fording any light. The candle placed- on Morel's working-table, 
 which stood in the center of the chamber, diffused a kind of halo 
 of pale, sickly beams, which, gradually diminishing, was at last 
 lost in the dim shadow which overspread the place, in whose 
 murky duskiness might be seen the faint outline of several white- 
 looking masses. On the work-table, which was merely a heavy 
 and roughly cut wooden block of unpolished oak, covered with 
 grease and soot, lay, loosely scattered about, a handful of rubies 
 and diamonds, of more than ordinary, size and brillancy, while, 
 as the mean rays of the small candle were reflected on them, 
 they glittered and sparkled like so many coruscating fires. 
 
 Morel was a worker of real stones, and not FALSE ones, as he 
 had given out, and as was universally believed, in the Rue du 
 Temple. Thanks to this innocent deception, the costly jewels 
 intrusted to him were merely supposed to be so many pieces 
 of glass, too valueless to tempt the cupidity of any one. Such 
 riches, confided to the care of one as poor and miserably des- 
 titute as Morel, will render any reference to the honesty of his 
 character quite unnecessary. 
 
 Seated on a high stool, and wholly overcome by fatigue, cold, 
 and weariness, after a long winter's night, passed in unceasing 
 labor, the poor lapidary had fallen asleep on his block, with his 
 head upon his half-frozen arms, and his forehead resting against 
 a small grindstone, placed horizontally on the table, and gen- 
 erally put in motion by a little hand-wheel, while a fine steel 
 saw, and various other tools belonging to his trade, were lying 
 beside him. The man himself, of whom nothing but the skull, 
 surrounded by a fringe of gray hairs, was visible, was dressed 
 in a shabby fustian jacket, without any species of linen or gar- 
 ment beneath it, and an old pair of cloth trousers, while his 
 worn-out slippers scarcely concealed the blue, cold feet they 
 partially covered, from resting solely on the damp, shiny floor;
 
 MISERY. 421 
 
 and so bitter, so freezing, was the sharp winter wind which freely 
 entered into this scarcely human dwelling, that, spite of the 
 weariness and exhaustion of the overworked artisan, his frame 
 shuddered and shivered with involuntary frequency. The 
 length of the wick of the unsnuffed candle bespoke the length 
 of time even this uneasy slumber must have lasted, and 
 no sound, save his troubled and irregular breathing, broke the 
 deathlike silence that prevailed; for, alas! the other occupants 
 of this mean abode were not so fortunate as to be able to forget 
 their sufferings in sleep. Yet this narrow, pent-up, unwholesome 
 spot contained no less than seven other persons five children, 
 the youngest of whom was four years of age, the eldest twelve, a 
 sick and declining wife, with an aged grandmother, the parent 
 of Morel's wife, now in her eightieth year, and an idiot ! 
 
 The cold must have been intense, indeed, when the natural 
 warmth of so many persons, so closely packed together in so 
 small a place, could not in any way affect the freezing atmos- 
 phere; it was evident, therefore, to speak scientifically, that but 
 little caloric was given out by the poor, weak, emaciated, shiver- 
 ing creatures, all suffering and almost expiring with cold and 
 hunger, from the puny infant to the idiotic old grandmother. 
 
 With the exception of the father of the family, who had tem- 
 porarily yielded to the aching of his heavy eyelids, no other 
 creature slept no other; because cold, starvation, and sickness, 
 will not allow so sweet an enjoyment as the closing the eyes in 
 peaceful rest. Little does the world believe how rarely comes 
 that sound, healthful, and refreshing slumber to the poor man's 
 pillow, which at once invigorates the mind and body, and sends 
 the willing laborer back to his toil refreshed and recruited by 
 the blessing of a beneficent Creator. To taste of nature's 
 sweet, refreshing, balmy sleep, sickness, sorrow, poverty, and 
 mental disquietude, must not share the humble pallet. 
 
 In contrasting the deep misery of the poor artisan, with whose 
 woes we are now occupying the reader, with the immense value 
 of the jewelry confided to him, we are struck by one of those 
 comparisons which afflict while they elevate the mind. With the 
 distracting spectacle of his family's want and wretchedness, em- 
 bracing a wide field from cold and hunger to driveling idiocy, 
 constantly before his eyes, this man, in the pursuance of his 
 daily labor, is compelled to touch, and handle, and gaze upon, 
 bright and sparkling gems, the smallest of which would be a 
 mine of wealth to him, and save those dearest to him from 
 sufferings and privations which wring his very heart, would 
 snatch them from the slow and lingering death which is con-
 
 422 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 suming them before his eyes. Yet, amid all these trials and 
 temptations, the artisan remains firmly, truly, and unflinch- 
 ingly honest, and would no more appropriate one of the glitter- 
 ing stones intrusted to him than he would satisfy his hunger at 
 the expense of his starving babes. Doubtless the man but 
 performed his duty to his employer his simple duty; but, 
 because it is enjoined to all to be honest and faithful in that 
 which is committed to them, does that render the action itself 
 less noble, magnanimous, or praiseworthy? Is not this un- 
 fortunate artisan, so courageously, so bravely upright and 
 honest while intrusted with the property of another, the type and 
 model of an immense class of working people, who, doomed to 
 a life of continual poverty and privation, see, with calm, patient 
 looks, thousands of their brethren rolling in splendor and 
 abounding in riches, yet they toil on, resigned and unenvying, 
 but still industriously striving for bread their hardest efforts 
 cannot always procure? And is there not something consola- 
 tory, as well as gratifying to our feelings, to consider that it 
 is neither force nor terror, but good natural sense and a right 
 mind, which alone restrain this formidable ocean, this heaving 
 mass, whose bounds once broken a moral inundation would 
 ensue, in which society itself would be swallowed up ? Shall we, 
 then, refuse to co-operate with all the powers of our mind and 
 body with those generous and enlightened spirits, who ask but a 
 little sunshine for so much misfortune, courage, and resigna- 
 tion? 
 
 ****** 
 
 Let us now return to the alas ! too true specimen of distressing 
 want we shall endeavor to describe in all its fearful and start- 
 ling reality. 
 
 The lapidary possessed only a thin mattress and a portion of 
 a blanket appropriated to the old grandmother, who, in her 
 stupid and ferocious selfishness, would not allow any person to 
 share them with her. In the beginning of the winter she had 
 become quite violent, and had even attempted to strangle the 
 youngest child, who had been put to sleep with her: this poor 
 infant was a sickly little creature of about four years old, now 
 far more in consumption, and who found it too cold inside the 
 mattress, where she slept with her brothers and sisters. Here- 
 after we shall explain this mode of sleeping so frequently em- 
 ployed by the very poor, in comparison with whom the very 
 animals are treated luxuriously, for their litter is changed. 
 Such was the picture presented in the humble garret of the poor 
 lapidary, when the eye was enabled to pierce the gloomy
 
 MISERY. 423 
 
 penumbra caused by the flickering rays of the candle. By the 
 side of the partition-wall, not less damp and cracked than the 
 others, was placed on the floor the mattress on which the idiot 
 grandmother reposed; as she could not bear anything on her 
 head, her white hair was cut very short, and revealed the shape 
 of her head and flat forehead; while her shaggy, gray eyebrows 
 shaded the deep orbits, from which glared a wild, savage, yet 
 crafty, look; her pale, hollow wrinkled cheeks hung upon the 
 bones of the face and the sharp angles of her jaws. Lying upon 
 her side, and almost doubled up, her chin nearly touching her 
 knees, she lay, shivering with cold, beneath the gray rug, too 
 small to cover her all over, and which, as she drew it over her 
 shoulders, exposed her thin emaciated legs, as well as the 
 wretched old petticoat in which she was clad. An odor most 
 fetid and repulsive issued from this bed. 
 
 At a little distance from the mattress of the grandmother, 
 and still extending along the side of the wall, was placed the 
 paillasse which served as a sleeping-place for the five children, 
 who were accommodated after the following manner : 
 
 An opening was made at each side of the cloth which covered 
 the straw, and the children were inserted into this bed, or, 
 rather, foul and noisome dunghill, the outer case serving both 
 for sheet and counterpane. Two little girls, one of whom was 
 extremely ill, shivered on one side, and three young boys on the 
 other, all going to bed without undressing, if, indeed, the 
 miserable rags they wore could be termed clothes. Masses of 
 thick, dry, light hair, tangled, ragged, and uncombed, left uncut 
 because their poor mother fancied it helped to keep them warm, 
 half covered their pale, thin, pinched features. One of the boys 
 drew with his cold, benumbed fingers the covering over their 
 straw bed up to his chin, in order to defend himself from the 
 cold; while another, fearful of exposing his hands to the in- 
 fluence of the frost, tried to grasp the bed-covering with his 
 teeth, which rattled and shook in his head ; while a third strove 
 to huddle up to his brothers in hopes of gaining a little warmth. 
 The youngest of the two girls, fatally attacked by consumption, 
 leaned her poor little face, which already bore the hue of death, 
 languidly against the chilly bosom of her sister, a girl just one 
 year older, who vainly sought by pressing her in her arms to 
 impart comfort and ease to the little sufferer, over whom she 
 watched with the anxious solicitude of a parent. 
 
 On another paillasse, also placed on the ground at the foot of 
 that of the children, the wife of the artisan was extended, groan- 
 ing in helpless exhaustion from the effects of a slow fever and
 
 424 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 an internal complaint, which had not permitted her to quit her 
 bed for several months. Madeleine Morel was in her thirty-sixth 
 year; a blue cotton handkerchief, tied round her low forehead, 
 made the bilious pallor of her countenance and sharp, emaciated 
 features still more conspicuous. A dark halo encircled her 
 hollow, sunken eyes; while her lips were split and bleeding 
 from the effects of the fever which consumed her; her dejected, 
 grief-worn physiognomy, and small, insignificant features, in- 
 dicated one of those gentle but weak natures, without resource 
 or energy, which, unable to struggle with misfortunes, yield at 
 once, and know no remedy but vain and ceaseless lamentations 
 and regrets. Weak, spiritless, and of limited capacity, she had 
 remained honest because her husband 'was so; had she been left 
 to herself, it is probable that ignorance and misfortune might 
 have depraved her mind and driven her to any lengths. She 
 loved her husband and her children, but she had neither the 
 courage nor resolution to restrain giving vent to loud and open 
 complaints respecting their mutual misery; and frequently was 
 the lapidary, whose unflinching labor alone maintained the 
 family, obliged to quit his work to console and pacify the poor 
 valetudinarian. Over and above an old ragged sheet, of coarse 
 brown cloth, which partially covered his wife, Morel had, in 
 order to impart a little warmth, laid a few old clothes, so worn- 
 out, and patched, and pieced, that the pawnbroker had refused 
 to have anything to do with them. 
 
 A stove, a saucepan, a damaged earthen stewpan, two or three 
 cracked cups, scattered about on the floor, a bucket, a board to 
 wash on, and a large stone pitcher, placed beneath the angle of 
 the roof near the broken door, which the wind kept continually 
 blowing to and fro, completed the whole of the family pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 This picture of squalid misery and desolation was lighted up 
 by the candle, whose flame, agitated by the cold north-easterly 
 wind, which found its way through the tiles on the roof, some- 
 times imparted a pale, unearthly light on the wretched scene, 
 and then, playing on the heaps of diamonds and rubies laying 
 beside the sleeping artisan, caused a thousand scintillating 
 sparks to spring forth and dazzle the eye with their prismatic 
 rays of brightness. 
 
 Although the profoundest silence reigned around, seven out 
 of the eight unfortunate dwellers in this attic were awake; and 
 each, from the grandmother to the youngest child, watched the 
 sleeping lapidary with intense emotion, as their only hope, their 
 only resource, and, in their childlike selfishness, they mur-
 
 MISERY. 425 
 
 mured at seeing him thus inactive and relinquishing that 
 labor which they well knew wae all they had to depend on : but 
 with different feelings of regret and uneasiness did the look- 
 ers-on observe the slumber of the toil-worn man. The mother 
 trembled for her children's meal; the children thought but of 
 themselves ; while the idiot neither thought of nor cared for any 
 one. All at once she sat upright in her wretched bed, crossed 
 her long bony arms, yellow and dry as box-wood, on her shriv- 
 eled bosom, and kept watching the candle with twinkling eyes; 
 then, rising slowly and stealthily, she crept along, trailing 
 after her her old ragged coverlet, which clung around her, as 
 though it had been her winding-sheet. She was above the 
 middle height, and her hair being so closely shaven made her 
 head appear disproportionately small; a sort of spasmodic 
 movement kept up a constant trembling in her thick, pendulous 
 under-lip, while her whole countenance offered the hideous 
 model of ferocious stupidity. Slowly and cautiously the idiot 
 approached the lapidary's work-table, like a child about to com- 
 mit some forbidden act. When she reached the candle, she held 
 her two trembling hands over the flame; and such was their 
 skeleton-like condition, that the flickering light shone through 
 them, imparting a pale, livid hue to her features. From her 
 pallet Madeleine Morel watched every movement of the old 
 woman, who, still warming herself over the candle, stooped her 
 head, and, with a silly kind of delight, watched the sparkling of 
 the diamonds and rubies, which lay glittering on the table. 
 Wholly absorbed in the wondrous contemplation of such bright 
 and beautiful things, the idiot allowed her hands to fall into 
 the flame of the candle, nor did she seem to recollect where 
 they were till the sense of burning recalled her attention, when 
 she manifested her pain and anger by a harsh, screaming cry. 
 
 At this sound Morel started, and quickly raised his head. 
 He was about forty years of age, with an open, intelligent, and 
 mild expression of countenance, but yet wearing the sad, de- 
 jected look of one who had been the sport of misery and mis- 
 fortune till they had planted furrows in his cheeks and crushed 
 and broken his spirit. A gray beard of many weeks' growth 
 covered the lower part of his face, which was deeply marked by 
 the small-pox; premature wrinkles furrowed his already bald 
 forehead ; while his red and inflamed eyelids showed the over- 
 taxed and sleepless days and nights of toil he so courageously 
 endured. A circumstance, but too common with such of the 
 working class as are doomed by their occupation to remain 
 nearly all day in one position, had warped his figure, and, act-
 
 426 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 ing upon a naturally feeble constitution, had produced a con- 
 traction of his whole frame. Continually obliged to stoop over 
 his work-table and to lean to the left, in order to keep his grind- 
 stone going, the lapidary, in a manner petrified, ossified in the 
 attitude he was frequently obliged to preserve from twelve to 
 fifteen hours a day, had acquired an habitual stoop of the shoul- 
 ders, and was completely drawn on one side. So his left arm, 
 incessantly exercised by the difficult management of the grind- 
 stone, had acquired a considerable muscular development; 
 whilst the right arm, always inert and leaning on the table, the 
 better to present the faces of the diamonds to the action of the 
 grindstone, had wasted to the most extreme attenuation; his 
 wasted limbs, almost paralyzed by complete want of exercise, 
 could scarcely support the weary, worn-out body, as though all 
 strength, substance, and vitality, had concentrated themselves 
 in the only part called into play when toiling for the subsist- 
 ence of, with himself, eight human creatures. 
 
 And often would poor Morel touchingly observe, " It is not 
 for myself that I care to eat, but to give strength to the arm 
 which turns the mill." 
 
 Awaking with a sudden start, the lapidary found himself 
 directly opposite to the poor idiot. 
 
 " What ails you ? what is the matter, mother ? " said Morel ; 
 and then added, in a lower tone, for fear of awakening the 
 family, whom he hoped and believed were asleep, " Go back to 
 bed, mother ; Madeleine and the children are asleep ! " 
 
 " No, father," cried the eldest of the little girls, " I am awake ; 
 I am trying to warm poor little Adele." 
 
 " And I am too hungry to go to sleep," added one of the 
 boys ; " it was not my turn to-night to have supper with Made- 
 moiselle Eigolette." 
 
 " Poor things ! " said Morel, sorrowfully, " I thought you 
 were asleep at least " 
 
 " I was afraid of awaking you, Morel," said the wife, " or I 
 should have begged of you to give me a drink of water: I am 
 devoured with thirst ! My feverish fit has come on again ! " 
 
 " I will directly," said the lapidary ; " only let me first get 
 mother back to bed. Come ! come ! what are you meddling with 
 those stones for? Let them alone, I say!" cried he to the old 
 woman, whose whole attention seemed riveted upon a splendid 
 ruby, the bright scintillations of which had so charmed the poor 
 idiot, that she was trying by every possible means to gain pos- 
 session of it. 
 
 " There's a pretty thing ! there there ! " replied the woman,
 
 MISERY. 427 
 
 pointing with vehement gestures to the prize she so ardently 
 coveted. 
 
 " I shall be angry in a few minutes," exclaimed Morel, 
 speaking in a loud voice to terrify his mother-in-law into sub- 
 mission, and gently pushing back the hand she advanced to 
 seize her desired treasure. 
 
 " Oh, Morel ! Morel ! " murmured Madeleine, " I am parching, 
 dying with thirst. How can you be so cruel as refuse me a 
 little water?" 
 
 " But how can I at present ? I must not allow mother to 
 meddle with these stones perhaps to lose me a diamond, as 
 she did a year ago; and God alone knows the wretchedness and 
 misery it cost us ay, may still occasion us. Ah, that unfortu- 
 nate loss of the diamond, what have we not suffered by it ! " 
 
 As the poor lapidary uttered these words, he passed his hand 
 over his aching brow with a desponding air, and said to one of 
 the children, 
 
 " Felix, give your mother something to drink. You are 
 awake, and can attend to her." 
 
 "No, no," exclaimed Madeleine; "he will take cold. I will 
 wait." ' 
 
 " Oh, mother," said the boy, rising, " never mind me. I shall 
 be quite as warm up as I am in this paillasse." 
 
 "Come, will you let the things alone?" cried Morel, in a 
 threatening tone, to the idiot woman, who kept bending over the 
 precious stones and trying to seize them, spite of all his efforts 
 to move her from the table. 
 
 " Mother," called out Felix, " what shall I do? The water in 
 the pitcher is frozen quite hard." 
 
 "Then break the ice," murmured Madeleine. 
 
 " It is so thick, I can't," answered the boy. 
 
 " Morel ! " exclaimed Madeleine, in a querulous and impa- 
 tient tone, " since there is nothing but water for me to drink, 
 let me at least have a draught of that ! You are letting me die 
 with thirst ! " 
 
 " God of Heaven grant me patience ! " cried the unfortunate 
 man. " How can I leave your mother to lose and destroy these 
 stones? Pray let me manage her first." 
 
 But the lapidary found it no easy matter to get rid of the 
 idiot, who, beginning to feel irritated at the constant opposition 
 she met with, gave utterance to her displeasure in a sort of 
 hideous growl. 
 
 " Call her, wife ! " said Morel, " she will attend to you some- 
 times."
 
 428 2# MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! " called Madeleine, " go to bed, and be 
 good, and then you shall have some of that nice coffee you are 
 so fond of ! " 
 
 " I want that ! and that ! There ! there ! " replied the idiot, 
 making a desperate effort this time to possess herself of a heap 
 of rubies she particularly coveted. Morel firmly, but gently, re- 
 pulsed her all in vain; with pertinacious obstinacy the old 
 woman kept struggling to break from his grasp, and snatch the 
 bright gems, on which she kept her eyes fixed with eager fond- 
 ness. 
 
 " You will never manage her," said Madeleine, " unless you 
 frighten her with the whip; there is no other means of making 
 her quiet/' 
 
 " I am afraid not," returned Morel ; " but, though she has no 
 sense, it yet goes to my heart to be obliged to threaten an old 
 woman, like her, with the whip." 
 
 Then, addressing the old woman, who was trying to bite 
 him, and whom he was holding back with one hand, he said, 
 in a loud and terrible voice, " Take care; you'll have the whip 
 on your shoulders if you don't make haste to bed this very in- 
 stant!" 
 
 These menaces were equally vain with his former efforts to 
 subdue her. Morel then took a whip which lay beside his work- 
 table, and, cracking it violently, said, " Get to bed with you 
 directly ! get to bed ! " 
 
 As the loud noise of the whip saluted the ear of the idiot, she 
 hurried away from the lapidary's work-table, then, suddenly 
 turning round, she uttered low, grumbling sounds between her 
 clenched teeth; while she surveyed her son-in-law with looks of 
 the deepest hatred. 
 
 " To bed ! to bed, I say ! " continued he, still advancing, and 
 feigning to raise his whip with the intention of striking; while 
 the idiot, holding her fist towards her son-in-law, retreated back- 
 wards to her wretched couch. 
 
 The lapidary, anxious to terminate this painful scene, that he 
 might be at liberty to attend to his sick wife, kept still advanc- 
 ing towards the idiot woman, brandishing and cracking his whip, 
 though without allowing it to touch the unhappy creature, re- 
 peatedly exclaiming, " To bed ! to bed directly ! Do you hear ? " 
 
 The old woman, now thoroughly conquered, and fully believing 
 in the reality of the threats held out, began to howl most hid- 
 eously; and crawling into her bed, like a dog to his kennel, she 
 kept up a continued series of cries, screams, and yells, while the 
 frightened children, believing their poor old grandmother had
 
 MISERY. 420 
 
 actually been beaten, began crying piteously, exclaiming, " Don't 
 beat poor granny, father ! Pray don't flog granny ! " 
 
 It is wholly impossible to describe the fearful effect of these 
 nocturnal horrors, in which were mingled, in one turmoil of 
 sounds, the supplicating cries of the children, the furious yell- 
 ings of the idiot, and the wailing complaints of the lapidary's 
 sick wife. 
 
 To poor Morel such scenes as this were but too frequent. 
 Still, upon the present occasion, his patience and courage seemed 
 utterly to forsake him ; and, throwing down the whip upon his 
 work-table, he exclaimed, in bitter despair, "Oh, what a life! 
 what a life ! " 
 
 " Is it my fault if my mother is an idiot ? " asked Madeleine, 
 weeping. 
 
 " Is it mine, then ? " replied Morel. " All I ask for is peace 
 and quiet enough to allow me to work myself to death for you 
 all. God knows, I labor alike night and day! Yet I complain 
 not. And, as long as my strength holds out, I will exert myself 
 to the utmost ; but it is 'quite impossible for me to attend to my 
 business, and be a once a keeper to a mad woman, and a nurse 
 to sick people and young children. And Heaven is unjust to 
 put it upon me yes, I say unjust! It is too much misery to 
 heap on one man," added Morel, in a tone bordering on distrac- 
 tion. So saying, the heart-broken lapidary threw himself on 
 his stool, and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " Can I help the people at the hospital having refused to re- 
 ceive my mother, because she was not raving mad ? " asked 
 Madeleine, in a low, peevish, and complaining voice. " What can 
 I do to alter it ? What is the use of your grumbling to me about 
 my mother? and, if you fret ever so much about what neither 
 you nor I can alter, what good will that do?" 
 
 " None at all," rejoined the artisan, hastily brushing the large 
 bitter drops despair had driven to his eyes; "none whatever 
 you are right; but when everything goes against you, it is diffi- 
 cult to know what to do or say." 
 
 " Gracious Father ! " cried Madeleine, " what an agony of 
 thirst I am enduring! My lips are parched with the fever which 
 is consuming me, and yet I shiver as though death were on 
 me!" 
 
 " Wait one instant, and I will give you some drink ! " So 
 saying, Morel took the pitcher which stood beneath the roof, and, 
 after having with difficulty broken the ice which covered the 
 water, he filled a cup with the frozen liquid, and brought it to 
 the bedside of his wife, who stretched forth her impatient hands
 
 4:30 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 to receive it ; but, after a moment's reflection, he said, " No, 
 no, I must not let you have it cold as this; in your present state 
 of fever it would be dangerous." 
 
 "So much the better if it be dangerous! Quick, quick 
 give it me ! " cried Madeleine, with bitterness ; " it will the 
 sooner end my misery, and free you from such an incumbrance 
 as I am: then you will only have to look after mad folks and 
 young children there will be no sick-nurse to take up your 
 time." 
 
 " Why do you say such hard words to me, Madeleine ? " asked 
 Morel, mournfully; "you know I do not deserve them. Pray 
 do not add to my vexations, for I have scarcely strength or 
 reason enough left to go on with my -work; my head feels as 
 though something were amiss with it, and I fear much my brain 
 will give way and then what would become of you all ? 'Tis for 
 you I speak; were there only myself, I should trouble very little 
 about to-morrow thank Heaven, the river flows for everyone ! " 
 
 " Poor Morel ! " said Madeleine, deeply affected, " I was very 
 wrong to speak so angrily to you, and to say I knew you would 
 be glad to get rid of me. Pray forgive me, for indeed I did not 
 mean any harm; for, after all, what use am I either to you or 
 the children ? For the last sixteen months I have kept my bed ! 
 Gracious God ! what I do suffer with thirst ! For pity's sake, 
 husband, give me something to moisten my burning lips ! " 
 
 "You shall have it directly; I was trying to warm the cup 
 between my hands." 
 
 " How good you are ! and yet I could say such wicked things 
 to you ! " 
 
 " My poor wife, you are ill and in pain, and that makes you 
 impatient; say anything you like to me, but pray never tell me 
 again I wish to get rid of you ! " 
 
 " But what good am I to anyone ? what good are our children ? 
 None whatever; on the contrary, they heap more toil upon you 
 than you can bear." 
 
 " True ; yet you see that my love for them and you has en- 
 dued me with strength and resolution to work frequently twenty 
 hours out of the twenty-four, till my body is bent and deformed 
 by such incessant labor. Do you believe for one instant that I 
 would thus toil and struggle on my own account ? Oh, no ! life 
 has no such charms for me; and if I were the only sufferer, I 
 would quickly put an end to it." 
 
 " And so would I," said Madeleine. " God knows, but for the 
 children I should have said to you, long ago, ' Morel, we have 
 had more than enough to weary us of our lives ; there is nothing
 
 MISERY. 431 
 
 left but to finish our misery by the help of a pan of charcoal ! ' 
 But then I recollected the poor, dear, helpless children, and my 
 heart would not let me leave them, alone and unprotected, to 
 starve by themselves." 
 
 " Well, then, you see, wife, that the children are, after all, of 
 real good to us, since they prevent us giving way to despair, 
 and serve as a motive for exerting ourselves," replied Morel, 
 with ready ingenuity, yet perfect simplicity of tone and manner. 
 " Now, then, take your drink, but only swallow a little at a time, 
 for it is very cold still." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Morel ! " cried Madeleine, snatching the cup, 
 and drinking it eagerly. 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! no more ! you shall not have any more 
 just now, Madeleine." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " exclaimed Madeleine, giving back the 
 cup, " how cold it seems now I have swallowed it it has brought 
 back those dreadful shiverings ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " ejaculated Morel, " I told you so ah, now you are 
 quite ill again ! " 
 
 " I have not strength even to tremble I seem as though I 
 were covered over with ice." 
 
 Morel took off his jacket, and laid it over his wife's feet, re- 
 maining quite naked down to his waist the unhappy man did 
 not possess a shirt. 
 
 " But you will be frozen to death, Morel ! " 
 
 " Never mind me ; if I find it cold by and bye, I will put my 
 jacket on for a few minutes." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " sighed Madeleine. " Ah, as you say, Heaven 
 is not just! What have we done to be so wretched, while so 
 many others " 
 
 " Everyone has their troubles some more, some less the 
 great as well as the small." 
 
 " Yes ; but great people know nothing of the gnawings of 
 hunger, or the bitter pinching of the cold. Why, when I look 
 on those diamonds, and remember that the smallest amongst 
 them would place us and the poor children in ease and comfort, 
 my heart sickens, and I ask myself why it is some should have 
 so much, and others nothing? And what good are these dia- 
 monds, after all, to their owners?" 
 
 " Why, if we were to go to the question of what half the 
 luxuries of life are really good for, we might go a great way: for 
 instance, what is the good of that grand gentleman Madame 
 Pipelet calls the Commandant having engaged and furnished 
 the first floor of this house, when he seldom enters them ? what
 
 432 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 use is it his having there good beds, and warm covering to them, 
 since he never sleeps in them ? " 
 
 " Very true ; there is more furniture lying idle there than 
 would supply two or three poor families like ours. And then 
 Madame Pipelet lights a fire every day, to preserve the things 
 from the damp. Only think of so much comfortable warmth 
 being lost, while we and the children are almost frozen to death ! 
 But then, you will say, we are not articles of value; no, in- 
 deed, we are not. Oh, these rich folks, what hard hearts they 
 have!" 
 
 " Not harder than other people's, Madeleine ; but then, you 
 see, they do not know what misery or want are. They are born 
 rich and happy, they live and die so. How, then, do you expect 
 they can ever think such poor distressed beings exist in a world 
 which to them is all happiness ? No ! I tell you, they have no 
 idea of such things as fellow-creatures toiling beyond their 
 strength for food, and perishing at last with hunger! How is 
 it possible for them to imagine privations like ours ? The greater 
 their hunger, the greater enjoyment of their abundant meal. 
 Is the weather severe, or the cold intense, they call it a fine frost, 
 a healthful, bracing season. If they walk out, they return to a 
 glowing, cheerful fire, which the cold only makes them relish the 
 more; so that they can scarcely be expected to sympathize with 
 such as are said to suffer from cold and hunger, when those two 
 things rather add to than diminish their pleasure." 
 
 " Ah ! poor folks are better than rich, since they can feel for 
 each other, and are always ready and willing to assist each other, 
 as much as lies in their power. Look at that kind, good Made- 
 moiselle Eigolette, who has so often sat up all night, either with 
 me or the children, during our illness. Why, last night she took 
 Jerome and Pierre into her room, to share her supper, and it 
 was not much, either, she had for herself only a cup of milk, 
 and some bread ; at her age, all young people have good appetites, 
 and she must have deprived herself to give to the children." 
 
 " Poor girl ! she is indeed most kind and why is she so ? Be- 
 .cause she knows what poverty is. As I said to you just now, 
 if the rich only knew " 
 
 " And then that nice-looking lady who came, seeming so 
 frightened all the while, to ask us if we wanted anything. Well, 
 now, she knows that we do want everything, will she ever come 
 again, think you?" 
 
 " I dare say she will ; for, spite of her uneasy and terrified 
 looks, she seemed very good and kind." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; if a person be but rich, they are always right in
 
 MISERY. 433 
 
 your opinion. One might almost suppose that rich folks are 
 made of different materials to poor creatures like us." 
 
 "Stop, wife!" said Morel, gently; "you are getting on too 
 fast. I did not say that; on the contrary, I agree that rich 
 people have as many faults as poor ones: all I mean is, that, 
 unfortunately, they are not aware of the wretchedness of one- 
 half of the world. Agents in plenty are employed to hunt out 
 poor wretches who have committed any crime, but there are no 
 paid agents to find out half-starving families, and honest arti- 
 sans, worn-out with toil and privations, who, driven to the last 
 extremity of distress, are, for want of a little timely succor, led 
 into sore temptation. It is quite right to punish evil-doers; it 
 would, perhaps, he better still to prevent ill-deeds. A man may 
 have striven hard to remain honest for fifty years; but want, 
 misery, and utter destitution, put bad thoughts in his head, and 
 one rascal more is let loose on the world ; whilst there are many 
 
 who, if they had but known of his distressed condition 
 
 However, it is no use talking of that the world is as it is: I 
 am poor and wretched, and therefore I speak as I do ; were I 
 rich, my talk would be of fetes, and happy days, and worldly 
 engagements! And how do you find yourself now, wife?" 
 
 " Much the same ; I seem to have lost all feeling in my limbs. 
 But how you shiver ! here, take your jacket, and pray put it 
 on. Blow out that candle, which is burning uselessly see, it 
 is nearly day ! " 
 
 And, true enough, a faint, glimmering light began to struggle 
 through the snow with which the skylight was encumbered, and 
 cast a dismal ray on the interior of this deplorable human abode, 
 rendering its squalidness still more apparent; the shade of night 
 tad at least concealed a part of its horrors. 
 
 " I shall wait now for the daylight before I go back to work," 
 said the lapidary, seating himself beside hie wife's paillasse, and 
 leaning his forehead upon his two hands. 
 
 After a short interval of silence, Madeleine said, 
 
 " When is Madame Mathieu to come for the stones you are 
 at work upon ? " 
 
 " This morning. I have only the side of one false diamond 
 to polish." 
 
 "A false diamond! How is that? you who only make up 
 real stones, whatever the people in the house may believe." 
 
 " Don't you know ? But I forgot, you were asleep the other 
 day when Madame Mathieu came about them. Well, then, she 
 brought me ten false diamonds (Rhine crystals), to cut exactly 
 to the same size and form as the like number of real diamonds
 
 434 BX MYSTERIES OP PARIS. 
 
 she also brought. There, those are them mixed with the rubies 
 on my table. I think I never saw more splendid stones, or of 
 purer water, than those ten diamonds, which must at least be 
 worth sixty thousand francs." 
 
 " And why did she wish them imitated ? " 
 
 " Because a great lady to whom they belonged a duchess, I 
 think, she said had given directions to M. Baudoin, the jeweler, 
 to dispose of her set of diamonds, and to make her one of false 
 stones to replace it. Madame Mathieu, who matches stones for 
 M. Baudoin, explained this to me, when she gave me the real 
 diamonds, in order that I might be quite sure to cut the false 
 ones to precisely the same size and form. Madame Mathieu gave 
 a similar job to four other lapidaries, for- there are from forty to 
 fifty stones to cut; and I could not do them all, as they were 
 required by this morning, because M. Baudoin must have time 
 to set the false gems. Madame Mathieu says that grand ladies, 
 very frequently unknown to anybody but the jeweler, sell their 
 valuable diamonds and replace them with Ehenish crystals." 
 
 " Why, don't you see, the mock stones look every bit as well 
 as the real stones? Yet great ladies, who only use such things 
 as ornaments, would never think of sacrificing one of their 
 diamonds to relieve the distress of such unfortunate beings as 
 we are." 
 
 " Come, come, wife ! be more reasonable than this ; sorrow 
 makes you unjust. Who do you think knows that such people 
 as Morel and his family are in existence, still less that they are 
 in want ? " 
 
 " Oh, what a man you are, Morel ! I really believe, if anyone 
 were to cut you in pieces, that, while they were doing it, you 
 would try to say, ' Thank you ! ' >: 
 
 Morel compassionately shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " And how much will Madame Mathieu owe you this morn- 
 ing ? " asked Madeleine. 
 
 "Nothing; because you know I have already had an advance 
 of 120 francs." 
 
 " Nothing ! why, our last sous went the day before yesterday. 
 We have not a single farthing belonging to us ! " 
 
 " Alas, no ! " cried Morel, with a dejected air. 
 
 "Well, then, what are we to do?" 
 
 " I know not." 
 
 " The baker refuses to let us have anything more on credit 
 will he?" 
 
 " No : and I was obliged yesterday to beg Madame Pipelet to 
 lend me part of a loaf."
 
 MISERY. 435 
 
 " Can we borrow anything more of Mother Burette ? " 
 
 " She has already every article belonging to us in pledge. 
 What have we to offer her to lend more money on our child- 
 ren ? " asked Morel, with a smile of bitterness. 
 
 " But yourself, my mother, and all the children, had but part 
 of a loaf among you all yesterday. You cannot go on in this 
 way; you will be starved to death. It is all your fault that we 
 are not on the books of the charitable institution this year." 
 
 " They will not admit any persons without they possess furni- 
 ture, or some such property; and you know we have nothing in 
 the world. We are looked upon as though we lived in furnished 
 apartments, and, consequently, ineligible. Just the same if we 
 tried to get into any asylum, the children are required to have 
 at least a blouse, while our poor things have only rags. Then, 
 as to the charitable societies, one must go backwards and for- 
 wards twenty times before we should obtain relief; and then 
 what would it be ? Why, a loaf once a month, and half a pound 
 of meat once a fortnight.* I should lose more time than it 
 would be worth." 
 
 " But still, what are we to do? " 
 
 " Perhaps the lady who came yesterday will not forget us ! " 
 
 " Perhaps not. But don't you think Madame Mathieu would 
 lend us four or five francs, just to keep us from starving? You 
 have worked for her upwards of ten years; and surely she will 
 not see an honest workman like you, burdened with a large and 
 sickly family, perish for want of a little assistance like that ? " 
 
 " I do not think it is in her power to aid us. She did all in 
 her power when she advanced me little by little 120 francs. 
 That is a large sum for her. Because she buys diamonds, and 
 has sometimes 50,000 francs in her reticule, she is not the more 
 rich for that. If she gains 100 francs a month, she is well con- 
 tent, for she has heavy expenses two nieces to bring up; and 
 five francs is as much to her as it would be to me. There are 
 times when one does not possess that sum, you know; and being 
 already so deeply in her debt, I could not ask her to take bread 
 from her own mouth and that of her family to give it to me." 
 
 " This comes of working for mere agents in jewelry, instead 
 of procuring employment from first-hand master jewelers. 
 They are sometimes less particular. But you are such a poor 
 easy creature, you would almost let anyone take the eyes out of 
 your head. It is all your fault that " 
 
 "My fault!" exclaimed the unhappy man, exasperated by 
 
 * Such is the ordinary allowance made at charitable societies, in conse- 
 quence of the vast number of applicants for relief.
 
 436 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 this absurd reproach. " Was it or was it not your mother who 
 occasioned all our misfortunes, by compelling me to make good 
 the price of the diamond she lost? But for that we should be 
 beforehand with the world; we should receive the amount of 
 my daily earnings; we should have the 1100 francs in our pos- 
 session we were obliged to draw out of the savings' bank to put 
 to the 1300 francs lent us by M. Jacques Ferrand. May every 
 curse light on him ! " 
 
 " And you still persist in not asking him to help you ? Cer- 
 tainly he is so stingy, that I dare say he would do nothing for 
 you. But then it is right to try. You cannot know without 
 you do try." 
 
 "Ask him to help me! " cried Morel. "Ask him! I had 
 rather be burnt before a slow fire. Hark ye, Madeleine ! Un- 
 less you wish to drive me mad, mention that man's name no 
 more to me." 
 
 As he uttered these words, the usually mild, resigned expres- 
 sion of the lapidary's countenance was exchanged for a look of 
 gloomy energy, while a slight suffusion colored the ordinarily 
 pale features of the agitated man, as, rising abruptly from 
 the pallet beside which he had been sitting, he began to 
 pace the miserable apartment with hurried steps; and, spite 
 of the deformed and attenuated appearance of poor Morel, 
 his attitude and action bespoke the noblest, purest indignation. 
 
 " I am not ill-disposed towards any man," cried he, at length, 
 pausing of a sudden ; " and never, to my knowledge, harmed a 
 human being. But, I tell you, when I think of this notary, I 
 wish him ah ! I wish him as much wretchedness as he has 
 wish him ah! I wish him as much wretcedness as he has 
 caused me." Then pressing both hands to his forehead, he mur- 
 mured, in a mournful tone, " Just God ! what crime have I 
 committed that a hard fate should deliver me and mine, tied 
 hand and foot, into the power of such a hypocrite? Have 
 his riches been given him only to worry, harass, and destroy 
 those his bad passions lead him to persecute, injure, and 
 corrupt ? " 
 
 " That's right ! that's right ! " said Madeleine ; " go on abusing 
 him. You will have done yourself a great deal of good, shall 
 you not, when he puts you in prison, as he can do any day, for 
 that promissory note of 1300 francs on which he obtained judg- 
 ment against you? He holds you fast as a bird at the end of 
 a string. I hate this notary as badly as you do ; but since we are 
 so completely in his power, why you should " 
 
 "Let him ruin and dishonor my child, I suppose?" burst
 
 MISERY. 437 
 
 from the pale lips of the lapidary, with violent and impatient 
 energy. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Morel, don't speak so loud ; the children 
 are awake, and will hear you." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! " returned Morel, with bitter irony ; " it will 
 serve as a fine example for our two little girls. It will instruct 
 them to expect that, one of these days, some villain or other like 
 the notary may take a fancy to them perhaps the same man; 
 and then, I suppose, you would tell me, as now, to be careful 
 how I offended him, since he had me in his power. You say, if I 
 displease him he can put me in prison. Now, tell the truth : you 
 advise me, then, to leave my daughter at his mercy, do you 
 not?" 
 
 And then, passing from the extreme of rage at the idea of all 
 the wickedness practised by the notary to tender recollections of 
 his child, the unhappy man burst into a sort of convulsive weep- 
 ing, mingled with deep and heavy sobs, for his kindly nature 
 could not long sustain the tone of sarcastic indignation he had 
 assumed. 
 
 " Oh, my children ! " cried he, with bitter grief ; " my poor 
 children! My good, my beautiful, too too beautiful Louise! 
 'Tis from those rich gifts of nature all our troubles proceeded. 
 Had you been less lovely, that man would never have pressed 
 his money upon me. I am honest and hard-working;. and if the 
 jeweler had given me time, I should never have been under the 
 obligation to the old monster, of which he avails himself to 
 seek to dishonor my child. I should not then have left her a 
 single hour within his power. But I dare not remove her I 
 dare not! For am I not at his mercy? Oh, want! oh, misery! 
 What insults do they not make us endure ! " 
 
 " But what can you do ? " asked Madeleine. " You know he 
 threatens Louise that if she quits him he will put you in prison 
 directly." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! He dares address her as though she were the very 
 vilest of creatures." 
 
 " Well, you must not mind that ; for should she leave the 
 notary, there is no doubt he would instantly throw you into 
 prison, and then what would become of me, with these five help- 
 less creatures and my mother ? Suppose Louise did earn twenty 
 francs a month in another place, do you think seven persons can 
 live on that ? " 
 
 " And so that we may live, Louise is to be disgraced and left 
 to ruin ? " 
 
 " You always make things out worse than they are. It is true
 
 438 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 the notary makes offers of love to Louise; she has told us so 
 repeatedly. But then you know what a good girl she is; she 
 would never listen to him." 
 
 " She is good, indeed ; and so right-minded, active, and in- 
 dustrious ! When, seeing how badly we were off in consequence 
 of your long illness, she insisted upon going to service that she 
 might not be a burden to us, did I not say what it cost me to 
 part with her? To think of my sweet Louise being subjected 
 to all the harshness and humiliation of a servant's life she who 
 was naturally so proud that we used jokingly (ah, we could 
 joke then !) to call her the Princess, because she always said that, 
 by dint of care and cleanliness, she would make our little home 
 like a palace! Dear Louise! It would have been my greatest 
 happiness to have kept her with me, though I had worked all 
 day and all night too. And when I saw her blooming face, with 
 her bright eyes glancing at me as she sat beside my work-table, 
 my labor always seemed lightened ; and when she sung like a 
 bird those little songs she knew I liked to hear, I used to fancy 
 myself the happiest father alive. Poor dear Louise ! so hard- 
 working, yet always so gay and lively! Why, she could even 
 manage your mother, and make her do whatever she wished. 
 But I defy anyone to resist her sweet words or winning smile. 
 And how she watched over and waited upon you ! What pains 
 she would take to try and divert you from thinking of what you 
 suffered ! And how tenderly she looked after her little brothers 
 and sisters, finding time for everything! Ah, with our Louise 
 all our joy and happiness all all left us ! " 
 
 " Don't go on so, Morel ! Don't remind me of all these things, 
 or you will break my heart," cried Madeleine, weeping bitterly. 
 
 " And then when I think that, perhaps, that old monster 
 
 Do you know, when that idea flashes across my brain, my senses 
 seem disturbed ; and I have but one thought, that of first killing 
 him and then killing myself ? " 
 
 " What would become of all of us if you were to do so ? Be- 
 sides, I tell you again, you make things worse than they really 
 are. I dare say the notary was only joking with Louise. He is 
 such a pious man, and goes so regularly to mass every Sunday, 
 and only keeps company with priests folks say. Why, many 
 people think that he is safer to place money with than the bank 
 itself." 
 
 "Well, and what does all that prove? Merely that he is a 
 rich hypocrite, instead of a poor one. I know well enough what 
 a good girl Louise is. But then she loves us so tenderly, that 
 it breaks her heart to see the want and wretchedness we are in.
 
 MISERY. 439 
 
 She knows well enough that if anything were to happen to me 
 you would all perish with hunger ; and by threatening to put me 
 into prison he might work on the dear child's mind like a 
 
 villain as he is and persuade her, on our account Oh God, 
 
 my brain burns ! I feel as though I were going mad ! " 
 
 " But, Morel, if ever that were the case, the notary would be 
 sure to make her a great number of fine presents or money ; and, 
 I am sure, she would not have kept them all to herself. She 
 would certainly have brought part to us." 
 
 " Silence, woman ! Let me hear no more such words escape 
 your lips. Louise touch the wages of infamy! My good, my 
 virtuous girl, accept such foul gifts ! Oh, wife ! " 
 
 " Not for herself, certainly. But, to bring to us, perhaps she 
 W0 uld " 
 
 "Madeleine," exclaimed Morel, excited almost to frenzy, 
 " again, I say, let me not hear such language from your lips ; 
 you make me shudder. Heaven only knows what you and the 
 children also would become were I taken away, if such are your 
 principles." 
 
 "Why, what harm did I say?" 
 
 " Oh, none ! " 
 
 " Then what makes you uneasy about Louise ? " 
 
 The lapidary impatiently interrupted his wife by saying, 
 
 " Because I have noticed for the last three months that, when- 
 ever Louise comes to see us, she seems embarrassed, and even 
 confused. When I take her in my arms and embrace her, as I 
 have been used to do from her birth, she blushes." 
 
 " Ah, that is with delight at seeing you, or from shame. She 
 seems sadder and more dejected, too, each visit she pays us." 
 
 " Because she finds our misery constantly increasing. Be- 
 sides, when I spoke to her concerning the notary, she told me he 
 had quite ceased his threats of putting you in prison." 
 
 " But did she tell you the price she has paid to induce him to 
 lay aside his threats ! She did not tell you that, I dare say did 
 she? Ah, a father's eye is not to be deceived; and her blushes 
 and embarrassments when giving me her usual kiss make me 
 dread I know not what ! Why, would it not be an atrocious 
 thing to say to a poor girl, whose bread depended on her em- 
 ployer's word, ' Either sacrifice your virtuous principles, and 
 become what I would have you, or quit my house ? And if any- 
 one should inquire of me respecting the character you have with 
 me, I shall speak of you in such terms that no one will take 
 you into their service.' Well, then, how much worse is it to 
 frighten a fond and affectionate child into surrendering her inno-
 
 440 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 cence, by threatening to put her father into prison if she re- 
 fused, when the brute knows that upon the labor of that father 
 a whole family depends ! Surely the earth contains nothing more 
 infamous, more fiendlike than such conduct." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied Madeleine ; " and then only to think that with 
 the value of one, only one of those diamonds now lying on your 
 table, we might pay the notary all we owe him, and so take 
 Louise out of his power and keep her at home with us! Don't 
 you see, husband ? " 
 
 " What is the use of your repeating the same thing over and 
 over again? You might just as well tell me that if I were rich 
 1 should not be poor ! " answered Morel, with sorrowful im- 
 patience. For such was the innate and almost constitutional 
 honesty of this man, that it never once occurred that his weak- 
 minded partner, bowed down and irritated by long suffering and 
 want, could ever have conceived the idea of tempting him to a 
 dishonorable appropriation of that which belonged to another. 
 
 With a heavy sigh, the unfortunate man resigned himself to 
 his hard fate. " Thrice happy those parents who can retain their 
 innocent children beneath the paternal roof, and defend them 
 from the thousand snares laid to entrap their unsuspecting 
 youth ! But who is there to watch over the safety of the poor 
 girl condemned at an early age to seek employment from home? 
 Alas, no one! Directly she is capable of adding her mite to the 
 family earnings, she leaves her dwelling at an early hour, and 
 repairs to the manufactory where she may happen to be en- 
 gaged. Meanwhile, both father and mother are too busily em- 
 ployed to have leisure to attend to their daughter's comings or 
 goings. ' Our time is our stock in trade/ cry they, ' and bread 
 is too dear to enable us to lay aside our work while we look after 
 our children ! ' And then there is an outcry raised as to the 
 quantity of depraved females constantly to be met with, and of 
 the impropriety of conduct among those of the lower orders; 
 wholly forgetting that the parents have neither the means of 
 keeping them at home, nor of watching over their morals when 
 away from them." 
 
 Thus mentally moralized Morel. Then, speaking aloud, he 
 added, 
 
 " After all, our greatest privation is when forced to quit our 
 parents, wives, or children. It is to the poor that family affec- 
 tion is most comforting and beneficial. Yet, directly our chil- 
 dren grow up, and are capable of becoming our dearest com- 
 panions, we are forced to part with them/' 
 
 At this moment someone knocked loudly at the door.
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 441 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 
 
 THE lapidary, much astonished, rose and opened the door. 
 Two men entered the garret. One, tall, lanky, with an ill- 
 favored and pimply face, shaded by thick grizzly whiskers, held 
 in his hand a thick cane, loaded at the head : he wore a battered 
 hat, and a long-tailed and bespattered green coat, buttoned up 
 close to his throat. Above the threadbare velvet collar was 
 displayed his long neck, red and bald like that of a vulture. This 
 man's name was Malicorne. The other was a shorter man, with 
 a look as low-lived, and red, fat, puffed features, dressed with a 
 great effort at ridiculous splendor. Shiny buttons were in the 
 folds of the front of his shirt, whose cleanliness was most sus- 
 picious, and a long chain of mosaic gold serpentined down a 
 faded plaid waistcoat, which was seen beneath his seedy Ches- 
 terfield, of a yellowish gray color. This gentleman's name was 
 Bourdin. 
 
 "How poverty-stricken this hole smells !" said Malicorne, 
 pausing on the threshold. 
 
 " Why, it does not scent of lavender-water ! Confound it, but 
 we have a lowish customer to deal with ! " responded Bourdin, 
 with a gesture of disgust and contempt; and then advanced 
 towards the artisan, who was looking at him with as much sur- 
 prise as indignation. 
 
 Through the door, left a little ajar, might be seen the villain- 
 ous, watchful, and cunning face of the young scamp Tortillard, 
 who, having followed these strangers unknown to them, was 
 sneaking after, spying, and listening to them. 
 
 "What do you want?" inquired the lapidary abruptly, dis- 
 gusted at the coarseness of these fellows. 
 
 " Jerome Morel ? " said Bourdin. 
 
 " I am he ! " 
 
 " Working lapidary ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You're quite sure ? " 
 
 " Quite sure. But you are troublesome, so tell me at once your 
 business, or leave the room." 
 
 " Eeally your politeness is remarkable ! much obliged ! I say, 
 Malicorne," said the man, turning to his comrade, " there's not
 
 442 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 eo much fat to cut at here, as there was at that 'ere Viscount de 
 Saint-Remy's." 
 
 " I believe you ; but, when there is fat, why the door's kept 
 shut in your face, as we found in the Rue de Chaillot. The 
 bird had hopped the twig, and precious quick, too! whilst such 
 vermin as these hold on to their cribs like a snail to his shell." 
 
 " I believe you ; well, the stone jug just suits such indi- 
 viduals." 
 
 " The sufferer (creditor) must he a good fellow, for it will 
 cost him more than its worth : but that's his lookout." 
 
 " If," said Morel, angrily, " you were not drunk, as you seem 
 to be, I should be angry with you. Leave this apartment in- 
 stantly ! " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! he's a fine fellow with his elegant curve," said 
 Bourdin, making an insulting allusion to the contorted figure of 
 the poor lapidary. " I say, Malicorne, he has cheek enough to 
 call this an apartment, a hole in which I would not put my dog/' 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " exclaimed Madeleine, who had been so 
 frightened that she could not say a word before. " Call for as- 
 sistance, perhaps they are rogues. Take care of your dia- 
 monds ! " 
 
 And, seeing these two ill-looking strangers come closer to his 
 working-bench, on which his precious stones were still lying, 
 Morel, fearful of some evil intentions, ran towards the table, and 
 covered the jewels with his two hands. 
 
 Tortillard, still on the watch, caught at Madeleine's words, 
 observed the movement of the artisan, and said to himself, 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! so they said he was a lapidary of sham stones ; 
 if they were mock he would not be afraid of being robbed : this is 
 a good thing to know. So Mother Mathieu, who comes here so 
 often, is a matcher of real stones after all, and has real diamonds 
 in her basket : this is a good thing to know, and I'll tell the 
 Chouette," added Bras Rouge's brat. 
 
 " If you do not leave this room, I will call in the guard," said 
 Morel. 
 
 The children, alarmed at this scene, began to cry, and the 
 idiotic mother sat up in her bed. 
 
 "If anyone has a right to call for the guard, it is we, you 
 Mister Twistabout," said Bourdin. 
 
 " And the guard would lend us a hand to carry you off to jail 
 if you resist," added Malicorne. " We have not the magistrate 
 with us, it is true, but, if you have any wish for his company, 
 we'll find you one, just out of bed, hot and heavy ; Bourdin will 
 go and fetch him."
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 443 
 
 " To prison ! me ? " exclaimed Morel, struck with dismay. 
 
 " Yes, to Clichy." 
 
 " To Clichy ? " repeated the artisan, with an air of despair. 
 
 " It seems a hardish pill," said Malicorne. 
 
 " Well, then, to the Debtors' Jail, if you like that better," said 
 Bourdin. 
 
 YOU what indeed why the notary ah, mon Dieuf " 
 
 And the workman, pale as death, fell on his stool, unable to 
 add another word. 
 
 "We are bound bailiffs, come to lay hold of you; now, are 
 you fly?" 
 
 " Morel, it is the note of Louise's master ! we are undone ! " 
 exclaimed Madeleine, in a tone of agony. 
 
 " Hear the judgment," said Malicorne, taking from his dirty 
 and crammed pocket-book a stamped writ. 
 
 After having skimmed over, according to custom, a part of 
 this document in an unintelligible tone, he distinctly articulated 
 the last words, which were, unfortunately, but too important to 
 the artisan : 
 
 "'Judgment finally given. The Tribunal condemns Jerome 
 Morel to pay to Pierre Petit-Jean, merchant, * by every avail- 
 able means, even to the arrest of body, the sum of one thousand 
 three hundred francs, with interest from the day of protest, and 
 to pay all other and extra costs. Given and judged at Paris, 
 thirteenth September, etc., etc' " 
 
 " And Louise ! Louise ! " cried Morel, almost distracted in his 
 brain, and apparently unheeding the long preamble which had 
 just been read. " Where is Louise, then, for, doubtless, she has 
 quitted the notary, since he sends me to prison ? My child ! my 
 Louise ! what has become of you ? " 
 
 "Who the devil is Louise?" asked Bourdin. 
 
 "Let him alone!" replied Malicorne, brutally; "don't you 
 see the respectable old twaddler is not right in his nonsense- 
 box?" Then, approaching Morel, he added, "I say, my fine 
 fellow, right about file ! march on ! let us get out of here, will 
 you, and have a little fresh air? you stink enough to poison a cat 
 in this here hole ! " 
 
 " Morel ! " shrieked Madeleine, wildly, " don't go ! kill those 
 wretches ! oh, you coward not to knock them down ! What ! are 
 you going to let them take you away? are you going to abandon 
 us all?" 
 
 * The cunning notary, unable to prosecute in his own name, had made 
 the unfortunate Morel give a blank acceptance, and had filled up the note 
 of hand with the name of a third party.
 
 444 TUE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " Pray don't put yourself out of the way, ma'am," said Bour- 
 din, with an ironical grin. " I've only just got to remark, that 
 if your good man lays his little finger on me, why, I'll make him 
 remember it," continued he, swinging his loaded stick round 
 and round. 
 
 Entirely occupied with thoughts of Louise, Morel scarcely 
 heard a word of what was passing. All at once an expression of 
 bitter satisfaction passed over his countenance, as he said, 
 
 " Louise has doubtless left the notary's house ; now I shall go 
 to prison willingly." Then, casting a troubled look around him, 
 he exclaimed, " But my wife ! her mother ! the children ! who 
 will provide for them ? No one will trust me with stones to work 
 at in prison, for it will be supposed my bad conduct has sent me 
 there. Does this hard-hearted notary wish the destruction of 
 myself and all my family also?" 
 
 " Once, twice, old chap," said Bourdin, " will you stop your 
 gammon? you are enough to bore a man to death. Come, put 
 on your things, and let us be off." 
 
 " Good gentlemen, kind gentlemen," cried Madeleine, from 
 her sick bed, " pray forgive what I said just now ! Surely you 
 will not be so cruel as to take my husband away; what will be- 
 come of me, and my five poor children, and my old motlrer, who 
 is an idiot? there she lies, you see her, poor old creature! 
 huddled up on her mattress ; she is quite out of her senses, my 
 good gentlemen ; she is, indeed, quite mad ! " 
 
 " La ! what, that old bald-headed thing a woman ? well, hang 
 me if that ain't enough to astonish a man ! " 
 
 " I'll be hanged if it isn't, then ! " cried the other bailiff, burst- 
 ing into a horselaugh ; " why, I took it for something tied up in 
 an old sack. Look ! her old head is shaved quite close ; it seems 
 as though she had got a white skull-cap on." 
 
 " Go, children, and kneel down, and beg of these good gentle- 
 men not to take away your poor father, our only support," said 
 Madeleine, anxious by a last effort to touch the hearts of the 
 bailiffs. But, spite of their mother's orders, the terrified chil- 
 dren remained weeping on their miserable mattress. 
 
 At the unusual noise which prevailed, added to the 'aspect of 
 two strange men in the room, the poor idiot turned herself to- 
 wards the wall, as though striving to hide from them, uttering 
 all the time the most discordant cries and moans. Morel, mean- 
 while, appeared unconscious of all that was going on : this last 
 stroke of Fate had been so frightful and unexpected, and the 
 consequences of his arrest were so dreadful, that his niind seemed 
 almost unequal to understanding its reality. .Worn-out by all
 
 "HEAR THE JUDGMENT,' SAID MALICORNE
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 445 
 
 manner of privations and exhausted by over-toil, his strength 
 utterly forsook him, and he remained seated on his stool, pale, 
 haggard, and as though incapable of speech or motion, his head 
 drooping on his breast, and his arms hanging listlessly by his 
 side. 
 
 "Deuce take me," cried Malicorne, "if that old patterer is 
 not going fast asleep ! Why, I say, my chap, you seem to think 
 nothing of keeping gen'lmen like us waiting; just remember, 
 will you, our time is precious! you know this is not exactly 
 a party of pleasure, so march, or I shall be obliged to make 
 you." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, the man grasped the artisan 
 by the shoulder, and shook him roughly; which so alarmed the 
 children, that, unable to restrain their terror, the three little 
 boys emerged from their paillasse, and, half naked as they were, 
 came in an agony of tears to throw themselves at the feet of the 
 bailiffs, holding up their clasped hands, and crying, in tones of 
 touching earnestness, 
 
 " Pray, pray don't hurt our dear father ! " 
 
 At the sight of these poor, shivering, half-clad infants, weep- 
 ing with affright, and trembling with cold, Bourdin, spite of his 
 natural callousness and long acquaintance with scenes of this 
 sort, could not avoid a feeling, almost resembling compassion, 
 from stealing over him, while his pitiless companion, brutally 
 disengaging himself from the grasp of the small, weak creatures 
 who were clinging to him, exclaimed, 
 
 " Hands off, you young ragamuffins ! A devilish fine trade 
 ours would be, if we were to allow ourselves to be mauled about 
 by a set of beggars' brats like you ! " 
 
 As though the scene were not sufficiently distressing, a fearful 
 addition was made to its horrors the eldest of the little girls, 
 who had remained in the paillasse with her sick sister, suddenly 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! I don't know what's the matter with Adele 
 she is so cold, and her eyes are fixed on my face, and yet she 
 does not breathe." 
 
 The poor little child, whose consumptive appearance we have 
 before noticed, had expired gently, and without a sigh, her looks 
 fixed earnestly on the sister she so tenderly loved. 
 
 No language can describe the cry which burst from the lips of 
 the lapidary's wife at these words, which at once revealed the 
 dreadful truth; it was one of those wild, despairing, convulsive 
 shrieks, which seem to sever the very heart-strings of a mother. 
 
 " My poor little sister looks as though she were dead ! " con-
 
 446 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 tinned the child ; " she frightens me with her eyes fixed on me, 
 and her face so cold ! " 
 
 Saying which, in an agony of terror she leaped from beside 
 the corpse of the infant, and ran to shelter herself in her 
 mother's arms, while the distracted parent, forgetting that her 
 almost paralyzed limbs were incapable of supporting her, made 
 a violent effort to rise and go to the assistance of her child, 
 whom she could not believe was actually past recovery; but her 
 strength failed her, and with a deep sigh of despair she sunk 
 upon the floor. That cry found an echo in the heart of Morel, 
 and roused him from his stupor: he sprung with one bound to 
 the paillasse, and withdrew from it the stiffened form of an 
 infant of four years old, dead and cold-. Want and misery had 
 accelerated its end, although its complaint, which had originated 
 in the positive want of common necessaries, was beyond the 
 reach of any human aid to remove: its poor little limbs were 
 already rigid with death. Morel, whose very hair seemed to 
 stand on end with despair and terror, stood holding his dead 
 child in his arms, motionlessly contemplating its thin features 
 with a fixed bloodshot gaze, though no tear moistened his dry, 
 burning eyeballs. 
 
 " Morel ! Morel ! give Adele to me ! " cried the unhappy 
 mother, extending her arms towards him ; " she is not dead 
 it is not possible ! Let me have her, and I shall be able to 
 warm her in my arms." 
 
 The curiosity of the idiot was excited by observing the 
 pertinacity with which the bailiffs kept close to the lapidary, 
 who would not part with the body of his child. She ceased her 
 yells and cries, and, rising from her mattress, approached gently, 
 and protruded her hideous, senseless countenance over Morel's 
 shoulder, staring in vacant wonder at the pale corpse of her 
 grandchild, the features of the idiot retaining their usual ex- 
 pression of stupid sullenness. At the end of a few minutes she 
 uttered a sort of horrible yawning noise, almost resembling the 
 roar of a famished animal ; then, hurrying back to her mattress, 
 she threw herself upon it, exclaiming, 
 
 " Hungry ! hungry ! ! hungry ! ! ! " 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the poor, half-crazed artisan, with 
 haggard looks, " you see all that is left me of my poor child, my 
 Adele we called her Adele, she was so pretty she deserved a 
 pretty name; and she was just four years old last night. Ay, 
 and this morning even I kissed her ; and she put her little arms 
 about my neck, and embraced me oh, so fondly! And now, 
 you see, gentlemen, perhaps you will tell me there is one mouth
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 447 
 
 less to feed, and that I am lucky to get rid of one you think 
 so, don't you?" 
 
 The unfortunate man's reason was fast giving way under 
 the many shocks he had received. 
 
 " Morel," cried Madeleine, " give me my child ! I will have 
 her!" 
 
 "To be sure," replied the lapidary; "that is only fair. 
 Everybody ought to secure their own happiness!" So saying, 
 he laid the child in its mother's arms, and uttering a groan, 
 such as comes only from a breaking heart, he covered his face 
 with his hands; while Madeleine, almost as frenzied as her hus- 
 band, placed the body of her child amid the straw of her 
 wretched bed, watching it with frantic jealousy, while the 
 other children, kneeling around her, filled the air with their 
 wailings. 
 
 The bailiffs, who had experienced a temporary feeling of 
 compassion at the death of the child, soon fell back into their 
 accustomed brutality. 
 
 " I say, friend," said Malicorne to the lapidary, " your child 
 is dead, and there's an end of it! I dare say you think it a 
 misfortune; but then, you see, we are all mortal, and neither 
 we nor you can bring it back to life. So come along with us; 
 for, to tell you the truth, we're upon the scent of a spicy one 
 we must nab to-day. So don't delay us, that's a trump ! " 
 
 But Morel heard not a word he said. Entirely preoccupied 
 with his own sad thoughts, the bewildered man kept up a kind 
 of wandering delivery of his own afflicting ideas. 
 
 " My poor Adele ! " murmured he ; " we must now see about 
 laying you in the grave, and watching by her little corpse till 
 the people come to carry it to its last home to lay it in the 
 ground. But how are we to do that without a coffin and where 
 shall we get one? Who will give me credit for one? Oh, a 
 very small coffin will do only for a little creature of four 
 years of age ! And we shall want no bearers ! Oh no, I can 
 carry it under my arm. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " added he, with a burst 
 of frightful mirth, " what a good thing it is she did not live to 
 be as old as Louise ! I never could have persuaded anybody 
 to trust me for a coffin large enough for a girl of eighteen years 
 of age." 
 
 " I say, just look at that chap ! " said Bourdin to Malicorne. 
 " I'll be dashed if I don't think as he's a-going mad, like the 
 old woman there! Only see how he rolls his eyes about 
 enough to frighten one! Come, I say, let's make haste and be 
 off. Only hark how that idiot creature is a-roaring for some-
 
 448 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 thing to eat ! Well, they are rum customers, from beginning to 
 end ! " 
 
 " We must get done with them as soon as we can. Although 
 the law only allows us 76 francs, 75 centiemes, for arresting 
 this beggar, yet, in justice to ourselves, we must swell the costs 
 to 240 or 250 francs. You know the sufferer (the creditor) 
 pays us ! " 
 
 " You mean, advances the cash. Old Gaffer there will have 
 to pay the piper, since he must dance to the music." 
 
 " Well, by the time he has paid his creditor two thousand 
 five hundred francs for debt, interest, and expenses, etc., he'll 
 find it pretty warm work." 
 
 " A devilish sight more than we do our job up here ! I'm 
 a'most frost-bitten ! " cried the bailiff, blowing the ends of his 
 fingers. " Come, old fellow, make haste, will you ! Just look 
 sharp ! you can snivel, you know, as we go along. Why, how 
 the devil can we help it, if your brat has kicked the bucket? " 
 
 " These beggars always have such a lot of children, if they 
 have nothing else ! " 
 
 " Yes, so they have," responded Malicorne. Then, slapping 
 Morel on the shoulder, he called out in a loud voice, " I tell 
 you what it is, my friend, we're not going to be kept dawdling 
 here all day our time is precious. So either out with the 
 stumpy, or march off to prison, without any more bother ! " 
 
 " Prison ! " exclaimed a clear youthful voice : " take M. Morel 
 to prison ! " and a bright, beaming face appeared at the door. ' 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle Kigolette," cried the weeping children, 
 as they recognized the happy, healthful countenance of their 
 young protectress and friend, " these wicked men are going to 
 take our poor father away, and put him in prison! and sister 
 Adele is just dead ! " 
 
 " Dead ! " cried the kind-hearted girl, her dark eyes filling 
 with compassionating tears: "poor little thing! But it cannot 
 be true that your father is in danger of a prison ; " and, al- 
 most stupefied with surprise, she gazed alternately from the 
 children to Morel, and from him to the bailiffs. 
 
 " I say, my girl," said Bourdin, approaching Eigolette, " as 
 you do seem to have the use of your senses, just make this good 
 man hear reason, will you? His child has just died. Well, 
 that can't be helped now; but, you see, he is a-keeping of us, 
 because we're a-waiting to take him to the debtors' prison, 
 being sheriffs' officers, duly sworn in and appointed. Tell him 
 
 so 
 
 " 
 
 " Then it is true ! " exclaimed the feeling girl.
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 449 
 
 "True? I should say it was, and no mistake! Now, don't 
 you see, while the mother is busy with the dead baby (and, 
 bless you ! she's got it there, hugging it up in bed, and won't 
 part with it!), she won't notice us? So I want the father to 
 be off while she isn't thinking nothing about it ! " 
 
 " Good God ! good God ! " replied Rigolette, in deep distress, 
 "what is to be done?" 
 
 " Done ? why, pay the money, or go to prison ! There is 
 nothing between them two ways. If you happen to have two 
 or three thousand francs by you you can oblige him with, why, 
 shell out, and we'll be off, and glad enough to be gone ! " 
 
 " How can you," cried Rigolette, " be so barbarous as to make 
 a jest of such distress as this ? " 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined the other man, " all joking apart, if 
 you really do wish to be useful, try to prevent the woman from 
 seeing us take her husband away. You will spare them both 
 a very disagreeable ten minutes ! " 
 
 Coarse as was this counsel, it was not destitute of good sense ; 
 and Rigolette, feeling she could do nothing else, approached 
 the bedside of Madeleine, who, distracted by her grief, appeared 
 unconscious of the presence of Rigolette, as, gathering the 
 children together, she knelt with them beside their afflicted 
 mother. 
 
 Meanwhile Morel, upon recovering from his temporary wild- 
 ness, had sunk into a state of deep and bitter reflections upon 
 his present position, which, now that his mind saw things 
 through a calmer medium, only increased the poignancy of his 
 sufferings. Since the notary had proceeded to such extremities, 
 any hope from his mercy was vain. He felt there was noth- 
 ing left but to submit to his fate, and let the law take its 
 course. 
 
 " Are we ever to get off ! " inquired Bourdin. " I tell you 
 what, my man, if you are not for marching, we must make you, 
 that's all." 
 
 " I cannot leave these diamonds about in this manner my 
 wife is half distracted," cried Morel, pointing to the stones 
 lying on his work-table. "The person for whom I am polish- 
 ing them will come to fetch them away either this morning or 
 during the day. They are of considerable value." 
 
 " Capital ! " whispered Tortillard, who was still peeping in 
 at the half-closed door; "capital, capital! What will Mother 
 Chouette say when I tell her this bit of luck?" 
 
 " Only give me till to-morrow," said Morel, beseechingly ; 
 " only till I can return these diamonds to my employer."
 
 450 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " I tell you, the thing can't be done. So let's have no more 
 to say about it." 
 
 " But it is impossible for me to leave diamonds of such value 
 as these exposed, to be lost or even stolen in my absence." 
 
 " Well then, take them along with you. We have got a coach 
 waiting below, for which you will have to pay when you settle 
 the costs. We will go altogether to your employer's house, and, 
 if you don't meet with him, why, then, you can deposit these 
 jewels at the office of the prison, where they will be as safe as 
 in the bank only look sharp, and let's be off, before your wife 
 and children perceive us." 
 
 " Give me but till to-morrow only to bury my child ! " im- 
 plored Morel, in a supplicating voice, half stifled by the heavy 
 sobs he strove in vain to repress. 
 
 "Nonsense, I tell you; why, we have lost an hour here 
 already ! " 
 
 " Besides, it's dull work going to berrins," chimed in 
 Malicorne. " It would be too much for your feelings, p'raps ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Morel, bitterly ; " it is dull work to see what we 
 would have given our lives to save laid in the cold earth. But, 
 as you are men, grant that satisfaction." Then, looking up, 
 and observing the nonchalant air with which his prayer was 
 received, he added, " But no, persons of so much feeling as you 
 are would fear to indulge me, lest I should find it a gloomy 
 sight. Well, then, at least grant me one word ! " 
 
 " The deuce take your last words ! Why, old chap, there 
 seems no end to them. Come, put the steam on make haste," 
 said Malicorne, with brutal impatience, " or we shall lose t'other 
 gent we're after." 
 
 " When did you receive orders to arrest me ? " 
 
 " Oh, why judgment was signed four months ago ! But it 
 was only yesterday our officer got instructions to put it in 
 execution." 
 
 " Only yesterday! And why has it been delayed so long?" 
 
 " How the devil should I know ? Come, look about you, and 
 put up your things." 
 
 " Only yesterday ? And during the whole day we saw noth- 
 ing of Louise! Where can she be? or what has become of 
 her ? " inquired the lapidary mentally, as he took from his table 
 a small box filled with cotton, in which he placed his stones. 
 " But never mind all that now. I shall have plenty of time to 
 think about it when I am in prison." 
 
 u Come, look sharp there a bit. Tie up your things to take 
 with you, and put your clothes on, there's a fine fellow ! "
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. , 451 
 
 lt I have no clothes to tie up, and have nothing whatever to 
 take with me except these jewels, that I may deposit them at 
 the office of the prison." 
 
 " Well, then, dress yourself as quick as you can." 
 
 " I have no other dress than that you now see me in." 
 
 " I say, mate," cried Bourdin, " does he really mean to be 
 seen in our company with such rags as those on ? " 
 
 " I fear, indeed, I shall shame such gentlemen as you are ! " 
 said Morel, bitterly. 
 
 " It don't much signify," replied Malicorne, " as nobody will 
 see us in the coach." 
 
 " Father ! " cried one of the children, " mother is calling for 
 you ! " 
 
 " Listen to me ! " said Morel, addressing one of the men with 
 hurried tones ; " if one spark of human pity dwells within you, 
 grant me one favor! I have not the courage to bid my wife 
 and children farewell ; it would break my heart ! and, if they 
 see you take me away, they will try to follow me. I wish to 
 spare all this. Therefore, I beseech you to say, in a loud voice, 
 that you will come again in three or four days, and pretend to 
 go away. You can wait for me at the next landing-place, and 
 I will come to you in less than five minutes : that will spare all 
 the misery of taking leave. I am quite sure it would be too 
 much for me, and that I should become mad! I was not far 
 off it a little while ago ! " 
 
 " Not to be caught ! " answered Malicorne ; " you want to do 
 me ! but I'm up to you ! You mean to give us the slip, you old 
 chouse ! " 
 
 " God of heaven ! " cried Morel, with a mixture of grief and 
 indignation, "has it come to this?" 
 
 " I don't think he means what you say," whispered Bourdin 
 to his companion: "let us do what he asks; we shall never get 
 away unless we do. I'll stand outside the door; there is no 
 other way of escaping from this garret ; he cannot get away from, 
 us." 
 
 " Very well. But what a dog-hole ! what a place for a man 
 to care about leaving ! Why, a prison will be a palace to it ! " 
 Then, addressing Morel, he said, " Now, then, be quick, and we 
 will wait for you on the next landing! so make tip some 
 pretense for our going." 
 
 "Well," said Bourdin, "in a loud voice, and bestowing a 
 significant look on the unhappy artisan, "since things are as 
 you say, and as you think you shall be able to pay us in a short 
 time, why, we shall leave you for the present, and return in
 
 452 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 about four or five days; but you must not disappoint us then, 
 remember ! " 
 
 " Thank you, gentlemen. I have no doubt I shall be able to 
 pay you then." 
 
 The bailiffs then withdrew, while Tortillard, hearing the men 
 talk of quitting the room, had hastened down-stairs for fear of 
 being detected listening. 
 
 " There, Madame Morel ! " said Eigolette, endeavoring to 
 draw the wife of the lapidary from the state of gloomy 
 abstraction into which she had fallen, " do you hear 
 tbat? the men have gone, and left your husband undis- 
 turbed." 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! " exclaimed the children, joyfully, " they 
 have not taken father away ! " 
 
 " Morel ! Morel ! " murmured Madeleine, her brain quite 
 turned, "take one of those diamonds take the largest and 
 sell it, no one will know it, and then we shall be delivered from 
 our misery; poor little Adele will get warm then, and come back 
 to us." 
 
 Taking advantage of the instant when no one was observing 
 him, the lapidary profited by it to steal from the room. One 
 of the men was waiting for him on the little landing-place, 
 which was also covered only by the roof; on this small spot 
 opened the door of the garret, which adjoined the apartment 
 occupied by the Morels, and in which M. Pipelet kept his 
 depot of leather; and, further, this little angular recess, in 
 which a person could not stand upright, was dignified by the 
 melancholy porter with the name of his Melodramatic Cabinet, 
 because, by means of a hole between the lath and plaster, he 
 frequently indulged in the luxury of woe by witnessing the 
 many touching scenes occasioned by the distress of the wretched 
 family who dwelt in the garret beyond it. This door had not 
 escaped the lynx eye of the bailiff, who had, for a time, suspected 
 his prisoner of intending either to escape or conceal himself 
 by means of it. 
 
 " Now, then, let us make a start of it ! " cried he, beginning 
 to descend the stairs as Morel emerged from the garret. 
 " Rather a ragged recruit to march with ! " added he, beckoning 
 to the lapidary to follow him. 
 
 " Only an instant, one single instant, for the love of God ! " 
 exclaimed Morel, as, kneeling down, he cast a last look on his 
 wife and children through a chink in the door. Then, clasping 
 his hands, he said, in a low, heart-broken voice, while bitter 
 tears flowed down, his haggard cheeks,
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 453 
 
 " Adieu, my poor children ! my wife ! may Heaven preserve 
 you all ! Farewell ! farewell ! " 
 
 " Come, don't get preaching ! " said Bourdin, coarsely, " or 
 your sermons may keep us here till night, which is what I can't 
 stand, for I am almost froze to death as it is. Ugh! what a 
 kennel ! what a hole ! " 
 
 Morel rose from his knees, and was about to follow the bailiff, 
 when the words, " Father ! father ! " sounded up the staircase. 
 
 " Louise ! " exclaimed the lapidary, raising his hands to- 
 wards heaven in a transport of gratitude; "thank God I shall 
 be able to embrace you before I go ! " 
 
 " Heaven be praised, I am here in time ! " cried the voice, as 
 it rapidly approached, and quick, light steps were distinguisha- 
 ble, swiftly ascending the stairs. 
 
 " Don't be uneasy, my dear/' said a second voice, evidently 
 proceeding from some individual considerably behind the first 
 speaker, but whose thick-puffing and laborious breathing an- 
 nounced the coming of one who did not find mounting to the 
 top of the house so easy an affair as it seemed to her light- 
 footed companion. 
 
 The reader may, perhaps, have already guessed that the last 
 comer was no other than Madame Pipelet, who, less agile than 
 Louise, was compelled to advance at a much slower pace. 
 
 " Louise ! is it, indeed, you ? my own, my good Louise ! " 
 said Morel, still weeping. " But how pale you look ! for 
 mercy's sake, my child, what is the matter?" 
 
 (< Nothing, father, nothing, I assure you ! " said Louise, in 
 much agitation ; " but I have run so fast ! See, I have brought 
 the money ! " 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " You are free ! " 
 
 "You knew, then, that " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Here, sir ! you will find it quite right," said the 
 poor girl, placing a rouleau of gold in the hands of Malicorne. 
 
 "But this money, Louise, how did you become possessed 
 of it?" 
 
 "I will tell you all about it by and by: pray do not be 
 uneasy; let us go and comfort my mother. Come, father." 
 
 " No, not just this minute ! " cried Morel, remembering that, 
 as yet, Louise was entirely ignorant of the death of her little 
 sister; "wait an instant, I have something to say to you first. 
 But about this money?" 
 
 All right," said Malicorne, as, having finished counting the 
 gold, he put it in his pocket; "precisely one thousand three
 
 454 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 hundred francs, And is that all you have got for me, my pretty 
 dear?" 
 
 " I thought, father," said Louise, struck with alarm and sur- 
 prise at the man's question, " that you only owed one thousand 
 three hundred francs ? " 
 
 " Nor do I," replied Morel. 
 
 " Precisely so ! " answered the bailiff ; " the original debt is 
 one thousand three hundred francs; well, that is all right now, 
 and we may put ' settled ' against that : but then, you see, there 
 are the costs, caption, etc., etc., amounting to eleven hundred 
 and forty francs, still to be paid." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " cried Louise, " I thought one thou- 
 sand three hundred francs would pay everything! But, sir, we 
 will make up the money, and bring it to you very soon ; take 
 this for the present, it is a good sum; take it as paid on 
 account : it will go towards the debt, at least, won't it, father ? " 
 
 " Very well ; then, all you have to do is to bring the required 
 sum to the prison, and then, and not till then, your father 
 if he is your father will be set at liberty. Come, master, we 
 must start, or we never shall get there." 
 
 " Do you really mean to take him away ? " 
 
 " Do I ? don't I ? Just look here : I am ready to give you a 
 memorandum of having received so much on account; and, 
 whenever you bring the rest, you shall have a receipt in full, 
 and your father along with it. There, now, that's a handsome 
 offer, ain't it?" 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! " supplicated Louise. 
 
 " Whew ! " cried the man, " here's a scene over again ! My 
 stars, I hope this one isn't a-going mad, too, for the whole 
 family seems uncommon queer about the head ! Well, I declare 
 I never see anything like it ! it is enough to set a man perspir- 
 ing in the midst of winter ! " and here the bailiff burst into a 
 loud, coarse laugh at his own brutal wit. 
 
 " Oh, my poor, dear father ! " exclaimed Louise, almost dis- 
 tractedly ; " when I had hoped to have saved you ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the lapidary, in a tone of utter despair, and 
 stamping his foot in wild desperation, "hope nothing for me; 
 God has forgotten me, and Heaven has ceased to be just to a 
 wretch like me ! " 
 
 " Calm yourself, my worthy friend," said a rich, manly voice ; 
 "there is always a kind Providence that watches over and pre- 
 serves good and honest men like you." 
 
 At the same instant Eodolph appeared at the door of the 
 small recess we have spoken of, from whence he had been an
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 455 
 
 invisible spectator of much that we have related : he was pale, 
 and extremely agitated. At this sudden apparition the bailiff 
 drew back with surprise; while Morel and his daughter gazed 
 on the stranger with bewildered wonder. Taking from his 
 waistcoat-pocket a quantity of folded bank-notes, Rodolph 
 selected three, and, presenting them to Malicorne, he said, 
 
 " Here are two hundred thousand five hundred francs ; give 
 this young woman back the money you have just received from 
 her." 
 
 Still more and more astonished at this singular interference, 
 the man half hesitated to take the notes, and, when he had re- 
 ceived them, he eyed them with the utmost suspicion, turning 
 and twisting them about in every direction ; at length, satisfied 
 both as to their reality and genuineness, he finally deposited 
 them in his pocket-book; but, as his surprise and alarm began 
 to subside, so did his natural coarseness of idea return, and, 
 eyeing Rodolph from head to foot with an impertinent stare, 
 he exclaimed, 
 
 " The notes are right enough ; but pray who and what are you 
 that go about with such sums? I should just wish to know 
 whose it is, and how you came by it ? " 
 
 Rodolph was very plainly dressed, and his appearance by no 
 means improved by the dust and dirt his clothes had gathered 
 during his stay in M. Pipelet's Cabinet of Melodrama. 
 
 " I desired you to give back the gold you received just now 
 from this young person," replied Rodolph, in a severe and 
 authoritative tone. 
 
 " You desired me ! and who the devil are you, to give your 
 orders ? " answered the man, approaching Rodolph in a 
 threatening manner. 
 
 " Give back the gold ! give it back, I say ! " said the prince, 
 grasping the wrist of Malicorne so tightly that the unhappy 
 bailiff winced beneath his iron clutch. 
 
 "I say," bawled he, "hands off, will you? Curse me if I 
 don't think you're old Nick himself! I am sure your fingers 
 are cased with iron." 
 
 " Then return the money ! Why, you despicable wretch ! do 
 you want to be paid twice over ? Now return the gold and be- 
 gone, or, if you utter one insolent word, I'll fling you over the 
 banisters ! " 
 
 " Well, don't kick up such a row ! there's the girl's money," 
 said Malicorne, giving back to Louise the rouleau he had re- 
 ceived. " But mind what you are about, my sparky, and don't 
 think to ill-use me because you happen to be the strongest ! "
 
 456 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 
 
 " That's right ! " said Bourdin, ensconcing himself behind 
 his taller associate. " And who are you, I should like to know, 
 who give yourself such airs ? " 
 
 "Who is he? why my lodger, my king. of lodgers, you ill- 
 looking, half-starved, hungry hounds ! you ill-taught, dirty fel- 
 lows ! " exclaimed Madame Pipelet, who, puffing and panting 
 for breath, had at last reached the landing where they stood; 
 her head, as usual, adorned with her Brutus wig, which, during 
 the heat and bustle she had experienced in ascending the stairs, 
 had got pushed somewhat awry; while in her hand she bore an 
 earthen stewpan, filled with smoking-hot broth, which she was 
 charitably conveying to the Morels. 
 
 " What the devil does this old hedgehog want ? " cried 
 Bourdin. 
 
 " If you dare make any of your saucy speeches about me," 
 returned Madame Pipelet, " I'll make you feel my nails ay, 
 and my teeth, too, if you provoke me ! And, if you don't mend 
 your manners, my lodger, my king of lodgers, will pitch you 
 over the banisters, and I will sweep you out into the street, as 
 I would a heap of rubbish." 
 
 "This old beldame will bring the whole house about our 
 ears," said Bourdin to Malicorne ; " we've touched the blunt, our 
 expenses and all, so I say ' Off ' is a good word." 
 
 " Here, take your property," said the latter, flinging a bundle 
 of law-papers at the feet of Morel. 
 
 " Pick them up, and deliver them decently ; you have been 
 paid as a respetcable officer would have been, act like one ! " 
 cried Eodolph, seizing the bailiff vigorously with one hand, 
 while with the other he pointed to the papers. 
 
 Fully convinced by this second powerful grip how useless any 
 attempt at resistance would prove, the bailiff stooped down, and, 
 mechanically picking up the papers, gave them to Morel, who, 
 scarcely venturing to credit his senses, believed himself under 
 the influence of a delightful dream. 
 
 " Well, young chap," grumbled out Malicorne, " although 
 you have got a fist as strong as a drayman's, mind you, if ever 
 you fall into my clutches, I'll make you smart for this ! " So 
 saying, he doubled his fist at Eodolph, and then scrambled 
 down the stairs, taking four or five at a time, followed by his 
 companion, who kept looking behind him with indescribable 
 terror; while Madame Pipelet, burning to avenge the insults 
 offered to her king of lodgers, looked at her streaming stewpan 
 with an air of inspiration, and heroically exclaimed, 
 
 " The debts of the Morels are paid ! Henceforward they will
 
 JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION. 457 
 
 have plenty of food, and can do without my messes ! Look out 
 there below ! " 
 
 So saying, she stooped over the banisters, and poured the con- 
 tents of her stewpan down the backs and shoulders of the two 
 bailiffs, who had just reached the first-floor landing. 
 
 " There goes ! " screamed out the delighted porteress ; 
 " capital ! ha, ha, ha ! there they are ! two regular sops in the 
 pan ! Well, I do enjoy this ! " 
 
 "What the devil is this?" exclaimed Malicorne, thoroughly 
 soaked with the hot, greasy liquid. " I say, I wish you would 
 mind what you are about up there, you old figure of fun ! " 
 
 " Alfred ! " bawled Madame Pipelet, in a tone sharp and 
 shrill enough to have split the tympanum of a deaf man, 
 "Alfred, my old darling! have at 'em! they wanted to behave 
 ill to your Stasie (Anastasie) ! the nasty fellows have been 
 taking liberties quite violent! Knock them down with your 
 broom ! and call the oyster-woman, and the man at the wine- 
 vaults, to help you! Get out you! get get get out! cht, 
 cht, cht! thieves! thieves! robbers! cht b-r-r-r-r-r-r hou, 
 hou, hou! Knock them knock them down! that's right, old 
 dear ! pay them off ! break their bones ! serve them out ! Bourn, 
 bourn, bourn!" 
 
 And, by way of conclusion to this concatenation of discordant 
 noises, accompanied by a constant succession of stamping and 
 kicking of feet, Madame Pipelet, carried away by the excite- 
 ment of the moment, flung her earthen stewpan to the bottom 
 of the staircase, which, breaking into a thousand pieces at the 
 very instant that the two bailiffs, terrified by the yells and 
 noises from overhead, were precipitately descending the stairs 
 witli hasty strides, added not a little to their terror. 
 
 " Ah, ah, all ! " cried Anastasie, bursting into loud fits of 
 laughter. " Now be off with you I think you have had 
 enough ! " Then, crossing her arms, she stood, like a trium- 
 phant Amazon, rejoicing in the victory she had achieved. 
 
 While Madame Pipelet was thus venting her rage upon the 
 bailiffs, Morel had thrown himself, in heartfelt gratitude, at 
 the feet of Rodolph. 
 
 "Ah, sir," exclaimed he, when at last words came to his 
 assistance, "you have saved a whole family! To whom do we 
 owe this unhoped-for assistance ? " 
 
 ' ' To the God who watches over and protects all honest men' 
 as your immortal Beranger says." 
 
 Note. The following: are some curious particulars relative to bodily re- 
 straint, as cited in the " Pauvre Jacques," a journal published under the
 
 458 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS, 
 
 patronage of the "Society for the Furtherance and Protection of 
 Christianity:" 
 
 (Prison Committee.) (ComiU des Prisons.) 
 
 " A protest and intimation of bodily restraint are generally carried about 
 by sheriffs' officers, and charged by law, the first, 4f. 35c., the second, 4f. 
 70c.; for these, however, the officers usually demand, for the former, 10/. 
 40c., for the second, 16/. 40c.; thus illegally claiming from the unfortunate 
 victims of the law 26/. 80c., for that which is fixed by that very law at 9f. 50c. 
 
 " For an arrest, the legal charge is, including stamp and registering, 3/. 
 50c.; coach-hire, 5f.; for arrest and entry in the prison books, 60/. 25c.; office 
 dues, 8f. Total, 76f. 75c. A bill of the usual scale ordinarily charged by 
 sheriffs' officers, now lying before us, shows that these allowances by law are 
 magnified by the extortion of the officers into a sum of about 240/., instead 
 of the 76/. they are alone entitled to claim. 
 
 The same journal says : " Sheriff's' officer * * * * has been to our office, 
 requesting us to correct an article which appeared in one of our numbers, 
 headed, ' A woman hung.' 'I did not hang the woman!' observed he, 
 angrily. We did not assert that he did, but, to prevent any further misap- 
 prehension, content ourselves with reprinting the paragraph in question : 
 ' A few days ago, a sheriffs officer, named * * * *, went to the Rue de la 
 Lune, to arrest a carpenter, who dwelt there. The man, perceiving him 
 from the street, rushed hastily into his house, exclaiming, ' I am a ruined 
 man ! the officers are here to arrest me 1 ' His wife, at these words, 
 hastened to secure the door ; while the carpenter ran to a room on the top of 
 the house, to conceal himself. The officer, finding admittance refused, 
 went and fetched a magistrate and a blacksmith ; the door was forced, and, 
 on proceeding upstairs, the woman was found hanging In her own bed- 
 chamber. The officer did not allow himself to be diverted from the pursuit 
 by the sight of the corpse ; he continued his search, and at length dis- 
 covered the husband in his hiding-place. ' I arrest you ! ' cried the bailiff. 
 'I have no money !' replied the man. 'Then you must go to prison.' ' Let 
 me at least bid my wife adieu ! ' ' It is not worth while waiting for that 
 your wife is dead! she has hung herself!' Now, M. * * * * (adds the 
 journal we have quoted), what have you to say to that ? You see we have 
 merely copied your own statement upon oath, in which you have detailed all 
 these frightful circumstances with horrible minuteness ! " 
 
 The same journal also cites two or three hundred similar facts, of which 
 the following may serve as a specimen: " The expenses upon a note of hand 
 for 300f . have been run up by the sheriffs' officers to 964/. ; the debtor, there- 
 fore, who is a mere artisan, with a family of five children, has been detained 
 in prison for the last seven months ! " 
 
 The author of this work had a double reason for borrowing thus largely 
 from the pages of the " Pauvre Jacques." In the first place, to show that 
 the horrors of the last chapter are far below reality in their painful details. 
 And secondly, to prove that, if only viewed in a philanthropic light, the 
 allowing such a state of things to go on (namely, the exorbitant and illegal 
 fees both demanded and exacted by certain public functionaries), frequently 
 acts as a preventive to the exercise of benevolence, and paralyzes the hand 
 of charity. Thus, were a small capital of 1000/. collected among kind-hearted 
 individuals, three or four honest, though unfortunate, artisans might be 
 released from a prison and restored to their families, by employing the 
 above-named sum in paying the debts of such as were incarcerated for 
 amounts varying from 250 to 300/. ! But, when the original debt is increased 
 threefold by the excessive and illegal expenses, even the most charitable 
 recede from the good work of delivering a fellow-creature, from the impres- 
 sion that two-thirds of their well-intentioned bounty would only go into the 
 pockets of pampered sheriffs' officers and their satellites. And yet no class 
 of unfortunate beings stand more in need of aid and charitable assistance 
 than the unfortunate class we have just been speaking of.
 
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