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 FEDORA: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 
 
 ADOLPHE BELOT 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 BY A. D. H. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 RAND, MCNALLY & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 148, 150, 152 AND 154 MONROE STREET; and 
 323 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.
 
 
 A PERFECT SOAR AND DELICATE 
 HANDKERCHIEF PERFUME ARE 
 NECESSARY TOILET ARTICLES 
 FOR PEOPLE OF REFINED AND 
 CULTIVATED TASTES 
 
 COLGATE & GO'S 
 
 VIOLET 
 TOILET WATER, 
 
 delightfully refresh- 
 ing for th basin or 
 
 Copjrlghted 1888, tT RAND, McNALLY & CO.
 
 
 
 FEDORA: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Political interests so absorbed attention in France dur- 
 ing the first months of the year 1848, that few persons 
 remember to-day the numerous private or judicial events 
 of that exciting period. In fact, what, in quiet times, is 
 sufficient to give food to the insatiable Parisian curiosity, 
 seems of no account in days of trouble and revolution. 
 How is it possible to be interested in a drama which 
 takes place between the four walls of a house, or behind 
 the door of a court of assizes, when there are passing 
 before our eyes events with which we are directly con- 
 nected, and in the result of which our dearest interests 
 are bound up? The call to arms, the roll of the drum 
 and the boom of the cannon swallow up other sounds, 
 and render us deaf to all private cries of distress. 
 
 This explains how, without much attention being paid
 
 4 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 to it, there was tried in Paris, in the first part of March, 
 1848, one of the most extraordinary, dramatic and inter- 
 esting cases in all the records of the court. We are 
 about to relate it in all its details, taking our data from 
 the journals of the time, our own personal recollections, 
 and certain particular information which has been com- 
 municated to us. 
 
 On the 20th of October, 1847, the diligence, which 
 still ran at that time between Marseilles and Paris, set 
 down before the coach office in the Rue Notre-Dauie-des- 
 Victoires, two women worthy, for more than one reason, 
 of attracting attention. They were both young and 
 remarkably beautiful, and there was something in their 
 general air and appearance that indicated at the first 
 glance a foreign origin. One of them, especially, was of 
 a type of beauty full of odd contrasts: a purely Greek 
 profile, large, soft blue eyes, but rather full lips betraying 
 a passionate nature, and thick eyebrows which almost 
 met and which revealed indomitable energy; a dark com- 
 plexion, with a bright, clear color in the cheeks, and heavy 
 black hair with blue reflections in it framing an oval 
 face whose contour the Virgins of Perugin might have 
 envied. It was evident that she was a native of sunny 
 Italy. 
 
 Fedora, in fact, was a Genoese, like her companion, a 
 tall and handsome brunette. 
 
 Besides their traveling bags, they held in their hands 
 a large orange branch, and one of those palms which are 
 used at Rome in certain religious ceremonies, and which 
 are cultivated chiefly at the pretty little village of Bordi- 
 ghera. 
 
 These two Italians were at the same time Parisians, or 
 at least they were no strangers to the customs of Paris; 
 the coach office seemed particularly familiar to them.
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 6 
 
 The one whom we have called Fedora had at first hesi- 
 tated to descend from the diligence; she seemed to be 
 expecting a friend. Then she hastened without hesita- 
 tion to the waiting room. She did not find there, prob- 
 ably, the person whom she expected to see, for, after a 
 rapid glance about the room, she went to the neighboring 
 street; but there also her search was useless, and Fedora, 
 in great disappointment, returned to her companion, who 
 was settling with the guard. 
 
 "He is not here! what does it mean?" she cried, as she 
 reached her side. 
 
 " Patience, signora, he will come." 
 
 "Patience! patience! When I have not seen him for 
 two months when I ought already to have kissed him a 
 hundred times!" 
 
 "What, before everybody?" 
 
 "Is he not my husband?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly; oh! you have the right, Madame, 
 but" 
 
 "Madame? You call me Madame, now?" 
 
 " We are in Paris." 
 
 " Need that change our relations? I have already told 
 you, Marietta, that you must continue to be as familiar 
 with me here as at Genoa; you are my foster sister, my 
 countrywoman; and I will not allow you to consider your- 
 self a servant. And now we have scarcely reached 
 France, when you rebel. Ah! if my husband were here, 
 he would teach you a lesson. But I hear a carriage; it is 
 he, without doubt." 
 
 With charming petulance she hastened to the carriage 
 which had entered the court, but returned almost im- 
 mediately. 
 
 " No," she said, impatiently, " it is a very ugly gentle- 
 man; it is not my husband."
 
 6 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Are you sure that he received your letter?" asked 
 Marietta. 
 
 " He must have done so. I posted it myself at Mar- 
 seilles, two days before our departure, and the mail is 
 much quicker than the diligence." 
 
 " Then M. Vidal must have overslept himself; didn't he 
 say in one of his last letters that he had been obliged to 
 dismiss his valet and was alone?" 
 
 "Yes. But do you think he could sleep when he was 
 expecting me? You don't know how he loves me! " she 
 added, with a charming smile which revealed two rows of 
 pearly-white teeth. 
 
 All this was spoken rapidly, half in French, half in 
 Italian, for Fedora, in her Southern vivacity, borrowed 
 from either of the two languages the word which suited 
 her best. 
 
 An employe 1 at this moment interrupted them, asking 
 them to come and point out their luggage. This was an 
 affair of only a few minutes, and then Fedora said: 
 
 "What shall we do now?" 
 
 " Take a cab and go to your husband." 
 
 "But suppose he passes us on the way?" 
 
 " We shall see him, or at all events they will tell him 
 here that we have left, and he will return." 
 
 "Come, then! " exclaimed Fedora, with a last glance 
 about the court yard. 
 
 The cab which had brought the ugly man was on the 
 point of driving away, and Marietta hailed it. 
 
 "What is the matter, mia cara?" she asked, hearing 
 Fedora sigh as she seated herself in the carriage. 
 
 "I I had thought so much of returning with him to 
 the house where I have been so happy since my marriage." 
 
 " But you are going to find him there in a few min- 
 utes, dear mistress."
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 7 
 
 "I do not know; I am afraid." 
 
 "What an idea! Do you fear he is ill? He never is. 
 Besides, you had a letter from him two days ago, at 
 Lyons." 
 
 "I can not help it; I am uneasy," returned Fedora, 
 "This carriage is so slow, we shall never reach there. 
 Why has the coachman taken the Boulevards to go to the 
 Rue de la Paix? It is much the longest way." 
 
 " He takes us for foreigners," answered Marietta, " and 
 desires to show us Paris in its most pleasing aspect. He 
 is right, too; look! I have never seen the Boulevards so 
 beautiful, and how bright the sun is! We might almost 
 fancy ourselves in Italy." 
 
 It was indeed one of those delicious days which the 
 dying summer sometimes gives us, to make us regret it 
 all the more. 
 
 Our two travelers, like true daughters of the South, 
 could not remain insensible to the charms of the exquisite 
 weather. They looked with all their eyes, and admired 
 with all their hearts. Fedora forgot the anxiety she had 
 felt, and her beautiful face no longer showed any trace 
 of uneasiness. A short distance alone separated her from 
 the one she longed to see; in a few moments she would 
 surprise him by her appearance. She was glad now that 
 he had not come to meet her. 
 
 " He did not receive my letter," she thought, " and so 
 does not expect me. How happy he will be! " 
 
 And her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, and her lips 
 smiled at the promenaders, some of whom paused to look 
 after her. 
 
 Suddenly the carriage left the Boulevards, entered the 
 Rue de la Paix and stopped before No. 6. 
 
 Fedora's first movement was to glance up to the win- 
 dows of the entresol.
 
 8 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " The blinds are drawn down," she cried. " The lazy 
 fellow; he is still asleep." 
 
 And without paying any attention to her companion, 
 but leaving her to settle with the coachman and take care 
 of the luggage, she entered the court yard, passed the 
 concierge without speaking, mounted the staircase, and 
 rang the bell with a feverish hand. 
 
 A few seconds passed, and there was no answer. 
 
 She rang again and listened. 
 
 There was no sound from within. 
 
 *' It is too bad," she thought; *' he has gone to meet me, 
 and we have missed him." 
 
 She descended the stairs hurriedly and addressed the 
 concierge. 
 
 " Monsieur has gone out ? " 
 
 " Ah, you are here, Madame! " exclaimed the concierge. 
 " Did you have a pleasant journey? " 
 
 "Yes, very. But my husband? " 
 
 " I have not seen Monsieur this morning." 
 
 " Didn't he speak to you when he went out? " 
 
 " I don't think he has gone out, Madame.'* 
 
 " Then why doesn't he open the door? " 
 
 " You can not have rung loudly enough, Madame. If 
 you wish it, I will go up with you." 
 
 " Yes, come." 
 
 Fedora ascended again with the concierge, and pulled 
 the bell with all her strength, but again without eliciting 
 any response. 
 
 " It is strange," said the concierge ; " Monsieur ex- 
 pected Madame, for " 
 
 "Ah! he has received my letter, then?" 
 
 " Two days ago." 
 
 " He is evidently at the coach house," said Marietta. 
 "If you like, I will go there."
 
 "FEDORA, IN FACT, WAS A GENOESE." PAGE 4.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 9 
 
 " Yes, do," responded Fedora. 
 
 A cab was passing, and Marietta took it. Fedora 
 refused the offer of the concierge to sit down in his room, 
 but walked nervously up and down the sidewalk, glancing 
 every now and then at the closed windows. She saw 
 that the inside blinds were shut, so that the apartments 
 must be in complete darkness. Then her husband could 
 not have arisen. As soon as this thought struck her, 
 she hastened to the concierge and begged him to force 
 the door. The concierge went to fetch a locksmith. In 
 five minutes the latter arrived. At the same moment a 
 carriage turned the corner of the street, drew up before 
 the house, and Marietta alighted. 
 
 "Well? "cried Fedora. 
 
 Marietta responded by a shake of the head. 
 
 Fedora ascended to the entresol with the locksmith. 
 
 " You will have a hard time to open it," said the con- 
 cierge, " there is a bolt and chain, besides the lock." 
 
 But, to his great astonishment, the bolt was not drawn, 
 and the door was quickly opened. 
 
 Fedora rushed in. 
 
 She crossed the antechamber, the dining room and the 
 salon; everything was in its accustomed order. 
 
 She entered the bedroom, the door of which was wide 
 open. 
 
 Suddenly Marietta heard a cry, a terrible cry. She 
 ran into the room. 
 
 Fedora was lying unconscious in the middle of the 
 chamber. 
 
 Half on the floor and half on the bed was the body 
 of a man, covered with blood. 
 
 And upon a leaf of an open memorandum book, were 
 these words, written in blood: 
 
 "Fedora, avenge me. The assassin is "
 
 10 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Death had arrested the hand of the victim at the 
 moment he was about to trace the name of his mur- 
 derer. 
 
 It was now the duty of justice to complete the sen- 
 tence. 
 
 II. 
 
 One of the first questions which the magistrates ask in 
 such a case, is this: What was the motive of the assas- 
 sination? Was it theft? 
 
 The response appears easy, if it can be shown that the 
 victim, at the time of his death, had near him or upon 
 his person valuables which can not be found. However, 
 the fact that these valuables have disappeared is not con- 
 clusive proof. Justice can not ignore that theft is often an 
 expedient designed to disguise some revenge, and to 
 turn aside suspicion; so it is necessary to inquire with 
 the greatest care into the antecedents, the life and the 
 habits of the murdered man. 
 
 Maurice Vidal, born at Nantes, in a house in the Rue 
 de Sully, in the month of March, 1815, was, at the time of 
 his death, a little more than thirty-two years old. He had 
 lived in Paris for about twelve years, and had made his for- 
 tune rapidly, thanks to a remarkable insight into the affairs 
 of the Bourse, and above all to his wonderful activity. 
 After remaining for a few months as clerk to a stock broker, 
 and becoming initiated into the practical details of cer- 
 tain financial operations, he had started out on his own 
 account, and it was not long before he had established 
 for himself an excellent business. To arrive at that end, 
 which so many young men of our generation have use- 
 lessly attempted, required infinite care and incessant
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 11 
 
 labor. Yidal had succeeded in solving this problem: To 
 remain a man of the world, to go into society, and yet 
 never to neglect business. 
 
 For ten years he had been a prominent figure at all 
 balls and dinners. He would lead the cotillon till two 
 o'clock in the morning at the house of some banker of 
 the Chaussee d'Antin, and then take part in the wild 
 galop which finished the ball of some celebrated demi- 
 mondaine. Many times, at six o'clock in the morning, 
 his friends left him at his door, a little the worse for 
 wine and worn out with fatigue; but at nine o'clock he 
 would be found in his office, fresh, bright and keen, ready 
 to receive the orders of his customers. 
 
 This native of Nantes, who had become a Parisian, 
 admirably understood the men and customs of his day. 
 He knew that the business man does not neglect the 
 opportunity of cracking a joke in the intervals of his 
 sales; that a lawyer willingly interrupts the reading up of 
 a case to ask about the last ballet; that a judge is glad to 
 hear the latest anecdote, and the minister whose doors 
 are closed against all intruders, is often visible to amus- 
 ing people. 
 
 He knew, also, that it is permissible to speak of busi- 
 ness matters at an opera-ball or in the boudoir of an 
 actress; that it is easy for an intelligent fellow to obtain 
 an order to buy or sell stock between two glasses of 
 champagne; and, finally, that customers fly from bores 
 who mingle in a different society from themselves, and 
 that on the other hand they seek the persons who share 
 their pleasures while they make good speculations for 
 them. 
 
 This is the reason of many catastrophes. 
 
 How is it possible to suspect the man to whom your 
 fortune is intrusted? You see him every hour of the
 
 12 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 day: in the morning he breakfasts with you at Bignon's; 
 from midday till three o'clock you walk arm-in-arm with 
 him under the columns of the Bourse; at five o'clock you 
 meet him at the house of a lady, a friend to you both; at 
 seven you find him seated opposite to you at the Cafe 
 Anglais, and in the evening you go together to the club, 
 the opera or the theatre. 
 
 And during the whole day that you have lived the same 
 life, his good humor and gayety have been unfailing; he 
 has told you of his good luck and of your last operations 
 on the Bourse. He has advised you to sell your 4J 
 bonds and to quit Cora; he has related to you the last 
 bon-mot, but at the same time he has given you excellent 
 counsel in regard to your investments. 
 
 You are a thousand miles from suspecting that this 
 amiable, amusing, well-bred companion, who thinks, he 
 says, of building a house in the Champs Elys6es with the 
 profits of his operations, has converted during the day 
 your property into cash, and is to sail that very evening 
 for Australia. 
 
 But Maurice Vidal merited the confidence of his wealthy 
 customers. He was one of that large body of stockholders 
 whose habits may seem eccentric, whose life outside busi- 
 ness hours may appear open to question, but who in 
 matters of business are thoroughly trustworthy and straight- 
 forward. If, with an eye to his own interests, he thought 
 he ought to cultivate the acquaintance of men about town, 
 he also knew how to make many friends among the most 
 respectable class of the community. He had had many 
 chances of entering the Enclosure, and whenever a seat 
 in the Bourse was vacant, he had invariably had offered 
 him any amount of money he might have need of. But 
 he had always refused, under the pretext that he wished 
 to keep his liberty.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 13 
 
 However, one day he lost this liberty, to which he was 
 so strongly attached. 
 
 It was suddenly announced that he had been married 
 to a young girl, whose acquaintance he had made at 
 Genoa, during a visit he had paid to that city in 1846. 
 And as every one was astonished that he should select a 
 foreigner for his wife, when he was in a position to marry 
 advantageously in Paris, he made the following little 
 speech to his friends : 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said to them, " with you Parisians 
 marriage is generally considered as a means to arrive at 
 an end; but I, who am only a Breton, look upon it as the 
 end itself. You marry a woman to whom you are almost 
 indifferent, in order that her dowry or her connections 
 may serve to build up your fortune; but I choose a 
 woman who pleases me, in order that she may aid me to 
 spend the money painfully acquired by ten years of 
 labor. But, in the luxurious times we live in, instead of 
 enriching you, your wife very likely may squander her 
 dowry and your little savings, while mine, who has not 
 breathed the heated air of Paris since her infancy, will, I 
 think, be less extravagant; and even should it prove the 
 contrary, I shall not complain, for she is so pretty. I see 
 what you are going to answer me, gentlemen: 'With 
 such ideas, why did you marry at all, when a mistress 
 would have done as well?' Don't deceive yourselves; it 
 is a mistress I have taken, nothing else, and I hope to re- 
 main all my life the lover of my wife. Only, I have the 
 deepest respect for her; I desire every one else to respect 
 her; I think of the children we may have some day, and I 
 have asked a priest to bless our union." 
 
 After this harangue Maurice Vidal presented his wife 
 to many of his intimate friends; he said to them, simply: 
 " See I adore her, and she loves me."
 
 14 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 And his cause was gained. 
 
 In fact, never \vas a marriage contracted under more 
 happy auspices. Maurice was madly in love with Fedora, 
 and she loved him with that Italian furia^ of which 
 Parisians have only a feeble idea. 
 
 For three days this marriage and the striking beauty of 
 Madame Vidal were the topic of conversation on the 
 Bourse. Then, as nothing happened to keep alive the 
 excitement, the new bridegroom was forgotten and only 
 the broker was remembered. 
 
 But occasionally some customer of Maurice's, after 
 having transacted his business, would say: ; ;- 
 
 "Well, does the honeymoon still continue?" 
 
 And Maurice would answer: 
 
 " My friend, I am the happiest man on earth." 
 
 This happiness lasted a whole year, and it perhaps 
 would have lasted always, if Fedora had not received a 
 letter which called her to Genoa. Her mother was at- 
 tacked by a dangerous illness and wished to see her. 
 
 Maurice allowed her to depart with Marietta, a servant, 
 almost a friend, who had brought her up, and whom she 
 desired to bring from Genoa with her after her marriage. 
 
 Why did he not accompany her? 
 
 The departure was very hurried, and, although her visit 
 had stretched out to over two months, she did not expect 
 at first to be gone longer than a week ; and so it was fated 
 that Maurice Vidal should remain alone in Paris at the 
 mercy of an assassin. 
 
 Informed as to these details of his life, the magistrates 
 were not long in coining to the conclusion that Fedora's 
 husband had been the victim of revenge. 
 
 What enemies could this young man, whose life had 
 been devoted for ten years to the pleasures of society and 
 honorable work, have made ?
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 15 
 
 He had done harm to no one, compromised no one's in- 
 terest. His frank and open manners had won all hearts, 
 and although he was of a rather dictatorial nature and was 
 inclined to be very strict in regard to money matters, he 
 knew so well how to govern his temper that no one could 
 recall ever having had a quarrel or even a dispute with 
 him. 
 
 Could his marriage have given rise to feelings of jealousy 
 or envy? 
 
 Justice, which neglects no detail, wished to have infor- 
 mation on this subject. But during his life as a bachelor, 
 Maurice was never known to have had any serious love 
 affair. His friends were positive on this point. 
 
 Up to the time he had met Fedora, love had been only 
 a distraction, a pastime with him. In a word,^he was 
 known to be one of those young nomads, who sometimes 
 raise a corner of their tent to give hospitality to fair 
 travelers, but who obstinately refuse to open their doors 
 to any permanent guest. 
 
 As for Fedora, with the exception of the two or three 
 intimate friends to whom Maurice had presented her, no 
 one knew her. When he married her, there was no rival 
 to dispute her with him. She had left Genoa without 
 causing any heart-break, and regretted only by her own 
 family. 
 
 All things taken into consideration, therefore, it was 
 only possible to suppose that theft was the motive for the 
 murder. 
 
 But had a theft been committed? We can best answer 
 that question by publishing the different documents which 
 relate to this affair, and for the possession of which we owe 
 our thanks to one of the leading members of the bar. We 
 shall take care, however, as often as possible, to substitute 
 for the official reports, whose dryness and repetition might 
 
 B
 
 16 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 weary the reader, certain confidential notes, which are 
 often exchanged between magistrates during the progress 
 of an examination, and which we find among the papers 
 submitted to us. 
 
 III. 
 
 Confidential Notes attached to the Official Report of the Commissary 
 of Police of the First Arrondissement, Section of the Twleries. 
 
 Being informed to-day, October 20th, 1847, at nine 
 o'clock A. M., that a crime had been committed at No. 6 
 Rue de la Paix, we hastened to the place, accompanied 
 by our secretary, Monsieur Vibert, and Monsieur Godin, 
 a police officer, who was in our office at the time the news 
 reached us. 
 
 When we arrived at No. 6 we found a crowd of people, 
 whom the police could not succeed in dispersing^ it was 
 with great difficulty that we reached the door of the house. 
 
 Rumors of all kinds, contradictory for the most part, 
 were flying about from group to group. But all seemed 
 to be agreed upon this point, that the victim was called 
 Maurice Vidal, and that he was connected with the Bourse. 
 
 His wife, an Italian of great beauty, they said, had 
 reached home from a journey that morning; she appeared 
 to be in the greatest grief. 
 
 Some said that the assassin had been arrested; others 
 declared that no one knew who had committed the crime. 
 
 As we mounted the staircase we heard the following 
 conversation : 
 
 "It was she, perhaps; those Italians are capable of 
 anything." 
 
 " But they say she worshiped her husband."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 17 
 
 "Bah! she may have seemed to do so, and hated him 
 all the same." 
 
 " Besides, she was away; she only returned an hour ago." 
 
 " Well, mightn't she have had an accomplice, who did 
 the job for her?" 
 
 When we reached the entresol, the policemen met us, 
 and showed us into the rooms where the crime was com- 
 mitted. 
 
 We gave orders to clear the staircase, close the outside 
 door, and to let no one enter the house, except the inmates 
 or the authorities. 
 
 Messengers were sent at the same time by us to the 
 courts, to the prefecture of police, and to the chief of 
 police. 
 
 After having crossed the antechamber, the dining room 
 and the salon, where we remarked nothing unusual, and 
 where the furniture seemed to occupy their usual places, 
 we entered a handsome study. 
 
 Two women, in the greatest grief, did not seem to notice 
 our entrance. 
 
 One of them appeared to be the maid or companion of 
 the other. She was kneeling before her mistress, holding 
 her hands, and we heard her murmur these words : 
 
 "Courage, courage, dear Fedora; you must have cour- 
 age to avenge him." 
 
 Suddenly, the one whom she called Fedora rose to her 
 feet and cried out : 
 
 "Yes! Yes! I will avenge him! I swear it! " 
 
 And she raised her hand, as if calling Heaven to wit- 
 ness. 
 
 The police officer, M. Godin, whispered in my ear: 
 "The sorrow of that woman must be sincere; I do not 
 believe what we heard as we came up stairs." 
 
 That was also my opinion. But my secretary, M. 
 2
 
 18 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Vibert, who has many times given me proof of great 
 perspicacity, did not appear to share our impression. He 
 thought the sorrow a little theatrical, and he suspected 
 the lady Fedora of playing a part. 
 
 We called to his attention that, according to our infor- 
 mation, the lady in question was an Italian; the people of 
 her country are given to exaggeration, and it was wrong 
 to judge her as we would judge a Parisian. Besides, the 
 blow which had struck her was so terrible and so unex- 
 pected that her grief was very natural. 
 
 M. Vibert was not entirely convinced by our words. He 
 continued to observe Madame Vidal attentively. 
 
 Meanwhile, we examined the room we were in, with 
 great care. 
 
 The girl Marietta, servant or companion of Madame 
 Vidal, assured us that nothing had been touched by either 
 her mistress or herself. All the furniture was in the same 
 place when the two ladies entered the study half an hour 
 before. 
 
 The result of our examination was as follows: 
 
 1st. The two doors which lead from the study into the 
 salon and the bedroom were open and were found open. 
 In all the suite of apartments, the outside door alone was 
 closed, but was not bolted on the inside. It must be sup- 
 posed, then, that the assassin passed through the rooms 
 and simply closed the outside door. 
 
 2nd. An arm-chair overturned in the middle of the 
 study, different objects scattered about, and a candelabrum 
 on the floor are sufficient indications that the first attack 
 took place in this study. But did the assassin there deal 
 the fatal blow to his victim, who afterwards went to the 
 bedroom? Or did Maurice Vidal, after defending himself 
 in the study, take refuge in the chamber, where the mur- 
 derer followed and wounded him mortally ?
 
 IN THE KITE DE LA PAIX. 19 
 
 You will reach the last supposition, if you remark, 
 that, despite a minute examination, we discovered no 
 traces of blood in the study. 
 
 Preoccupied with the important question of knowing 
 if a theft had been committed after the murder, we then 
 tried, one after the other, the drawers of the desk. 
 
 They were locked, and showed no trace of having been 
 forced. One drawer alone, the middle one, was half 
 open, the key was in the lock, and a sum of twenty 
 louis in gold met our eyes. 
 
 Various papers were in this drawer, which we locked 
 and of which we took the key. 
 
 There was no other piece of furniture in the room 
 which could contain money or valuables. 
 
 As we were about to cross the threshold of the bed- 
 chamber, Madame Vidal, who up to this time had been re- 
 strained by the maid Marietta, escaped from her arms and 
 attempted to follow us. 
 
 We implored her most earnestly to remember that her 
 presence would only trouble us in our investigations, and 
 that she must, in her own interest, leave us all liberty of 
 action. 
 
 She listened to us with more calmness and coolness 
 than we hoped, and, without replying, sank down silently 
 upon the sofa she had just left. This woman appears to 
 be endowed with great energy; instead of impeding justice 
 she may be able to lend it great aid. 
 
 Monsieur Vibert still continued to watch her, but he 
 seemed now to have changed his opinion in regard to her. 
 
 This is the exact state in which we found the bedroom. 
 On the left, as we entered, was a little rosewood bureau, 
 from which nothing in particular was to be discovered. 
 Two steps from there, a large arm-chair, covered with 
 blood.
 
 20 FEDORA : OE, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Traces of blood were also to be seen upon the carpet in 
 front of the chair. This was doubtless the place where 
 the murdered man was struck; but he did not die at once, 
 as lie dragged himself away to call for help. 
 
 There are spots of blood all along the floor to the win- 
 dow, which opens upon the court, and this indicates in the 
 most significant manner Maurice Vidal's proceedings. 
 
 When he reached the window, he grasped one of the 
 curtains and tried to raise himself up, but could not; then 
 he must have tried to break one of the panes, which bears 
 the marks of his fingers, but his strength was unequal to it. 
 
 It was probably at this moment that he felt he was 
 hopelessly lost, and had no longer but one thought 
 vengeance upon his murderer. 
 
 He then sought for something to write with, and per- 
 ceiving his memorandum book upon a table near the bed, 
 he dragged himself toward it. It is easy to follow his 
 actions. 
 
 His hand first rested upon the feet of the table, then 
 rose little by little, left a bloody mark upon a glass of 
 water and finally reached the memorandum book it was 
 seeking. 
 
 Then he wrote by the light of a candle placed upon the 
 table. But his eyes grew dim. It seemed to him, doubt- 
 less, that the pencil made no mark, and after having 
 dipped it in the blood which flowed from his wound, he 
 traced these words: " Fedora, avenge me. The assassin 
 is" 
 
 He could not continue. The book and pencil fell from 
 his hands. He made one last effort, raised himself and 
 tried to fight against death. 
 
 But it was all in vain; his body fell over upon the bed 
 in the position in which we found him. 
 
 Such, Monsieur, are the observations I have been able
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 21 
 
 to make and which I have the honor to transmit to you, 
 according to your orders. I sent, yesterday, my official 
 report to the court. 
 
 Here follows the signature. 
 
 From the report of a physician delegated by tJie public ministry to 
 examine the murdered man, it results that : 
 
 1st. Maurice Vidal was struck with a pointed weapon. 
 
 2nd. One of those instruments called a dagger-knife 
 and found under a piece of furniture in the study, where 
 the murderer must have thrown it after the accomplish- 
 ment of his crime, exactly fits into the wound. 
 
 3rd. The blow was a mortal one. However, on account 
 of the narrowness of the wound, the victim was able to 
 live for some moments, and finally succumbed to internal 
 hemorrhage. 
 
 4th. There is no other wound upon Maurice Vidal's 
 body. One blow alone was sufficient, but it must have 
 been dealt by a very strong arm, or by a person whose 
 anger doubled his strength; the knife is very dull, and it 
 must have taken a violent blow to make it penetrate so 
 far into the body. 
 
 5th. Death, judging from the rigidity of the body when 
 it was examined (thirty-five minutes past nine A. M.), must 
 have taken place eleven or twelve hours before. 
 
 6th. There is no possible reason for the supposition 
 that Maurice Vidal committed suicide, and attempted to 
 cover it up by the words written upon the memorandum 
 book, for the blow was struck downward, either by a 
 person taller than the murdered man, or at the moment 
 when the latter was sitting down. 
 
 To strike himself, Maurice Vidal would have been forced 
 to strike a horizontal or upward blow. 
 
 Here follows the signature of the physician.
 
 22 FEDORA ; OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bxtract from the Examination of the Concierge of No. 6 Rue de la 
 PIU.I-, by the Examining Magistrate, upon the latter 1 's arrival at 
 the Apartment where the Crime was committed. 
 
 Q. When did you know of the murder in question? 
 
 A. An hour ago. 
 
 Q. Did you remark anything particular last evening, 
 or during- the night? 
 
 A. No, Monsieur. 
 
 Q. The window of Maurice Vidal's chamber opens 
 upon the court; your lodge is just opposite; it seems 
 strange that you should have heard no cry. 
 
 A. I had company all the evening; my brother-in-law, 
 a clerk at the offices of the ministry of finances, the 
 concierge of No. 41 Boulevard des Capucines, and a 
 cousin of my wife's. We had supper and played cards 
 till eleven o'clock, but we heard nothing. 
 
 Q. At what time did M. Maurice Vidal come in? 
 
 A. At half-past seven, immediately after his dinner. 
 
 Q. Did you speak to him? 
 
 A. Yes, Monsieur; I asked him if he wanted anything 
 of me. But he said no, that he was going to write two 
 or three letters, and that he should go to bed early, so as 
 to be up the next morning to meet the diligence from 
 Marseilles. " Shall I wake you, Monsieur?" I asked. " it 
 is not necessary," he answered, " I shall wake myself, if 
 indeed I sleep at all." 
 
 Q. You have had charge of M. Vidal's apartments for 
 some days, have you not? 
 
 A. Yes, Monsieur; I went up every morning at ten 
 o'clock to take his orders. Then I did not see nim again 
 till he returned in the evening.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 23 
 
 Q. Did any one come in. the morning to see him? 
 
 A. Two or three friends, always the same; they ap- 
 peared in a great hurry, chatted for a moment of matters 
 of the Bourse, and soon went away. 
 
 Q. You have not noticed lately any stranger with M. 
 Vidal? 
 
 A. Oh, pardon me, Monsieur; there came, day before 
 yesterday, about five o'clock, a person whom I never saw 
 before. He was a tall, light-haired young man, very 
 handsome and very elegantly dressed, and with a rather 
 tired look. When he learned that Monsieur Vidal had 
 gone out and would not probably return, he appeared 
 very much annoyed, and told me that he would return the 
 next morning. 
 
 Q. Did he do so? 
 
 A. No, Monsieur. 
 
 Q. You are certain of that? 
 
 A. Yes, Monsieur; I even remarked it to M. Vidal, 
 who answered: "Oh! I don't want to see him." 
 
 Q. You must have known his name then and told it 
 to M. Vidal, for him to have made that response? 
 
 A. No, Monsieur, but I described him to M. Vidal, 
 and he knew him at once. 
 
 Q. Are you certain that this person did not return 
 yesterday evening? 
 
 A. I did not see him. 
 
 Q. If you should meet him, would you recognize him 
 without difficulty? 
 
 A. Without the slightest difficulty. 
 
 Q. Have you examined the dagger-knife found in this 
 apartment, and which was evidently used to commit the 
 crime? 
 
 A. Yes, Monsieur; it was I myself who perceived it 
 and called the commissary's attention to it.
 
 34 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Q. This dagger did not belong probably to M. Vidal? 
 
 A. On the contrary, Monsieur, it was always upon bis 
 desk and he used it sometimes for a paper knife. 
 
 Q. Reflect carefully on what you are saying. This 
 detail is of great importance. 
 
 A. Oh, I am certain I am not mistaken, Monsieur. 
 Besides, Madame Vidal, Mademoiselle Marietta and all 
 M. Vidal's friends know that knife. 
 
 Confidential Notes submitted by the Commissary of Police of the 
 Bourse. 
 
 At the moment of his death, Maurice Vidal could not 
 have had valuables of importance in his apartments. He 
 had carried the previous evening thirty thousand francs, 
 the amount of his savings and of his recent commissions, 
 
 to M. R , a stock broker, and had ordered him to buy 
 
 some stock in his wife's name. 
 
 As for the bonds which had been confided to him by 
 his customers, either to be sold or transferred, it is well 
 known that it was M. Vidal's custom to deposit them at 
 
 the bank or with M. R , who is at this moment in 
 
 possession of some railway bonds given to him by M. 
 Vidal. M. Vidal had only a small number of customers, 
 all of whom had dealt with him for a long time, and he 
 rarely accepted new ones. His reason for not doing so is 
 generally attributed to an important loss which he expe- 
 rienced in 1845 from a M. Blondeau, who left for America 
 at the moment he was called upon to pay a large sum of 
 money. 
 
 Another person, known on the Bourse as Albert Savari 
 de Montbrise', is said to have owed M. Vidal for three 
 years a sum of about fifty thousand francs. This debt was 
 the cause last year of a regrettable scene. 
 
 M. Vidal, suddenly perceiving his debtor on 'Change,
 
 IN THE RtTE DE tA 
 
 marched straight up to him and said : " Monsieur, when 
 a man does not pay his losses and disappears on settling 
 day, he ought to be ashamed to show himself here." 
 
 " Monsieur," replied Savari, with effrontery, " I am not 
 in the habit of being dictated to." 
 
 " Well, you shall be dictated to to-day; I am going to 
 kick you out, and I shall see that you are forbidden to 
 enter the Bourse in the future." 
 
 The deed would perhaps have followed the threat, de- 
 spite the size and strength of M. Vidal's adversary, but 
 several persons interfered. 
 
 The result of this encounter was that M. Savari was 
 obliged to appear the following day at the Bourse and 
 give his note for fifty thousand francs, which must have 
 fallen due during the present month. 
 
 It would seem, moreover, that this note has never been 
 discounted and that M. Vidal kept it at home. " I do 
 not know whether it will be paid or not," he said recently 
 to M. de Rastain, one of his friends, who lives at No. 14 
 Rue Taitbout and from whom we have this information. 
 u If I sue him, I shall probably lose my case, as the law 
 does not recognize debts OA the Bourse, but I intend to 
 give myself the satisfaction of bringing M. Savari before 
 the courts. His trickery and insolence have disgusted 
 me. Many people have caused me to lose money, but I 
 have taken into consideration their ill luck, and so far 
 from being angry with them, I have often done them 
 favors. M. Savari's case is different," he added, with 
 great bitterness, " and I await impatiently the moment 
 when I can tell him all that I think of him." 
 
 Such is the information obtained up to the present mo- 
 ment. If anything new turns up, I shall hasten to inform 
 you of it. There is much sorrow manifested on the Bourse 
 at M. Vidal's death; he was greatly liked and respected j
 
 26 FEDOBA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 the whole topic of conversation is the tragedy in the Rue 
 de la Paix. 
 
 While these different reports were being prepared and 
 sent to the public prosecutor, Fedora Vidal was a prey to 
 the greatest grief. 
 
 She had been cast down, in one instant, from the high- 
 est happiness to the deepest and most hopeless misery. 
 She had arrived home after a long absence, overjoyed at 
 the thought of seeing again the one she loved, full of 
 happiness, feverish with impatience; and suddenly, with- 
 out preparation, without any warning, she found death in 
 her house, crime at her fireside. Those arms which she 
 expected would embrace her, hung inert and cold; that 
 heart which should have pressed against her own, beat no 
 longer; those lips which should have sought hers, were 
 pale and icy. 
 
 A serious illness attacks a person who is dear to you ; 
 you hasten to him, you give him your tenderest care, you 
 surround him with your affection, you love him all the 
 more on account of the short time he has to live, and you 
 give him your whole heart. He grows worse and you 
 press n&arer his bedside, you ask for his last wishes, you 
 seek to satisfy any desire he may have; his last thought 
 is for you, for you also his last word and his last smile. 
 When he is no more, you live on those last days, and the 
 memories they have left you, all cruel as they are, aid you 
 to suffer, perhaps, with more courage and resignation. 
 But to be struck, as was Fedora Vidal, so unexpectedly; 
 not to have the consolation of receiving the last word, the 
 last embrace, the last look; to have quitted a man full of 
 health, strength and love, and to find only a dead body, 
 is frightful ! And near her, no friend, no relation, only 
 Marietta! For Fedora was a stranger in Paris, and given
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 27 
 
 Up entirely to her love, in the egoism of her passion, she 
 had never thought of making friends. If she could have 
 wept and prayed near that body, which was now her all ! 
 But no, even that body does not belong to her, it belongs 
 to justice. It is the mission of justice to watch it, to ex- 
 amine it, to order an autopsy. Justice replaces relations, 
 the widow, the mother, for it represents more than the 
 family; it represents society outraged by a crime. 
 
 This crime, despite the mystery which surrounds it, and 
 which we have not yet penetrated, can not remain unpun- 
 ished. But what steps will justice take to attain its end ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Two important letters, for they will serve to make 
 known one of our principal characters, are among the 
 papers which have reference to this affair. They are a 
 little yellowed by time. The first is written upon cheap, 
 unpretentious paper. It is scrawled, rather than written. 
 It is plain that the hand which traced those characters 
 had no time to lose. The second letter in no respect re- 
 sembles the first; it is as aristocratic as the other is ple- 
 beian. The paper is thick and glossy, and bears a crest. 
 It is defaced with neither erasures nor interlineations; 
 there are not fifty words on the page. The writing is long 
 and delicate, with a certain satisfied air about it. It is 
 not in the English style, nor is it a round hand; it is 
 neither too regular nor too careless; it is simply the hand 
 of a man for whom correspondence has a certain charm, 
 and who h is no other distraction. 
 
 We think we ought to make the reader acquainted with 
 the interesting contents of these two letters.
 
 28 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Vfbert, Secretary of the Commissariat of Police of the 
 First Arrondissement, Section of the Tuileries, to Monsieur le 
 Marquis de X - , Peer of France. 
 
 MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS: I ovre everything to you: it is 
 you who, in remembrance of certain services once ren- 
 dered your family by my father, took care of my child- 
 hood, and had me educated at one of our best religious 
 establishments. I ought, in gratitude for all your kind- 
 ness, to have followed the career you desired for me. I 
 should to-day, thanks to your influence and never- varying 
 goodness, have been vicar in some good parish or cure in 
 a quiet little village. But I had a vocation, an irresistible 
 vocation, which, in your paternal goodwill, you attempted 
 to combat but uselessly, as I acknowledge to my great 
 shame. 
 
 Whence comes this vocation ? I have often questioned 
 myself on this subject, and in vain. It is easily under- 
 stood when a young man feels himself drawn toward 
 painting, writing or speaking; he may become an orator, 
 an author or an artist, and acquire at the same time fame 
 and fortune. But to desire, like me, but one thing in the 
 world, to have but one end, namely, to become acquainted 
 with criminal matters and police business, is at least 
 peculiar, I acknowledge. Such was, however, the sole 
 dream of my life, and to-day when this dream has become 
 a reality, I am forced to confess that I regret none of 
 the careers which it would have been easy for me to 
 follow. I look about me, and I see nothing to envy. 
 
 Does this vocation come, not from some moral peculi- 
 arity, as would seem at first, but from a physical peculiar- 
 ity? As when a tall, strong, broad-shouldered man of 
 sanguine temperament is filled with a desire to become a 
 soldier, have I also in my turn been drawn toward the 
 police, because my figure is short and slightly crooked,
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 29 
 
 my temperament bilious, and my eyes so bad that I am 
 obliged to wear blue glasses? 
 
 There is evidently herein matter for analysts to reflect 
 upon, and I offer them as a subject my lean but sinewy 
 person. 
 
 However, this vocation exists, Monsieur le Marquis, 
 and do not think that it has as a basis a praiseworthy 
 sentiment; that it has its source, for example, in a desire 
 to be useful to my country. No. To you, Monsieur le 
 Marquis, who, as you have told me, make a collection of 
 all reports and cases of moral depravities, who are glad 
 to encounter them and to laugh at the expense of our 
 age, I do not fear to confess that, when I perform my 
 police duties, the interest of individuals, the interest of 
 the government, the interest of my country never pre- 
 occupy me. I work for art and my personal satisfaction. 
 
 Ah! how many rivals I should have in my calling if it 
 were known what joy it is to penetrate, as I do, into the 
 life of others! 
 
 Remember, Monsieur le Marquis, that my physical de- 
 fects have prevented me from living up to the present time 
 on my own account; that I have had a thousand unsatis- 
 fied desires, a multitude of longings that were impossible 
 of fulfillment. Well, I solace myself for my forced in- 
 action, by watching others live, by living their life. I 
 busy myself with their affairs, I share their sentiments, I 
 rejoice with them, I suffer with them. Then, what delight- 
 ful consolation the public is so obliging as to bring to me. 
 When, extended in the arm-chair of the commissary of 
 police, I fall into a dream of the joys of the domestic 
 hearth, of the sanctity of marriage, of conjugal love, 
 which alas! I shall never know, suddenly a husband rushes 
 into my office, and asks me excitedly to come with him 
 and surprise his wife with her lover. Again, when I sigh
 
 00 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 for the happiness of having children, a father comes to 
 beg me to arrest his son who has stolen from him, and 
 is ruining him, or to pursue his daughter who has eloped 
 with an actor. 
 
 And then I clap my hands, Monsieur le Marquis, and 
 cry: " Vibert, thank heaven for your little infirmities; if 
 you were constituted like every one else, you would wish 
 to live like every one else, and you would suffer for it." 
 
 These, Monsieur le Marquis, are the principal reasons 
 which make of me one of the oddest employe's which the 
 government possesses; an employ 4 who loves his position, 
 who is content with his lot (contentus sud sorte), and 
 who does not grind his teeth at his chiefs and the state. 
 Such a case has never been heard of before, and I hope 
 after my death a compartment will be reserved for me in 
 one of the museums, with this placard: A Satisfied Em- 
 ploy6 (species extinct). "But, Vibert," you say, "why 
 this^long-winded discourse? It is only justice to say, 
 that you never write me except to ask for something; 
 what can you have to ask of me, since you are satis- 
 fied?" 
 
 Now, Monsieur le Marquis, I have come to the point 
 by a roundabout way, as is proper for an officer of the 
 police. Yes, satisfied as I am, you have guessed it, my 
 dear protector, I want something; but it is not advance- 
 ment, nor increase of salary; it is simply a change I want; 
 
 1 would like for a time to pass from the sitting police, 
 if I may make use of such an expression, to the active 
 police. Instead of listening to reports of agents in and 
 out of uniform, of open and secret agents, I would like 
 to be charged, in my turn, with making reports. 
 
 Imagine me- Monsieur le Marquis, stepping out of my 
 house some morning entirely transformed, my spectacles 
 changed for an eyeglass, wearing an imperial, and with
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 31 
 
 heels which increase my height two inches; ia my hand 
 a sword cane, and in my pocket, snugly reposing, one or 
 two warrants and a pair of handcuffs. In my button hole 
 a foreign decoration, blue, green, yellow, or pink, accord- 
 ing to my humor or my taste; for you are aware, Monsieur 
 le Marquis, that the agents of the secret police, for the 
 purpose of concealing their identity, confer upon them- 
 selves a host of honorary distinctions. Then, transformed 
 in this way, I put myself on the track of the criminals 
 who have been pointed out to me; I run, I creep, I fall 
 down, I jump into carriages, I leap up behind them, I 
 travel ten leagues or I remain twelve hours in the same 
 place with my eyes fixed upon a closed door. Ah! what 
 incomparable happiness! 
 
 I have up to this point spoken only of ordinary enjoy- 
 ments, of every day affairs; swindlers, thieves, refugees 
 from justice, commonplace malefactors. But suppose I 
 should have to do with some terrible enemy of society. 
 Then I arm myself to the teeth, I rush upon the enemy, 
 I expose my life, I strike and am struck; or I play the 
 fox, I manoeuvre, I make the assault by stratagem, and I 
 come out victorious. Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, it must be 
 a great satisfaction to be able to say: " It is by my work that 
 that miserable assassin was discovered; it is I who have 
 avenged society outraged by him; without me he would 
 still be at large and able to do injury. The gendarmes 
 and policemen lent me assistance, I acknowledge it; the 
 examining magistrate was most skillful, the prosecut- 
 ing attorney was more eloquent than his opponent; the 
 judge, instead of summing up in a few words, made a 
 strong speech; the jury did not hesitate to condemn; the 
 court of appeals confirmed the sentence; the petition for 
 pardon was rejected; the executioner performed his terri- 
 ble duty with firmness; in short, every one did his duty.
 
 82 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 But it was I who traced out that duty. It was I who 
 prepared the accusation and the scaffold." 
 
 If I am thus excited, Monsieur le Marquis, over some 
 imaginary criminal, judge of my zeal when there is some 
 particular case, a real subject. Ah! my eyes sparkle, my 
 heart beats quicker, my hand thumps the commissary's 
 leathern arm-chair. 
 
 I have a case, a superb case, a case which occupies the 
 attention at this moment of Paris, France, Europe itself; 
 I mean the tragedy in the Rue de la Paix. " What! you 
 know the murderer? " you exclaim, Monsieur le Marquis. 
 No, I do not know him; but this tragedy interests me, 
 excites me, and something tells me that I alone can place 
 justice upon the tracks of this mysterious assassin. 
 
 And to think that with two words from you, two words 
 written to the prefect of police, I shall quit the Rue St. 
 Honore 1 , all necessary aid will be given me, and I shall 
 begin the campaign and win the fight! 
 
 Will you write those two words, my dear protector? 
 Will you? It is not only to punish a great criminal, but 
 to avenge a woman. A woman! Oh! if you only knew 
 her! The purest, the most charming, the most beautiful 
 of women! And I dared to suspect her, her! I shall 
 never forgive myself for having had such a thought until 
 I can say to her: " Madame, here is your husband's mur- 
 derer. I deliver him up to you! " 
 
 Please to excuse this long letter, Monsieur le Marquis, 
 and continue to show me your usual kindness. 
 
 Response of the Marquis de X , Peer of France, to Monsieur 
 
 Vibert. 
 
 PARIS, October 22, 1847. 
 
 Upon my word, my dear boy, your letter did not anger 
 me; on the contrary, I was delighted. There you are,
 
 m 

 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 33 
 
 morally broken down, as I warned you. The immortal 
 principles of '89, the rights of man, the overthrow of 
 monarchies, could have no other result. Like all the men 
 of your generation, who have nothing to rely upon, no 
 solid faith, you are corrupt to the marrow of your bones. 
 
 Ah! I brought you up as honestly as possible, I had 
 instilled into you excellent principles, I destined you for 
 a notary or a priest, and one fine day your sole ambition 
 is to become an agent of police. 
 
 But a truce to sentiment; I am going to tell you the 
 truth; what fascinates you in the new duties you desire 
 to perform is to live outside of society, to be in contact 
 with all vice and all corruption, to share the pleasures of 
 the lawless people you are charged with watching, and 
 to become familiar with their libertine manners. In my 
 time, Monsieur, those who had a taste for debauchery 
 went about it boldly, in the face of all. But your genera- 
 tion has not even the courage of its vices; it wears the 
 mask of virtue; it does not even call persons and things 
 by their true names. 
 
 But, good Heavens! Where am I straying to? I am 
 preaching a sermon. Have I any right to correct you at 
 all? All's well that ends well, and you will end, I hope, 
 by falling from vice to vice, from depravity to depravity, 
 and by being punished for your revolutionary baseness. 
 
 Of course I am speaking in general. Against you 
 personally, Vibert, I am not angry; you belong to your 
 age, that's all. It is not your fault if your ancestors over- 
 threw kings, and if in your plebeian veins there is some 
 old Jacobin blood. I am even pleased with your frank- 
 ness; you are less hypocritical than the others, you do 
 not try to hide your faults. So I have been willing to 
 grant what you desire. I have seen the prefect of police, 
 and have praised your zeal; he will see you to-morrow, 
 
 3
 
 34 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 and he authorizes you to leave your place in the sitting 
 police, as you call it. 
 
 Now, don't thank me; I don't like that. I do not 
 believe in the gratitude of the people, nor of individuals. 
 But if, in your own interest, you desire to be agreeable to 
 me, keep me posted as to this mysterious affair, and see 
 that I am informed, before every one else, of every 
 movement in it. Great crimes have always preceded 
 revolutions, and perhaps in 1848 
 
 By the way, didn't you say that a pretty woman was 
 mixed up in this crime of the Rue de la Paix? Another 
 reason for letting me know all that happens. Despite 
 my seventy-six years, I still think that the best thing in 
 humanity is woman. 
 
 Good luck to you! Go to work and try to unearth 
 the mystery. I await your report. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For some time after the crime in the Rue de la Paix, 
 every newspaper, pretending to be well informed, printed 
 all sorts of information, contradicted the next day in 
 another issue. 
 
 One morning it was announced that Fedora Vidal had 
 committed suicide, and the same evening she was resus- 
 citated. The following day the murderer had been dis- 
 covered and had made a confession. His trial was to 
 come off at the next assizes. 
 
 The journalists attached to the papers arrested in this 
 way a dozen persons a week. Some of these made angry 
 denials and the statements were withdrawn. Others were 
 silent because they did not exist, and their inventors con-
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 35 
 
 tinued to charge them with iniquities for the satisfaction 
 of Parisian curiosity. 
 
 However, the papers soon had to acknowledge that the 
 police were greatly puzzled; for a long time, no case had 
 presented itself under such a mysterious aspect. A crime 
 had been committed, there could be no doubt of that, and 
 all idea of suicide must perforce be abandoned. But the 
 assassin, with the exception of the terrible wound he 
 had inflicted, had left no trace of his passage. The 
 weapon which he had used belonged to the victim, and, 
 after the most minute researches, there had been discovered 
 in the apartment in the Rue de la Paix none of those 
 objects which ordinarily serve to enlighten the magis- 
 trates and often to convince a jury. In a case recently 
 tried in England, a hat forgotten by the murderer led 
 to his condemnation ; a knife lost by Latour near the 
 bed of his two victims brought about his death-sentence; 
 and a button dropped from a shirt was sufficient to cause 
 more than one head to fall. But here there was nothing 
 similar, no material indication which could justify a war- 
 rant being issued. It was necessary to have recourse to 
 moral probabilities, and to enter into the vast field of 
 conjecture and supposition. 
 
 Who could have had an interest in killing Maurice 
 Vidal? This was the point of departure, but a point yet 
 to be discovered. Was it his wife? No intelligent per- 
 son could believe that for a second ; Fedora was worthy 
 of every sympathy; the blow which struck her husband 
 had nearly killed her also. Far from suspecting her, one 
 ought to think of avenging her. 
 
 Was it a common robber? a professional thief ? His 
 presence would have been noticed in the house in the 
 Rue de la Paix; he could not have resisted the temptation 
 >f taking the sum of gold found in the desk; he would
 
 36 FEDORA t OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 
 
 have carried off the many valuable objects contained in 
 the apartment, and Maurice Vidal, besides, would not 
 have attempted to write a name he could not have known. 
 
 Was it an inmate of the house? This would explain 
 the testimony of the concierge, who declared that he had 
 not opened the door to any stranger during the evening 
 of the 19th of October. But all the information in regard 
 to the inmates of No. 6, who were moreover small in 
 number, showed that they were peaceable citizens, un- 
 known to the police, and who could not, with any appear- 
 ance of reason, be suspected of the crime. 
 
 One only of these inmates attracted attention for 
 awhile; this was an American, about forty years old, who 
 had hired, two months before, a little apartment on the 
 fourth floor. An examination of his rooms was ordered, 
 but nothing out of the way discovered. He was examined 
 and came out unscathed. 
 
 Was it one of the persons whom Maurice Vidal was in the 
 habit of receiving? They were summoned as witnesses, 
 and from their clear and precise testimony and informa- 
 tion as to their morality from all quarters, it resulted that 
 there could not exist a shadow of suspicion against them. 
 
 Was it, finally, the individual mentioned by the con- 
 cierge as having come to see M. Vidal on the 18th of Oc- 
 tober, and whom the commissary of police of the Bourse 
 had reported on at length? Had he entered the house in 
 the Rue de la Paix without being perceived? 
 
 This individual, named Albert Savari, was not entirely 
 unknown at police headquarters. Although he had never 
 served any sentence, he had been mixed up in one or two 
 shady affairs; his antecedents were not all that could be 
 desired, and there were some dark corners in his life. He 
 was, moreover, in debt to Maurice Vidal for a considera- 
 ble sum, and he had not been able to take up his note.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 37 
 
 No more was needed to call the attention of the law in 
 his direction, and a warrant was issued against him. 
 
 This energetic measure was demanded by the interest 
 excited by the affair; every one was talking about it. As 
 often happens in Paris, where the most serious matters 
 are treated lightly, bets were offered as to whether the 
 guilty person would or would not be discovered. Several 
 opposition newspapers even took advantage of the oc- 
 casion to complain of the manner in which police duties 
 were performed; they were astonished that it was so easy 
 to commit a murder in the Rue de la Paix and so difficult 
 to discover the murderer. The most advanced of these 
 sheets went so far as to give it out that a powerful person- 
 age might be compromised in all this, and that the police 
 had received orders not to act. The arrest of Albert 
 Savari was the first answer to these attacks. 
 
 We shall now accompany him to the office of the ex- 
 amining magistrate, M. Gourbet, who had charge of the 
 matter. 
 
 His office resembled all offices devoted to judicial exam- 
 inations. A door opened upon a vast corridor furnished 
 with benches and serving as an antechamber for the con- 
 stables, witnesses, and all persons who had received a 
 summons to appear. A little door, more obscure, gave 
 direct communication with the department of the Con- 
 ciergerie, and was used for conducting prisoners in and 
 out. The desk was placed so that the one who occupied 
 it could turn his back to the light, and leave the witness' 
 face turned toward the window. This might be of great 
 advantage in observing the slightest change in the expres- 
 sion of a prisoner. One is as easily betrayed by a gesture, 
 an attitude, a look or a sudden change of color as by 
 words, and often an unexpected question, suddenly put to 
 a criminal is sufficient to enlighten a judge. 
 
 394867
 
 38 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 A little table near the desk was for the use of the 
 clerk charged with drawing up the report of the exami- 
 nation. A leathern arm-chair, two or three chairs for the 
 witnesses and the prisoners, according to their social 
 position and the degree of interest which they inspired, 
 completed the furniture. 
 
 M. Gourbet ceased to perform his duties as examining 
 magistrate in 1850, and he has now been dead for many 
 years, which allows us to praise him, without wounding 
 any one's feelings. He was certainly a magistrate who 
 has left the pleasantest memories behind him at the 
 Palais do Justice. If we believe the persons who knew 
 him, it is impossible for any one to possess in a highef 
 degree the rare qualities exacted by his profession. He 
 knew how to unite with a firmness and severity, too often 
 necessary, a kindness, and in certain cases, a delicacy, a 
 way of reassuring timid people, of giving courage to the 
 weak, of consoling the guilty, which merited all encomium. 
 In a word, he had solved this difficult problem: To do 
 good even to those whom his conscience commanded him 
 to strike most severely. One of his clerks said, one day: 
 " Half of M. Gourbet's life is passed in sending people 
 to prison, and the other half in finding reasons for releasing 
 tin-in or softening their punishment." 
 
 At the moment we enter his office, the 2nd of Novem- 
 ber, about eleven o'clock in the morning, M. Gourbet was 
 standing with his elbow resting upon the mantelpiece, 
 engaged in conversation with a young lady in deep 
 mourning, seated in an arm-chair. It was Fedora Vidal, 
 whom he had interviewed several times and who had 
 been summoned to his office. 
 
 " So, Madame," he said, " there is nothing new since 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Monsieur."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 39 
 
 " Do not fear to tell me even the things which appear to 
 you the most insignificant. In a judicial examination, it 
 often happens that light is suddenly obtained from a fact 
 which no one regarded at first as of any importance. You 
 have had the courage, I hear, not to leave your apartment 
 in the Rue de la Paix, and you continue to live in the 
 place where the crime was committed? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," exclaimed Fedora, interrupting M. 
 Gourbet, " I shall never till I die leave that house where 
 we were so happy." 
 
 And, as she spoke, the long pent-up tears rolled down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Since the day when we saw her descend so joyously from 
 the Marseilles diligence, Fedora was greatly changed. 
 Her face was thin, her eyes were encircled with dark rings, 
 and a heavy pallor replaced the rich color of her cheeks. 
 
 Sorrow was evident in her whole person. But she was 
 so young, her features were so faultlessly regular, through 
 her pallor could be perceived still so much health and life, 
 that she had lost nothing of her beauty, but had acquired, 
 on the contrary, an additional charm. 
 
 The magistrate could not help contemplating her with 
 interest; then, when he saw she was calmer, he said: 
 
 "I ask your pardon, Madame, for recalling thus your 
 suffering; but you can be of great service to me in help- 
 ing me with the task entrusted to me and which I hone 
 to succeed in." 
 
 "Oh! yes," cried Fedora, raising her head quickly, 
 " you must succeed, Monsieur. You will avenge my hus- 
 band we will avenge him! " 
 
 " I hope so," answered M. Gourbet. " But I must tell 
 you that in all my career, although it is a very long one, 
 I have rarely met with so mysterious an affair as this. 
 All the links which I thought to be able to connect are
 
 40 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 broken in my hands. I can only advance now on tiptoe 
 and with extreme caution, for if it is wounding to the 
 self-conceit of a magistrate, whose power is so extend- 
 ed, who has so many resources, to give up the discov- 
 ery of a criminal, it is still more bitter to his con- 
 science to arrest an innocent man, only to ultimately 
 release him." 
 
 "But then," said Fedora, "the guilty man would never 
 be found. My husband ordered me to avenge him, and I 
 will obey him! " 
 
 " And I say again, Madame, I will aid you. But we 
 must first find the murderer, and I fear that we are not 
 yet upen his tracks." 
 
 " But I read last evening in the paper that the assassin 
 had been arrested." 
 
 "The papers are mistaken, Madame, or rather they de- 
 ceive their readers in order to appear well informed. A 
 man was, indeed, arrested yesterday by my orders; he is 
 to appear before me in a few moments; there is certain 
 evidence against him which justified his arrest, but it is by 
 no means conclusive. The proofs against this prisoner 
 are rather moral than material. I will say more, there is 
 almost no material proof. Wait," he added, taking 
 several papers from his desk, " here is a report of the com- 
 missary of police charged with arresting this individual. 
 It seems that his attitude was not that of a criminal; he ap- 
 peared greatly astonished, very much surprised, when the 
 warrant was shown to him, and if he were playing a part, 
 he must be a skillful actor, for he succeeded in deceiving 
 one of our oldest employes. The prisoner's rooms were, 
 as is usual, subjected to the most careful examination, and 
 the result, without being absolutely negative, furnished us 
 with no conclusive proof. I do not rely much upon dis- 
 covering anything in his approaching examination," con-
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 41 
 
 eluded M. Gourbet, with a glance at the clock over the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Fedora understood that she was dismissed, and she rose 
 to take leave of the magistrate; but, before retiring, 
 she asked him the name of the person who had been ar- 
 rested. 
 
 " Albert Savari de Montbrise," replied M. Gourbet. " I 
 told you his name before and you said you did not know 
 him. It is a pity, for any information you might have 
 given us in regard to him would have been invaluable." 
 
 " No," replied Madame Vidal, after a moment's reflec- 
 tion, " I do not think I have ever heard my husband men- 
 tion him, and yet, just now, when you pronounced that 
 name, I felt again the same emotion I experienced be- 
 fore." 
 
 "What emotion? What do you mean? Explain your- 
 self." 
 
 " I can not explain. I do not understand it myself. 
 The day when I heard you say for the first time ' Albert 
 Savari de Montbrise,' it seemed to me that I turned pale, 
 that my heart beat more quickly; I wished to see if I was 
 right, if the same phenomenon would be repeated, and so 
 I asked you just now to tell me again that name, although 
 I knew it and it is constantly present in my thoughts." 
 
 " There is nothing strange in that," observed M. Gour- 
 bet. " Monsieur Savari is the only person seriously com- 
 promised in this matter. You know that, and his name 
 naturally causes you a certain emotion." 
 
 " Possibly, Monsieur. You asked me to acquaint you 
 with all my impressions, and I obeyed you." 
 
 " Thank you, Madame," answered the magistrate, con- 
 ducting Fedora to the door. 
 
 " Didn't you tell me at our last interview," he added, 
 as he was bidding her farewell, " that you had been an-
 
 '42 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 noyed for several days by people coming to you with 
 offers of service? " 
 
 "Alas! yes, Monsieur, and I do not like their appear- 
 ance. Most of them pretend to belong to the police and 
 to be charged with examining the apartment." 
 
 " In future, Madame, receive only those persons who 
 bring a note from me. The least one can do is to respect 
 your sorrow, and see that you are not the victim of the 
 curious and prying." 
 
 " This very morning," said Fedora, with her hand on 
 the door-knob, "an individual presented himself who 
 almost insisted on being received. But Marietta, know- 
 ing that I was preparing to come here, refused to admit 
 him. He left his name and said he would return." 
 
 "What was his name? " 
 
 "Vibert, I think." 
 
 " Vibert! " said M. Gourbet, as if trying to remember. 
 " Ah! I have it! I am sorry you did not see him, Madame. 
 He is, it seems, a very intelligent, active and zealous man; 
 he might on occasion be useful to us, as he was very 
 highly recommended to me yesterday by the prefect of 
 police." 
 
 " I will see him, when he calls again." 
 
 After bowing to the magistrate, she was about to turn 
 the handle of the door, when she perceived that some 
 one was trying it on the other side. 
 
 She started back; the door opened and gave pass?ge to 
 a little man about fifty years old. He whispered a word 
 or two in M. Gourbet's ear, and sat down at the clerk's 
 table. 
 
 " He tells me the prisoner is here," said M. Gourbet. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Fedora, "then I will go." But stopping 
 suddenly on the threshold, she advanced resolutely to the 
 magistrate, and said: " I should like to see him! "
 
 IN THE KITE DE LA PAIX. 43 
 
 The thin little man, who was occupied with cutting a 
 quill-pen, raised his head quickly, as if he thought these 
 words very strange. 
 
 M. Gourbet, less astonished than his clerk by reason of 
 the conversation he had just had with Madame Vidal, 
 regarded her attentively, and satisfied doubtless with his 
 examination, 
 
 " What you ask, Madame, can be arranged," he said. 
 
 The little man, more and more surprised, started, and 
 cut his finger instead of his pen. 
 
 "Do you feel you have the courage," continued M. 
 Gourbet, " during the whole examination, not to say a 
 word nor make a movement which would betray your 
 presence in my office? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, I have the courage." 
 
 "Even if I should happen to make Monsieur Savari 
 confess that he is your husband's assassin? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; I shall die, perhaps, but I shall die in 
 silence," cried Fedora, with the Italian vehemence peculiar 
 to her. 
 
 M. Gourbet made a sign to the little man, who glided 
 toward him. 
 
 We use the word glide designedly in speaking of the clerk. 
 He had a very peculiar manner of walking; his feet did 
 not leave the ground, his legs were not raised, his knees 
 were not bent; he seemed to make no use of his joints, 
 but advanced, like a car gliding over the rails. 
 
 This clerk, who is still remembered among the lawyers, 
 was an excellent man, however. How often 1 have seen 
 him slip into the hand of some unhappy prisoner, after his 
 examination, a little paper of tobacco bought with his 
 own savings. " You are in for it! " he would whisper. 
 " I have read over the report, your case is clear, and you 
 will get ten years at least; take this to console you." 
 
 D
 
 44 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 When the prisoner was an old acquaintance, who had 
 often appeared before the magistrate, the thin little man 
 would add sometimes to the paper of caporal a cheap clay 
 pipe. 
 
 "You understand, Monsieur Cordier?" said the magis- 
 trate, after having spoken in a low voice to his clerk. 
 
 "It shall be done as you desire, Monsieur," replied 
 Cordier, solemnly. 
 
 He called an attendant, ordered him to place a screen 
 in one of the corners of the room, and this being done, he 
 took Madame Vidal gallantly by the hand, and without a 
 word or a look, continuing to glide over the floor, he led 
 her behind the screen, made her sit down, arranged the 
 screen carefully, and returned to his customary place be- 
 hind the table. 
 
 Scarcely were these preparations finished, when the 
 prisoner was shown into the magistrate's office. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Albert Savari, as the concierge of No. 6 Rue de la Paix 
 described him in his examination, was a tall, fair man, 
 with distinguished manners. At first sight, one would 
 judge him to be about forty, but after an attentive exam- 
 ination, it was plain that he was only thirty-four or five, 
 and that late hours and fatigues of all kinds had prema- 
 turely aged him. 
 
 It must be acknowledged, however, that his rather 
 languid air, his slightly gray hair, and his heavy eyes, in- 
 stead of injuring the prisoner's personal appearance, gave 
 him an air of distinction and a peculiar charm. His toilet 
 was simple but elegant, when he presented himself before
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 45 
 
 M. Gourbet; no one accompanied him, orders having been 
 given that the gendarmes who had conducted him to the 
 examination should remain outside in the corridor. He 
 saluted the judge without affectation, sat down at the 
 latter's invitation, and spoke first, without waiting for M. 
 Gourbet to begin his interrogatory. 
 
 "May I know, Monsieur," he asked, rather stiffly, but 
 with perfect calmness, " for what reason I was so unex- 
 pectedly arrested yesterday, and why I am now brought 
 before you ? " 
 
 "Monsieur," replied M. Gourbet immediately, "you are 
 brought before me to answer the questions I shall put to 
 you, and not to interrogate me, as vou appear to have the 
 intention of doing." 
 
 " It is natural, however, Monsieur, that I should wish to 
 know of what misdemeanor or crime I am accused. I 
 have vainly questioned the agents charged with my arrest; 
 they refused to answer me." 
 
 "They only did their duty, Monsieur," replied the 
 examining magistrate, in a firm voice. " But what they 
 could not tell you, I am here to inform you of, and I 
 should have already done so, if you had not spoken first, 
 contrary to all the rules of this office." 
 
 "I do not know your rules, Monsieur; I am not in the 
 habit of being here." 
 
 " I congratulate you, and I hope that you will not 
 have to appear before me again. You are not accused of 
 a misdemeanor," continued M. Gourbet, after a pause, 
 regarding the prisoner fixedly; "you are accused of a 
 crime." 
 
 "Ah! really! what crime?" 
 
 " Of having murdered a young man named Maurice 
 Vidal." 
 
 Albert Savari did not move a muscle, at hearing this
 
 46 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 clear and precise accusation; his countenance did not 
 betray the least emotion, and addressing the magistrate, 
 he said: 
 
 " I confess that I was far from expecting to be com- 
 promised in the affair of which I have heard so much talk 
 during the last few days. Would it be indiscreet for me 
 to ask you, Monsieur," he continued with perfect courtesy 
 and as if he were in a drawing room, " what are the rea- 
 sons for suspecting me of such a crime?" 
 
 "You shall know them soon, Monsieur; but, as youi 
 first curiosity is satisfied, we will now proceed in a regular 
 manner. Please give me your surname and Christian 
 names. Monsieur Cordier, take note of the questions 
 and answers, please." 
 
 " My name is Albert Savari," replied the prisoner, turn- 
 ing toward the thin little man, who was regarding him 
 with interest. 
 
 "Do you not usually bear another name?" asked the 
 magistrate. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, I am sometimes called de Mont- 
 brise." 
 
 " If my information is correct, you have no right to bear 
 that name. How did you come by it? " 
 
 " I took it from some land that has always belonged to 
 my family." 
 
 "That does not constitute a right to it. But that is 
 immaterial. How old are you?" 
 
 " Thirty-six." 
 
 " What is your profession? " 
 
 " I have none." 
 
 "How do you live, then?" 
 
 " I live well enough, Monsieur." 
 
 " Pardon me," said M. Gourbet, severely, " I can not 
 allow you for one moment to use a jesting tone in your
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 47 
 
 replies. If you should happen again to be less serious 
 than your position of prisoner demands, I shall not hesi- 
 tate to send you back to jail and postpone your examina- 
 tion to another day." 
 
 Savari listened quietly to this reprimand, and made no 
 answer. 
 
 " I ask you," continued the magistrate, " what are your 
 means of existence? " 
 
 " Monsieur," replied the prisoner, in a much more seri- 
 ous tone and in which was apparent no shade of lightness, 
 " if you mean by means of existence an income from gov- 
 ernment bonds or real estate or some particular employ- 
 ment, I must acknowledge that I have none. Like many 
 young men of our age, I live from day to day; sometimes 
 rich by accident, but most often poor. Sometimes I 
 make a fortunate speculation on the Bourse, sometimes I 
 win at play. I have had fifty thousand francs at my dis- 
 position on the 10th of the month, and on the 15th I 
 could not pay my board bill. This is queer and irregular, 
 I confess, but it is true; and since you appear to desire 
 the truth, Monsieur, I have given it to you." 
 
 "A sad truth, Monsieur, which might in jure you before 
 a jury." 
 
 "A jury! " said Albert Savari, without apparent emo- 
 tion at the words designedly spoken by the magistrate. 
 "Oh! I don't think I shall have to appear before a jury. 
 You will not be long, Monsieur, in acknowledging my 
 entire innocence." 
 
 "We will take care of that question presently. Mean- 
 while, I will continue my examination. Were you not 
 once before, when you were scarcely twenty-five, brought 
 before a magistrate?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; it was in regard to a duel." 
 
 " In which you killed your adversary."
 
 48 FEDORA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "That is true, Monsieur, I had that misfortune; but I 
 was acquitted." 
 
 " The reports of that case mention you as a dissipated 
 man." 
 
 "Ah! Monsieur, I was neither more nor less dissipated 
 than the young men with whom I associated, and who 
 have since become quiet, honorable citizens. Some are 
 doctors, some lawyers, some magistrates. Ask them to 
 tell you how they lived from the age of eighteen to 
 twenty-five, in what places they passed a part of their 
 evenings, what society they frequented, and, if they are 
 frank, you can apply to them as well as to me that epithet, 
 dissipated." 
 
 "You are also said to possess a violent temper," 
 observed M. Gourbet. 
 
 " That is true ; I have always, unfortunately for myself, 
 been very hot-headed." 
 
 " You do not fear to acknowledge that? Such a declara- 
 tion would be of great importance in the matter in ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " I do not see what importance it can have, Monsieur, 
 as I had nothing to do with the affair you speak of." 
 
 M. Gourbet paused. He was astonished at the man's 
 ease and coolness. However, during his long career, he 
 had often met with capital actors, certain criminals who 
 had defended their life and liberty, step by step, for whole 
 days, with the greatest skill and cunning. But in the 
 present instance, he met with new tactics; the prisoner 
 seemed to have called frankness to his aid and made use 
 of it as a defensive weapon. Far from trying to gloss 
 over or palliate his faults, he acknowledged them without 
 bragging, but also without weakness; far from wishing 
 to deny his habits and manner of life, he confessed ail 
 their irregularity.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 49 
 
 " This man is innocent, or else he is endowed with 
 great force of character and rare intelligence," thought 
 M. Gourbet. 
 
 "The occasion of the duel," he continued, "is not the 
 only time you were brought before the courts. You do 
 not speak of a certain affair " 
 
 "I was waiting for you to do so, Monsieur; you told me 
 I was here only to answer your questions, and I have not 
 forgotten it." 
 
 "True! Then, will you tell me if you were not com- 
 promised in a certain quarrel over a game of cards?" 
 
 " I had something to do with it," replied Savari. " A 
 certain young man who had lost sixty thousand francs and 
 was unable to pay up the next day, accused the men to 
 whom he owed the money of having manipulated the 
 cards, in fact, of having robbed him. That thing hap- 
 pens every day, Monsieur; unlucky players, instead of 
 blaming, as they ought, their luck and sometimes the 
 absurd manner in which they play, prefer to accuse their 
 opponents and to say they are the victims of cheating. 
 This kind of accusation allows them to get rid of paying 
 their gaming debts. In the matter of which you speak, 
 a complaint was made against a dozen persons, one of 
 whom I was; we were summoned before a magistrate, 
 examined, made to produce the cards alleged to have 
 been marked, and from all this there was but one result; 
 our slanderer settled his debt with us at the end of six 
 months, instead of settling it the next day. It is only just 
 to add that we demanded of him a written apology, to 
 which request he judged it best to accede." 
 
 Albert Savari gave these details with so much uncon- 
 
 straint, his voice was so sympathetic, and he seemed so 
 
 much at his ease, that the clerk himself forgot for a 
 
 moment where he was, imagined himself in some drawing 
 
 4
 
 60 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 room entertained by an agreeable visitor, and instead of 
 writing, as he ought, caught himself listening. 
 
 There was nothing to betray Madame Vidal's presence 
 behind the screen. She observed the most religious 
 silence, as she had promised. 
 
 After a few moments' reflection, M. Gourbet, having no 
 more preliminary questions to put, entered upon the sub- 
 ject of the crime with the abruptness which magistrates 
 sometimes employ to intimidate and confuse the criminal. 
 
 "How did you pass the evening of the 19th of October 
 last?" he asked Savari. 
 
 "How did you, Monsieur? " responded the latter. 
 
 This unexpected answer was of a nature to irritate any 
 magistrate, however patient he might be. 1 M. Gourbet 
 rose and exclaimed: 
 
 "Monsieur, you forget the respect due to the law, 
 which I represent at this moment. I am about to give 
 orders to " 
 
 " Monsieur," replied Albert Savari, interrupting him in 
 a very firm tone, but with an exquisite politeness destined 
 to calm the judge's natural irritation, " I assure you, you 
 have mistaken the meaning of my words. I had no 
 intention to insult a magistrate, whose manners and 
 language, severe as they are, have not ceased for a mo- 
 ment, I am forced to recognize, to be courteous and 
 polite. I only wished, by that question I addressed you 
 in answer to your own, to make you understand how 
 difficult it was to reply to you. You ask me point-blank 
 what I did the 19th of October, and I reply: What did 
 you do? 1 am sure that, with the best intentions in the 
 world, anybody, asked thus suddenly to account for his 
 actions, would be at a loss what to say." 
 
 "That depends, Mor.si ;ur, on the life one leads," said 
 M. Gourbet, seating himself again. " If the question is
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 51 
 
 an embarrassing one for some people, it would not be for 
 all. But this discussion has given you time to reflect- 
 can you answer me now? " 
 
 "I will try to, at least, Monsieur. Unless I am mis- 
 taken, I must have dined at the Cafe Anglais." 
 
 "Are you known there?" 
 
 "Perfectly, for some years." 
 
 "At what time do you think you left there?" 
 
 " It must have been about eight o'clock." 
 
 " Be precise, I beg, Monsieur. Your answers are of the 
 greatest importance; for the crime must have been com- 
 mitted between eight and nine o'clock," said M. Gourbet, 
 whose tactics now consisted in appearing perfectly frank. 
 
 " Monsieur, if I had committed that crime," replied 
 Savari, " I should know at what hour I committed it, and 
 then I should answer you that I remained at the Cafe 
 Anglais till nine o'clock, in order to prove an alibi" 
 
 " But your statement can easily be proved false." 
 
 " On the contrary, it would be very difficult to do so, 
 Monsieur. The habitues of the Cafe Anglais dine very 
 late; it is not a rare thing to see the rooms quite full at 
 nine o'clock, and, out of the five or six waiters, at least 
 half would probably in all good faith declare that they 
 saw me at that hour. If I say that I left about eight 
 o'clock, it is because I wish to approach as nearly the truth 
 as possible." 
 
 " Very well! you left the Cafe 1 Anglais at eight o'clock; 
 what did you do then?" 
 
 " I must, according to my usual custom, have walked 
 about an hour on the Boulevard des Italiens." 
 
 "What persons did you meet? Did you stop to speak 
 to any of your friends? " 
 
 Albert Savari reflected in the most natural manner in 
 the world, and answered:
 
 62 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " No, I think I met no one, and I walked alone." 
 
 " That seems strange," observed the magistrate. " The 
 weather was very fine on the 19th of October, and there 
 must have been many of your acquaintances on the Boule- 
 vard des Italiens at nine o'clock in the evening." 
 
 "Possibly, Monsieur; "but I did not happen to see 
 any of them. Besides, allow me to say that, at nine 
 o'clock in the evening, the Boulevard des Italiens is 
 less frequented than at any other time; everybody has 
 gone to the theatre or to the club or to some social 
 gathering." 
 
 "After that walk of an hour, where did you go?" 
 
 " I went home for a moment." 
 
 "It was then nine o'clock, you say?" 
 
 "About nine o'clock." 
 
 " Your concierge, who has been examined since your 
 arrest, says he did not see you till about ten." 
 
 "Nine, half-past nine or ten are all the same to a con- 
 cierge who sleeps half the time," observed the prisoner. 
 
 "And why did you return, contrary to your usual cus- 
 tom, at that hour?" 
 
 "Oh! for a very simple reason, Monsieur; I had put 
 on in the morning a light overcoat, and as it was growing 
 cold, I went to exchange it for a heavy one." 
 
 "It would have been simpler to have gone directly to 
 the house where you passed the night." 
 
 " That I was going to that house was the very reason 
 T wished to be dressed more warmly. I not unfrequently 
 leave there at two or three in the morning, and I took 
 my precautions in case that should happen." 
 
 " Did you not rather," asked the magistrate, " lay aside 
 your light overcoat because there were spots on it which 
 might compromise you? " 
 
 " Spots ! " said Savari, calmly. " What spots ? "
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 63 
 
 "Two or three spots of blood. How do you explain 
 them?" 
 
 " I do not explain them at all. There are none there," 
 replied Savari, firmly. 
 
 M. Gourbet had hoped that the prisoner, if he were 
 guilty, would betray himself at this statement, and would 
 try to explain the drops of blood, by speaking of a nose- 
 bleed or a cut, as murderers usually do in similar cases. 
 Any explanation of this kind would have been fatal to 
 Albert, for despite the most careful examination, no spots 
 like those designedly spoken of by M. Gourbet had been 
 found. The magistrate was obliged to acknowledge to 
 himself that his ruse had not succeeded, either because 
 Savari was innocent or because he was wonderfully clever 
 and self-controlled. But fearing lest his stratagem might 
 be discovered, M. Gourbet did not abandon too quickly 
 the question he had raised; he told the prisoner that the 
 spots on his overcoat would be analyzed by a skillful 
 chemist. Savari did not flinch, but, facing the magistrate, 
 seemed to be waiting for him to continue his interrogatory. 
 
 "After remaining a short time at home," continued M. 
 Gourbet, "you went to the house of a person named 
 Pelagie d'Ermont, formerly a woman in good society, 
 and with whom you live." 
 
 " Pardon me, Monsieur," said Albert Savari, smiling, 
 " I know Madame d'Ermont, I even know her very well, 
 I confess, but I do not live with her." 
 
 " Don't let us quibble as to words; you are her lover." 
 
 " Possibly, but it is an advantage shared with several 
 others." 
 
 " Granted, but the person in question has very luxurious 
 tastes, she spends large sums on her house, her dress and 
 her carriages, and you must contribute to this costly 
 style of living."
 
 54 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Indeed, Monsieur, I have spent some money on the 
 person you mention. But, in your position as magistrate, 
 you must know, as well as I, all the corners of Parisian 
 life, arid you can not be ignorant that one can be agree- 
 able to a woman like Madame d'Ermont and be admitted 
 to her house, without being absolutely obliged to ruin 
 one's self for her." 
 
 Savari gave this explanation in a familiar, careless tone, 
 as if he were chatting with a friend. M. Gourbet himself 
 had a little relaxed his former stiff manner. He listened 
 graciously to the prisoner and regarded him with a less 
 severe eye; he was under the charm of his sympathetic 
 voice, and his intelligent and distinguished appearance; 
 he forgot for a moment that he was in his office, face to 
 face with a man suspected of an odious crime. 
 
 He rose and walked up and down the room, and Savari 
 also left his chair and stood, leaning with his elbow on 
 the mantel. 
 
 Suddenly M. Gourbet, remembering Fedora Vidal's 
 presence in his office, was curioift to know what she was 
 doing and advanced toward the screen. 
 
 A casual glance was sufficient to satisfy his curiosity. 
 Fedora, perfectly motionless, was awaiting in silence 
 the conclusion of the examination. Her pallor struck 
 the judge and recalled to him the gravity of the occa- 
 sion. He returned to his desk, and commenced on a 
 new tack. 
 
 " Did you know Maurice Vidal?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," replied the prisoner. 
 
 " How long? " 
 
 " For about three years." 
 
 "How did you make his acquaintance." 
 
 "One of our mutual friends, M. de Montoux, to whom 
 I mentioned one day my desire to speculate on the
 
 IN THE RUE BE LA PAIX. 55 
 
 Bourse, offered to introduce me to M. Vidal; the latter 
 received me pleasantly and consented to fill my orders." 
 
 "Without any guarantee or margin?" asked M. Gourbet. 
 
 " My word was sufficient for him, Monsieur. The 
 operations, besides, were very small ones; the difference 
 at each settling could not have exceeded one or two thou- 
 sand francs." 
 
 " That was not always the case," observed the magis- 
 trate; "you once lost a considerable sum." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; a point I received one day caused me 
 to forget my usual caution; I g&ve M. Vidal an order, on 
 the Bourse, which he immediately executed, unfortunately 
 for me; my information was incorrect, and all my calcu- 
 lations were upset." 
 
 "How much did you lose by this speculation?" 
 
 " Twenty thousand francs." 
 
 "According to my information you lost fifty thousand." 
 
 "Pardon me, Monsieur; the first operation cost me 
 twenty thousand francs; then I made a second and a third, 
 in order to retrieve myself, and my losses amounted in all 
 to fifty thousand francs." 
 
 " And M. Vidal did not try to stop you in a course fatal 
 alike to you and to him, since he would be responsible 
 for your losses?" 
 
 " M. Vidal had seen me pay, without delay, certain less 
 important but still considerable sums; he had no reason 
 to doubt my solvency." 
 
 " And what was the result of these losses? " 
 
 " The bill was presented to me, and I was obliged to 
 declare that I needed time to pay it." 
 
 "What was M. Vidal's answer? " 
 
 " I must confess that he took it badly." 
 
 " An unfortunate scene took place between you and him 
 on the Bourse, did it not? "
 
 66 FEDORA: OB, THE TBAGEDY 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Monsieur Cordier," said the magistrate, turning to his 
 clerk, " will you read to the prisoner the report of the 
 commissary of police of the Bourse in regard to that 
 scene?" 
 
 The thin little man took a paper lying on his table and 
 read slowly the report from which we have given extracts. 
 
 When he had finished, M. Gourbet asked Savari if the 
 facts were correct. 
 
 " Entirely so," responded the prisoner. 
 
 " So you acknowledge that, after your altercation with 
 M. Vidal, you gave him, on his demanding it, your note 
 for fifty thousand francs?" 
 
 " Certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 "What became of that note?" asked the magistrate 
 quickly." 
 
 " It must have been found in my rooms, when they were 
 searched." 
 
 "Yes, it was found there; but how did it get there? " 
 
 " In a very simple way ; I paid it and it was returned 
 to me." 
 
 " Who returned it to you? " 
 
 " M. Maurice Vidal himself." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "The day before his death, which was the day after 
 my note became due." 
 
 "That is impossible; you went to the Rue de la Paix 
 and you did not find him at home." 
 
 "Yes, that is true; they told me that M. Vidal was out 
 and that he would return in the evening. But I was in a 
 hurry to be out of his debt; I knew his ill will toward 
 me since our altercation, and I feared another outbreak; I 
 set out to seek him and I found him." 
 
 "Where?"
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 57 
 
 " In the Rue Vivienne, which it was his habit to take 
 every day, on leaving the Bourse. It must have been 
 about half past three." 
 
 " And you paid him in the street? That is not likely." 
 
 "Why not, Monsieur? People connected with the 
 Bourse constantly exchange important valuables on the 
 staircase of the Bourse or in the neighboring streets. 
 Fifty thousand francs do not make a bulky bundle." 
 
 " And you mean to say that M. Vidal carried your note 
 with him?" asked the magistrate. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, he had it with him, for he gave it 
 up to me at once." 
 
 "That is incredible." 
 
 " Allow me to call to your attention, Monsieur, that M. 
 Vidal, when I gave him my note, warned me that he 
 should at once place it in the hands of a constable, if 
 it were not paid the very day it fell due. It was the 
 day after, and he had heard nothing of me, and he must 
 have had the note with him in order to put his threat 
 into execution." 
 
 M. Gourbet, visibly annoyed at Savari's answers, paused 
 a moment, and then said: 
 
 " The story you have so skillfully imagined is defec- 
 tive in one essential point: M. Vidal declared to many 
 persons that he had no hope of being paid by you. If 
 he had been paid, as you affirm, he would have certainly 
 announced this good news to his friends." 
 
 " He would hardly have called on them especially for 
 that purpose, and I suppose he did not happen to meet 
 any of them." 
 
 " There you are wrong. He dined with one of them on 
 the 19th of October." 
 
 " Very well, Monsieur," said Savari, not at all discon- 
 certed, " then he was preoccupied with some other matter,
 
 68 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 or lie might have had reasons for not making known what 
 had happened. It is sometimes imprudent to say to a 
 friend: 'I have received a sum of money which I did 
 not expect.' The friend might be tempted to try to 
 borrow from you, and you would be very much em- 
 b:i missed." 
 
 " Well, you are never so, Monsieur, at all events. You 
 always have in reserve some answer more or less good," 
 observed M. Gourbet, thoroughly out of temper at last. 
 " What will you reply to this question: How did you pro- 
 cure that sum of fifty thousand francs, which you pretend 
 to have paid?" 
 
 The prisoner, who up to this moment had answered 
 without hesitation, was silent." 
 
 "Didn't you hear?" asked M. Gourbet; "or do you 
 need time to prepare your reply?" 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur," said Albert Savari, with a smile, "if 
 I hud needed time to prepare my reply, I should have had 
 all 1 wished since the beginning of this examination; the 
 question you ask me is of great importance, and I must 
 certainly attend to it. My hesitation comes simply from 
 the fact that I fear my answer will not be satisfactory to 
 you." 
 
 " Ah ! indeed." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, to you who are a man whose life is a 
 regular one, and who can not approve of certain odd ways 
 of raiding money." 
 
 "What ways?" 
 
 After having thus skillfully prepared the judge for what 
 he was about to hear, Savari continued: 
 
 "I had," he said, "been greatly worried for two months 
 in regard to my debt to M. Vidal; I knew that he was an- 
 gry with me, and I feared a suit, the least result of which 
 would be disgrace to me. I, therefore, had . recourse to
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 59 
 
 one of those means which are not new, which many 
 young men in Paris employ in desperate cases, but which 
 ordinarily do not succeed. Early in October, I sold vari- 
 ous pieces of jewelry and objects of art which I had been 
 able to save from my different shipwrecks, I borrowed 
 twenty-five louis from one friend and thirty from another, 
 and- 1 managed to scrape together in this way three 
 thousand five hundred francs. With this sum I left for 
 Spa, where, Monsieur, there are games of roulette and 
 trente-et-quarante. 1 risked a thousand francs there, and 
 thanks to a new method which I had been studying for 
 a long time, I succeeded in winning ten thousand francs in 
 two days." 
 
 The magistrate showed signs of utter incredulity, but 
 Savari did not appear to perceive the effect produced by 
 his recital, and continued: 
 
 "From Spa I went to Germany; I stopped at Baden, 
 Homburg and Wiesbaden, and I played in all these places 
 with the same good luck. In short, Monsieur, after an 
 absence of some days, I returned to Paris the fifteenth 
 of October with a sum of fifty-five thousand francs which 
 enabled me to pay off in full my creditor. That is my 
 story: it is at bottom a very simple one, but, unfortu- 
 nately for me, like all really simple things, it appears at 
 first sight very complicated." 
 
 " Very complicated, in truth, Monsieur," replied the 
 judge. " This story has no value at all in my eyes, and it 
 will be of no use in establishing your innocence, as the 
 facts you have advanced can not be proven." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, it can easily be established that 
 I left Paris the first week in October, that I went to Spa 
 and stopped at a hotel near the Conversation Rooms, the 
 Hotel d'Orange, I think; my name is inscribed on the 
 register. At Baden I occupied a room in the Victoria
 
 60 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Hotel, and at Homburg in the Belle-Vue. Finally, if 
 necessary, I can prove that I returned to Paris on the 
 15th." 
 
 " And how -will you prove that you won fifty thou- 
 sand francs?" 
 
 "That is more difficult, I confess. However, many 
 persons saw me play and win." 
 
 " Germans, Belgians, unknown foreigners ! How can 
 you find them?" 
 
 " Great Heavens, Monsieur 1 " cried Savari, with a cer- 
 tain animation, as if he were hurt at having his word con- 
 stantly doubted; "if I had guessed, when I was seated 
 at the gaming tables in Germany, that, on my return to 
 France I should be accused of murder; that, to defend 
 my life and liberty, I should be obliged to prove my 
 winnings at play, I should have obtained a written cer- 
 tificate from the croupiers." 
 
 Without replying to this rather sarcastic speech, in 
 which for the first time, since the beginning of this long 
 interview, the prisoner had lost his calmness, M. Gourbet 
 rose, and, turning to Savari, said: 
 
 " My clerk will read the report of your examination, 
 which you will then please sign." 
 
 " Very well, Monsieur," replied the prisoner. 
 
 He drew his chair toward M. Cordier's table and ap- 
 peared to listen with extreme attention. 
 
 During the reading, which lasted more than half an 
 hour and which Savari interrupted by no observation, M. 
 Gourbet, seated behind his desk, was buried in profound 
 reflection. He saw that, in spite of his efforts, he had 
 failed to pierce the mystery which surrounded the crime 
 of the Rue de la Paix; on the contrary, it was all the 
 more dense. It was toward Albert Savari that his sus- 
 picions had been directed; of all the persons connected
 
 IW THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 61 
 
 with the affair, he was the only one who could reasonably 
 be supposed to be guilty, and now the prisoner had es- 
 caped him. Yes, he had escaped him, or rather he would 
 escape him before long, for there were only negative in- 
 dications, so to speak, against him. To the questions 
 which had been put to him, he had not always answered in 
 an entirely satisfactory manner, but none of his responses 
 condemned him. Although he had given no certain 
 proof of his innocence, there was, on the other hand, no 
 proof of his guilt. 
 
 M. Gourbet could, keeping strictly within the law and 
 with no qualm of conscience, still keep Savari under 
 arrest; but he recognized that there were not sufficient 
 proofs against the prisoner to send him up to the court 
 of assizes. 
 
 All these reflections to a magistrate so conscientious 
 as M. Gourbet were of great importance. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Savari to the clerk, when the reading 
 was terminated, " the answers which I have had the honor 
 to make to the examining magistrate have been inscribed 
 by you with the most perfect accuracy. I have nothing 
 to say against this statement and I sign it most willingly." 
 
 He then rose, took his hat from the mantel-piece and 
 seemed to be waiting for M. Gourbet's orders. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the judge, visibly ill at ease and a 
 little troubled by the manner of the prisoner, " I shall 
 have to examine you again, and meanwhile I am obliged 
 to keep you under arrest." 
 
 Albert Savari made no answer, but simply bowed in 
 silence. 
 
 " But," added M. Gourbet, " I can somewhat alleviate 
 your position. You will be no longer in close confinement." 
 
 "Oh!" said the prisoner, "I don't mind that. When 
 one has reached my age and lived the life I have, it is well
 
 62 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 to be able to be quiet and think over one's life. Parisian 
 existence does not leave us a moment for repose; we 
 are constantly tossed about in the whirlpool of business 
 or pleasure; we have no time to think, only time to act. 
 My captivity will rest my mind, and I shall leave prison, 
 I hope, less nervous and feverish, stronger in mind and 
 body. So, while thanking you for your good intentions, 
 I beg you not to carry them out. Then, I must confess, 
 Monsieur, that I anticipate no visit from any one; I have 
 no intimate friend, and none of my acquaintance will put 
 themselves out to come and see me, I am sure. Besides, 
 I shall see everybody in a few days, when I am released, 
 and that will be soon enough." 
 
 " As you please, Monsieur," replied the judge, saluting 
 Savari, in his turn, to indicate to him that their interview 
 was ended. Then, turning to his clerk, " Monsieur," he 
 said, " tell the men outside that the prisoner is ready." 
 
 Savari comprehended at once the kindness shown him. 
 He was allowed to leave the magistrate's office as he had 
 entered it, as a visitor, as a man of the world, and not 
 as a prisoner; he would find his escort of gendarmes in 
 the corridor. He bowed in recognition of the courtesy, 
 opened the door himself, and disappeared. 
 
 Then Fedora Vidal, who had kept her promise so loyally, 
 who had interrupted by no word or gesture the examina- 
 tion of such interest to herself, rose, threw down the screen 
 which had hidden her, and advanced pale and grave toward 
 M. Gourbet. 
 
 When she was two steps from him she stopped, and 
 extending her arm toward the door through which Savari 
 had passed: 
 
 " The man who has just gone out through that door, 
 the man you have been examining," she cried, "is the 
 murderer of my husband ! "
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 63 
 
 vni. 
 
 Overwhelmed with surprise at hearing this energetic 
 accusation of a man whom he, the examining magistrate, 
 was almost disposed to believe innocent, M. Gourbet tried 
 to make Fedora Vidal understand that her sorrow rendered 
 her unjust, that her ardent desire to avenge her husband 
 blinded her. 
 
 To all his arguments she answered with these words: 
 
 " I am not mistaken, I am sure I am not mistaken." 
 
 " Did you notice," asked the judge, " in the prisoner's 
 attitude, looks or words, anything which escaped me?" 
 
 " Nothing in particular." 
 
 " Then, upon what do you base, not your suspicions, but 
 your conviction?" 
 
 "Upon nothing and upon everything; when that man 
 entered your office, I felt the most extraordinary sensa- 
 tion ; when he spoke, I quivered in every nerve. Why, if 
 he is innocent, should he cause me such emotion ? You 
 have brought me before two other suspected men and I 
 was perfectly calm. This Savari is strongly connected- 
 with my life. I have suffered through him, and I shall 
 again. I am certain of it! " 
 
 " You are an Italian, Madame, and consequently some- 
 thing of a fatalist." 
 
 " Possibly, Monsieur, but at this moment I am logical- 
 Whence comes the terrible feeling that overcame me at 
 the presence of a person I had never seen, never known? 
 He is guilty, Monsieur; I tell you he is guilty! " 
 
 And her gestures, her attitude, the tone of her voice, 
 her sparkling eyes, all combined to sustain this strange 
 accusation. ., She looked exceedingly beautiful, like some
 
 64 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 priestess of ancient Rome denouncing to the people a 
 profaner of the Temple. 
 
 While M. Gourbet was regarding her in amazement 
 and wondering how he could calm her excitement, an 
 officer entered and handed him a paper. 
 
 "Is he here?" asked the judge, with a rapid glance at 
 the document given him. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 "Admit him." 
 
 An instant afterward the door opened and Vibert en- 
 tered. In his letter to the Marquis de X , peer of 
 
 France, he has sketched his own portrait, so we need not 
 describe him again. 
 
 "You desired to speak to me?" asked the magistrate 
 as the agent of police saluted him respectfully. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, I have come to place myself at your 
 orders in regard to the assassination in the Rue de la Paix." 
 
 " You called upon Madame, did you not? " asked the 
 judge, pointing to Fedora. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, but I was not received," replied Vibert, 
 regarding Madame Vidal through his blue glasses. 
 
 "Are you acquainted in all its details with the affair 
 you just mentioned?" 
 
 "Almost so, Monsieur; I was one of the first to enter 
 the apartment in the Rue de la Paix a short time after the 
 discovery of the crime." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I remember; did not the commissary of 
 police of the Tuileries mention you in his report? " 
 
 " He may have done so, Monsieur." 
 
 " And he also spoke, it seems to me, of certain suspicions 
 you conceived at first." 
 
 " Suspicions which were absurd and which I now regret," 
 replied Vibert quickly, interrupting the judge and casting 
 a glance full of repentance at Madame Vidal. " Let me
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 65 
 
 say In my excuse that I entertained them only for a 
 second. They are now taking quite another direction." 
 
 " Toward whom? " 
 
 " Toward the same person that you suspect, Monsieur, 
 since you had him arrested yesterday." 
 
 *' You mean Albert Savari ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Here is the report of the examination he has just 
 undergone; read it attentively." 
 
 Vibert sat down in the place of the absent clerk, leaned 
 his elbows on the table with his head in his hands and 
 was soon absorbed in his occupation, while M. Gourbet, 
 seated before the fire, conversed with Fedora. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it?" asked the magis- 
 trate, when Vibert rose at the end of a quarter of an hour. 
 
 " Will you permit me to speak frankly? " 
 
 Certainly." 
 
 " Then I think that after this examination it is impos- 
 sible to commit him for trial." 
 
 "I am of your opinion; he must be discharged." 
 
 " Unless something new is discovered," added Vibert. 
 
 "Do you know anything?" asked the judge with 
 interest. 
 
 " No, Monsieur, but I shall seek, and I shall find some- 
 thing." 
 
 " If you are sure you are on the right track, and Mon- 
 sieur Savari is the culprit," observed M. Gourbet. 
 
 "He is! " suddenly cried Madame Vidal, who had not 
 lost a word of the conversation. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the agent of police, turning quickly 
 toward Fedora, " Madame is convinced of the guilt of 
 the prisoner?" 
 
 " Convinced." 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Vibert, forgetting the presence of the 
 
 5
 
 66 FEDORA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 magistrate, and giving full vent to his delight. " Bravo! " 
 he repeated, " Savari is lost; I am certain now of finding 
 proofs against him!" 
 
 M. Gourbet could not help regarding with curiosity this 
 agent of police, who brought enthusiasm and frankness 
 to the exercise of a profession in which dissimulation and 
 coldness are ordinarily employed. 
 
 But Vibcrt soon regained his self-control, and, striking 
 his forehead as if he had an idea, said: 
 
 " You probably remarked, Monsieur, during the exam- 
 ination, that you had no ordinary man to deal with." 
 
 " Certainly," replied M. Gourbet. " Innocent or guilty, 
 Savari is a remarkably clever man." 
 
 " Then," continued Vibert, " we shall gain nothing by 
 keeping him in prison." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 *' Because a man of his force of character will not be af- 
 fected by a few days' or even weeks' confinement. And he 
 certainly will not impart his confidence to any fellow-pris- 
 oner. It sometimes happens that a common criminal finds 
 in jail some old comrade and confides in him; some com- 
 rade who has become a police spy, and in this way impor- 
 tant revelations are obtained. But nothing of that sort can 
 happen in this case. Savari will not meet at the Concier- 
 gerie, or any other prison, any person of his acquaintance." 
 
 " What do you advise, then ? " asked M. Gourbet. 
 
 " I should advise, Monsieur, if you will deign to allow 
 me to offer advice, that the prisoner be immediately set 
 at liberty." 
 
 " And then what do you hope for ? Will he betray 
 himself any the more because he is free?" 
 
 " There is certainly more chance of his doing so." 
 
 " But suppose that, alarmed by what has happened to 
 him and fearing to be arrested again, he takes to flight?"
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 67 
 
 "That is not probable, Monsieur; if he had been going 
 to fly, he would have done so immediately after having 
 committed the crime, supposing he did commit it. He 
 must have counted on his coolness and cleverness to 
 baffle all your efforts. He will have even more confidence 
 in himself, after having fallen into the hands of justice 
 and escaped. Savari, moreover, is one of those thorough 
 Parisians to whom Paris is indispensable, who can not 
 live elsewhere, and who brave all sorts of danger rather 
 than expatriate themselves. It is not only in his case 
 that we can perceive this; how many malefactors, who 
 would be perfectly safe abroad, or even elsewhere in 
 France, risk their liberty and sometimes their head, to 
 come and breathe the air of Paris, so necessary to their 
 lungs! Still, supposing Savari to be guilty, I would bet 
 my life this is the way he reasoned: ' I have committed 
 a crime which can send me to the scaffold; what line of 
 conduct shall I pursue? Shall I fly? But that would be 
 a confession of my guilt. If I am captured, which is 
 possible, I arn lost. If I am not, I shall lead a wretched 
 life among foreigners and without means of existence. It 
 is much better to remain and run the risk of being 
 arrested; I have enough intelligence to take care of my- 
 self.' And this is what he did. Now," continued Vibert, 
 after having taken breath, for, filled with his subject, he 
 had spoken with great volubility, " after the prisoner is 
 set at liberty, I propose to subject him to the strictest 
 surveillance; I shall take charge of this myself and see 
 that he can not suspect it." 
 
 " Very well," said the magistrate, " the prisoner is free. 
 But what is your plan?" 
 
 "My plan? Oh! Monsieur, I must have time to 
 arrange that. But I feel here," he added, striking his 
 forehead, " I feel here that it will succeed."
 
 68 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 M. Gourbet regarded Vibert attentively. His usually 
 pale face was flushed, his eyes sparkled under his glasses, 
 his figure was erect, and he seemed convinced of what he 
 said and sure of himself. 
 
 The magistrate, with his great experience of men, saw 
 at once that there was before him one of those agents of 
 police who love their profession and who can render ines- 
 timable services to society, if properly employed. He 
 therefore resolved to make use of so valuable an ally. It 
 is not the habit of examining magistrates to deal directly 
 with agents of police and to charge them with special 
 missions; but, in this particular case, M. Gourbet thought 
 he need not conform to custom. 
 
 " So, you answer for your success? " he asked of the 
 Marquis de X 's protege. 
 
 " If Savari is guilty," replied Vibert, without hesita- 
 tion, " I promise to bring you proofs of his guilt; but 
 upon certain conditions." 
 
 " Name them," said the judge. 
 
 " In the first place," replied the agent, " he must be set 
 at liberty by to-morrow." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 " Notices should be sent to the different judicial journals 
 announcing this fact. You must appear to regret Savari's 
 arrest and state that you became convinced of his inno- 
 cence after a sincle examination. This will prevent his 
 suspecting anything; he will believe himself entirely 
 free and he will be less guarded in his words and ac- 
 tions." 
 
 " I approve your idea," said M. Gourbet, who could 
 not help admiring the agent's sagacity. " And after 
 that? " 
 
 " Ah! Monsieur, then comes the most difficult point. 
 I desire to have entire carte blanche in this matter, to be
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 69 
 
 subject for some time to no control, to be hampered by no 
 order from the courts or the prefecture, and to be able to 
 command such money as may be necessary, if, in order not 
 to lose sight of the accused, I shall have to indulge in a 
 certain luxury." 
 
 " I will communicate your requests to the authorities, 
 and I hope they will be granted." 
 
 " Then, Monsieur," said Vibert, " I have only to retire 
 and await your decision; if it is favorable to me, I shall 
 arrange my plan of action, and proceed at once to put it 
 into execution." 
 
 He spoke these words in the confident tone of a gen- 
 eral setting out on an important expedition and taking 
 leave of the minister of war. Then, turning to Fedora, 
 who had listened in silence to the preceding conversation, 
 and in whose eyes Vibert, by his assurance and promises, 
 had assumed gigantic proportions, he said: 
 
 " Madame, it will perhaps be necessary for me to con- 
 sult you; will you give orders to have me admitted at 
 your house?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Madame Vidal, " I will see you 
 whenever you choose to come." 
 
 Vibert bowed and disappeared noiselessly, while Fedora 
 took leave of the judge. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The various requests made by Vibert were doubtless 
 granted, for, the next day, the following notice appeared 
 in the Court Gazette : 
 
 " M. Albert S , whom we announced yesterday as 
 
 being implicated in the assassination of the Rue de la Paix,
 
 70 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 and who was arrested, was immediately set at liberty 
 after an examination in which no shadow of proof appeared 
 against him. Moreover, certain information has reached 
 us that the officers of justice know who the real culprit 
 is; he has fled abroad, but he will certainly be discovered 
 and delivered up to the authorities, as extradition is 
 always easily obtained in cases of murder. Our readers 
 can rest assured that we shall keep them informed of all 
 news that reaches us, unless it be of a nature to hamper 
 the action of justice, if made public." 
 
 This notice was believed to be sincere, and the opposi- 
 tion newspapers did not let slip so fine an opportunity of 
 giving a slap at the Government. They were full of pity 
 for Savari and spoke of him as the sad victim of another 
 judicial error. 
 
 In Paris the slightest events often assume gigantic pro- 
 portions. For a week Savari was a political personage, a 
 martyr. His forty-eight hours detention was as much 
 deplored as if he had spent twenty years in prison; his 
 case was even compared to that of Lesurques. 
 
 The National published a leading article on the sub- 
 ject, which created a profound sensation. 
 
 Among the other papers relating to this matter, we 
 find this article, and will reproduce it verbatim: 
 
 " A citizen is seated tranquilly at his fireside, his feet 
 in his slippers, thinking over the events of the day; sud- 
 denly a loud knocking is heard at his door, his home is 
 invaded, his desk forced open and his private papers read. 
 A man in uniform, assisted by supernumeraries, directs 
 this proceeding. And if the citizen, whose abode is thus 
 violated, demands the reason of the outrage, he is 
 answered that it is none of his business, that it will be 
 explained to him by the proper authorities. If he 
 becomes angry, and, knowing his innocence, dares to
 
 IIT THE RUB DE LA PAlX. 71 
 
 resist the man in uniform, he is immediately overpowered, 
 handcuffed, thrown into a cab, driven off to prison, where he 
 is searched, his pockets emptied and his name inscribed 
 in a register, and then, without the least explanation 
 being vouchsafed him, he is shut up in a cell, in close con- 
 finement. Close confinement! A method of torture 
 destined to weaken his intelligence and to crush his brain 
 as the rack crushes the body! 
 
 " He remains twenty-four hours, often forty-eight, with- 
 out being examined. Forty-eight hours a century! 
 And during this century, he sees "no one; he wonders if he 
 is dreaming if he is sane! 
 
 "Finally, they remember him; gendarmes escort him 
 through sombre corridors, and he finds himself before an 
 examining magistrate. 
 
 " ' Monsieur,' says the latter to him, * you are accused of 
 having assassinated Monsieur X .' 
 
 " ' Monsieur X ? I! When? ' 
 
 " ' A week ago.' 
 
 "'Where?' 
 
 " ' In the Rue Dauphine.' 
 
 " ' But a week ago, Monsieur, I was at Marseilles with 
 my family. Everybody can bear witness to that. I had 
 just arrived in Paris when I was arrested by your 
 orders.' 
 
 " ' What? How? You can prove an alibi? Why did 
 you not say so before?' 
 
 "'Before? To whom? Was I questioned? No! I 
 was simply locked up ! ' 
 
 "'Monsieur, if you speak the truth, you will soon be 
 set at liberty.' 
 
 " ' That is only my due. But you owe me more than 
 that.' 
 
 '"What do you mean?
 
 72 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 ': 
 
 " ' Who will indemnify me fdr the tortures I have suf- 
 fered? for the disgrace attached to my name? for the loss 
 occasioned by my absence from my business? And how 
 about my children, who have seen their father dragged to 
 prison? and my aged mother, whom the least emotion 
 may kill, and who is perhaps dead now? What do you 
 think of all that, Monsieur? Do you believe that you are 
 quits with me when you say: We were mistaken; you can 
 return home?' 
 
 " ' Monsieur, we thought you guilty, there were proofs 
 against you, and we only did our duty.' 
 
 " ' No, Monsieur, instead of issuing a warrant of arrest, 
 you should have simply summoned me to appear before 
 you.' 
 
 " ' And suppose, knowing yourself guilty, you had fled? ' 
 
 "'I should have been taken, unquestionably. It is 
 too often forgotten in France that a suspected man is 
 not necessarily guilty, that he has rights, and that instead 
 of dragging him before a magistrate, the magistrate 
 should examine him at his own house, and then have 
 him arrested, if necessary, after the examination.' 
 
 *' ' Monsieur, we often do that.' 
 
 " ' Monsieur, you should always do it.' " 
 
 * ****** 
 
 All these articles delighted Vibert. 
 
 " Savari," he said to himself, " will never imagine that 
 he is any longer suspected or that he is watched. He will 
 forget his caution, make some false step, and I shall 
 pinch him ! " 
 
 Then the agent of police smiled, moistened his lips, 
 and rubbed his hands.
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 73 
 
 X. 
 
 Three days after Albert Savari's examination, a man 
 of about thirty, rather well dressed, wearing an eyeglass, 
 with several foreign decorations on his breast and carrying 
 a cane, rang at Madame Vidal's door. 
 
 Marietta opened it. 
 
 " I would like to speak to your mistress," said the 
 unknown. 
 
 " It is only nine o'clock," replied Marietta, " Madame 
 does not receive so early." 
 
 " My business is urgent." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Your mistress does not know my name; tell her that 
 I am the person she met in M. Gourbet's office." 
 
 " Oh I that is different," cried Marietta; " Madame has 
 spoken to me of you and told me to admit you whenever 
 you came." 
 
 She opened wide the door, which she had hitherto 
 prudently kept half closed, and motioned the man to enter. 
 
 But as she was about to usher him into the salon, 
 she paused: "You probably desire to be seen only by 
 Madame," she said. 
 
 " If possible." 
 
 " There are some people waiting in the study; since 
 Monsieur Vidal's death we have been overrun with law- 
 yers and notaries." 
 
 " I will wait in the dining room." 
 
 " No, they would all see you as they went out. Follow 
 me." 
 
 She crossed a little entry, opened a door, and said: 
 
 "I will inform Madame of your call; she will join you 
 as soon as she is at liberty."
 
 74 FEDORA ! OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Vibert (the reader has already recognized him), when 
 he was alone, cast a curious glance about him. He was 
 in an elegantly furnished dressing room; one of those 
 charming, perfumed retreats, to be found only in Paris. 
 In general, the life of a Parisian is passed outside his own 
 home; he is entertained more than he entertains; he is 
 only on rare occasions found in his drawing room; he 
 rises, dresses and hastens to his business; he returns, 
 dresses again, and hastens to his amusements. Of all his 
 rooms, he uses his dressing room the most, and therefore 
 he takes pains to make it attractive. The bureau is 
 resplendent with magnificent porcelain, and sometimes 
 silver, basins, bottles of all kinds, superb boxes, ivory 
 brushes of all sizes. Upon the mantel-piece an elegant 
 clock, SeVres vases, an alabaster statuette, a Venetian 
 mirror; and, scattered here and there, a traveling-bag, a 
 glove-box, a fan, a cravat, an opera glass, a Russia leather 
 cigar case, an open book. We are happy in the midst of 
 the strange confusion and elegant disorder; we have close 
 to our hand all the objects we need, we feel Ut home, at 
 ease, and enjoy our dolcefar niente, in a dressing gown 
 and a pair of slippers. 
 
 Maurice Vidal, when a bachelor, had known the enjoy- 
 ment which a well furnished dressing room gives, and 
 when he married, he himself saw to the furnishing of this 
 room and decorated it with the thousand little nothings 
 he had been able to pick up. It was perhaps a boudoir 
 and a museum, rather than a dressing room, but it was a 
 charming place. 
 
 Seated in a luxurious arm-chair, his cane and hat in 
 his lap, Vibert, while waiting for Madame Vidal, gazed 
 with all his eyes. This sober, almost austere man, 
 simple by temperament and for economy's sake, had 
 never been in such a room before. In the performance
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PA IX, 75 
 
 of his duty as secretary to a commissary of police, he 
 had often been obliged to visit some handsome house; he 
 had entered some glittering salon, but he had never 
 penetrated to the private apartments of an elegant, 
 well-bred woman. It was a complete revolution to him, 
 he was astonished, surprised, delighted, like a child with 
 a new toy, like an honest woman whom curiosity has led 
 to go to an opera-ball, like a countryman introduced for 
 the first time behind the scenes of a theatre. He rose 
 and examined the marvelous things scattered about him. 
 A thousand odors greeted him; a sachet, an open cologne 
 bottle, a Russia leather pocket-book, a sandal wood fan, 
 all wafted their odors toward him. He gradually lost his 
 head, and forgot the business which had brought him 
 there. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, and Vibert was recalled to 
 a sense of his duties. 
 
 It was Marietta, who had come to conduct him to 
 Madame Vidal. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Fedora, as soon as he appeared, " I 
 regret to have kept you waiting so long ; but I desired to 
 be completely free to receive you. I am now entirely at 
 your service. 
 
 "Did you read last evening's newpapers, Madame?" 
 said Vibert, sitting down, and without further preamble. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " and I saw that Albert Savari 
 had been set at liberty." 
 
 " Exactly. M. Gourbet decided to listen to my advice." 
 
 "What do you hope for now?" 
 
 " Much, if you will aid me." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you, Madame." 
 
 "Ah! Monsieur!" exclaimed Fedora; "is not my sole 
 aim in life to fulfill the last wishes of my husband? to
 
 76 FEDORA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 avenge him ? I have been told to trust you, I do trust 
 you, and I am yours heart and soul." 
 
 "Then, Madame, we shall succeed!" cried Vibert joy- 
 ously. "We shall succeed!" he added, taking Fedora's 
 hands in his and pressing them warmly. 
 
 She allowed him to do so, without manifesting any as- 
 tonishment or resistance. Vibert was to her not a man, 
 nor an agent of police; he was an ally, an avenger. 
 
 They sat down opposite one another, and Vibert con- 
 tinued: 
 
 " After three days' reflection, do you still believe Albert 
 Savari to be your husband's assassin?" 
 
 " I still believe it. Do you?" 
 
 " Yes. I even say that my doubts have become a 
 certainty; but a purely moral certainty, and you must be 
 aware that we need material proofs." 
 
 "Have you discovered a way of procuring them?" 
 
 " Yes, but I need your aid." 
 
 " You shall have it." 
 
 " Remember that you will need great strength." 
 
 " I have it." 
 
 " And great patience." 
 
 " I will try to have that" * 
 
 " You will have to overcome a natural repugnance to 
 many things." 
 
 " I will do so, if necessary." 
 
 "Finally, the plan which I have conceived will ap- 
 pear odious to you, mad, horrible; you will refuse it, at 
 first." 
 
 "What matters that, if I afterward adopt it and it 
 succeeds?" 
 
 "Listen, then." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 And in order not to lose a word, she came and sat down
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 77 
 
 beside Vibert on the sofa. One would have said they 
 were two lovers, about to exchange tender confidences. 
 
 " You must know in the first place, Madame," said Vibert, 
 after reflecting a moment, " that I have not lost sight of 
 Albert Savari since he left prison. I was told, at my request, 
 of the hour at which he would be set at liberty, and I wait- 
 ed outside the Conciergerie. As soon as he appeared he 
 hailed a cab; I followed him, and for three days none of 
 his actions have been unknown to me. At this moment, 
 one of my men, dressed as a messenger, is watching his 
 house. You see, he can not escape us. But, while keep- 
 ing up this active surveillance, I have been occupied with 
 other no less important matters, which may be of service 
 to us; I have become thoroughly acquainted with Albert 
 Savari's past life. The result is, and pardon, Madame, 
 the crudity of certain details 1 am obliged to give, the 
 result is that I have discovered that Albert Savari has 
 never, during his whole existence, been seriously in love." 
 
 "What difference does that make to us?" exclaimed 
 Fedora. 
 
 " Much, Madame," replied the agent of police, " you 
 will be convinced, if you will listen to me attentively." 
 
 " Continue, Monsieur." 
 
 "Savari, I say, has never been seriously in love; he 
 has spent his life, like many young men of this generation, 
 here, there and everywhere; his imagination has often 
 been taken, but his heart has never been touched. I 
 do not know if I am succeeding in making myself under- 
 stood, Madame." 
 
 " Perfectly, Monsieur," replied Fedora, astonished at 
 the manner in which this singular agent of police ex- 
 pressed himself, for she was ignorant of certain details 
 of Vibert's life, which his letter to the Marquis de X 
 has acquainted us with.
 
 78 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " One woman alone, of whom mention was made in his 
 examination," continued Vibert, "has played any particular 
 part in Albert Savari's existence, a woman named Pelagic 
 d'Ermont, who for a long time enjoyed great celebrity, 
 but who is now past her prime. She has been unwilling, 
 however, to give up the luxury to which she had been 
 accustomed, and she has recourse to a business much 
 practiced among women of her class; she gives tea parties." 
 
 " What do you mean by that?" interrupted Fedora. 
 
 "Ah, to be sure, Madame, you can not be acquainted 
 with all our Parisian customs. A woman who gives tea 
 parties gathers together at her house, once or twice a 
 week, a few of the youngest and prettiest women among 
 her friends. Then she issues invitations to all the men 
 of -her acquaintance, something like this: 'You will meet 
 Cora' and pretty Olympe ; come then and bring your 
 friends.' So the friends come, and the friends of the 
 friends. They talk, laugh, drink tea; then one of these 
 ladies proposes a little lansquenet. Oh ! a very small 
 game; the stakes not to exceed five francs. 'Come and 
 sit by me,' says Olympe to a very young man, of whom 
 she has made a conquest; ' come, I will bring you luck 
 and you will win all the time.' The young man sits 
 down, his friends follow his example; they take a louis 
 from their purse and lose it; then another, which follows 
 the first. At two o'clock in the morning, the stakes, 
 which were not to exceed five francs, are fifty or a 
 hundred francs. Bank notes have succeeded louis. At 
 five o'clock neither bank notes nor louis are to be seen 
 on the table; every one says he has lost, and yet all the 
 money has disappeared. In place of money they play 
 with counters. At eleven o'clock, tired out, they finally 
 stop. There are losses of three, five, ten thousand francs. 
 As for the mistress of the house, she went to bed about
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 79 
 
 five o'clock, after having slipped into her capacious 
 pockets, all the gold and bank notes once in circulation, 
 and which serve to pay for the tea so generously offered." 
 
 " I understand," said Fedora, who had listened atten- 
 tively to Vibert. 
 
 "But," he continued, "among the men recruited by 
 the lady in question, are some who are more intimate in 
 the house. These have long been familiar with the 
 practices in vogue there; they are not ignorant of what 
 is meant by the words, * the stakes will be five francs.' 
 They know that it is prudent not to bet when Cora is 
 banking, and that they must be wary when Olympe deals 
 the cards. They know also when the time comes for 
 them to gain an advantage' in their turn, and they make 
 use of the opportunity. So, without absolutely cheating, 
 they rarely lose, and they never fail to receive invitations 
 from the mistress of the house, for they know how to 
 bring in players and make the game larger. These last 
 details will explain to you sufficiently," added Vibert 
 in conclusion, " the nature of the relations existing be- 
 tween Savari and Pelagie d'Ermont; it is simply a matter 
 of mutual interest. I was therefore right when I said 
 to you in the beginning, Savari has never had a serious 
 love affair; since the only one that he was supposed to 
 have never existed." 
 
 " But what do you mean by all this," asked Fedora, 
 impatient at not being able to see what the agent of 
 police was driving at. 
 
 "I mean," said Vibert, "that, if he has never loved, 
 he must be more susceptible to love than any one else." 
 
 "Well ! whom do you wish him to fall in love with?" 
 
 " With you, Madame." 
 
 " Me ! " 
 
 "Yes, you!"
 
 80 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Me ! " repeated Fedora, who thought she had misun- 
 derstood. 
 
 " That is the only way we can arrive at the truth. 
 Savari does not know you, and can not suspect you. You 
 must form a part of his life, gain his confidence, and 
 sooner or later you will unmask him. With such an 
 adversary as ours," continued Vibert, with his eyes fixed 
 on Fedora, who had not yet recovered from her astonish- 
 ment, " ordinary means could not succeed ; something 
 out of the way, and extraordinary, was needed ; I sought 
 for it and I think I have found it. You will be the 
 Delilah of this new Samson, you will cut his locks and 
 deliver him up to the Philistines." 
 
 " But this plan is a mad one ! " cried Fedora. 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " It is impracticable." 
 
 " No, with your aid, I will guarantee putting it into 
 execution." 
 
 '* I should need superhuman courage." 
 
 You have it." 
 
 " I should betray myself." 
 
 *' Never ! If you adopt my plan, you will have but one 
 thought, to make it succeed. It is Savari who will be- 
 tray himself, and your husband will be avenged." 
 
 And as Fedora, pale, feverish and agitated, made no 
 answer, Vibert rose, took his hat and cane from the corner 
 in which he had placed them and advanced toward the door. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I shall come again to see you 
 to-morrow at the same hour; if you tell me, as I hope, 
 that you adopt my plan, I shall have the honor of unfold- 
 ing it to you more completely." 
 
 " But " exclaimed Fedora, with a gesture to detain 
 the agent of police. 
 
 " To-morrow," he said, and retired.
 
 THE RUE DE LA PALX. 81 
 
 XI. 
 
 In the last part of October, the Marquis de X , a 
 
 letter from whom we have already given to our readers, 
 wrote to his protege, Vibert: 
 
 " Indeed, my dear boy, what you tell me in your last 
 missive excites, I confess, my curiosity. I was terribly 
 bored, and you have roused me a little. It is a good thing 
 for you, and if you continue to interest me, I shall end by 
 making my will in your favor and cutting off my nephew, 
 a great idiot, who recently dared to parade his liberal 
 ideas before me ! 
 
 " Yes, he even dared to tell me to my face that I was 
 behind the age. Morbleu! those words may cost him two 
 or three millions. Behind the age ! Why? Because I 
 say Jardin du Roi instead of Jardin des Plantes, and Rue 
 d'Artois instead of Rue Lafitte. 
 
 " Behind the age ! I ! I am not only on a level with 
 the age, but beyond it, and I should not be afraid to pre- 
 dict a few things to him. Perhaps he will tell me I am 
 right some day, if God spares his life, which is not 
 probable, considering his premature emaciation and de- 
 crepitude. He is up with the age; no one can deny 
 that! 
 
 " But there, I am prating to you of family matters. 
 Am I in my dotage, or am I indeed But, enough of 
 this! 
 
 " I have reflected much on the plan you have conceived 
 and communicated to me. Well ! between ourselves, it 
 is absurd, impossible, stupid, but it will succeed, for all 
 that. 
 
 " Ah ! if your beautiful widow of the Rue de la Paix 
 were a Parisian, I should say to you : Bernique, my good 
 
 3
 
 82 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 friend, she is incapable of carrying out such an enterprise, 
 she will overthrow all your calculations when you least 
 expect it. But she is an Italian, an Italian of the North, 
 a Genoese ; one can trust those women ; they have not 
 yet degenerated like many of their countrywomen, and 
 like all of ours. They are not dolls, but women, real 
 women! Go on with your plan, you will succeed, it is I 
 who tell you so. She will deliver into your hands this 
 Savari, she will turn him inside out ; there will not be a 
 morsel left of him. Your idea of comparing them to 
 Delilah and Samson was a happy one. Mordieu ! for a 
 man of your time, you are not so bad, and you deserve 
 to have lived under the old regime. 
 
 " But tell me, has she accepted this plan which you 
 have submitted to her? Your last letter stopped at the 
 most interesting point, as if you were writing a contin- 
 ued story for a weekly newspaper ; another charming 
 invention of modern times ! Quick, quick, write me a 
 line to tell me what took place at your next interview 
 with her. At my age, alas ! one can no longer live for 
 one's self; help me to live the life of others. You will not 
 regret it, Monsieur ; men of my stamp do not forget 
 services rendered them ; ingratitude is of modern in- 
 vention. 
 
 " POSTSCRIPT. This Government of July is a wretched 
 affair; it is as poor as Job's cat, besides. The life you 
 must lead, perhaps, will cause you great expense, for 
 which you will not be indemnified, believe me, despite the 
 promise given you. Draw upon me; don't be afraid; I 
 am not very anxious to save up money for my rascal of 
 a nephew. Behind the age, I ! The imbecile ! as much 
 as to say that I am an old fogy. By Heaven ! he shall 
 pay for it ! " 
 
 Vibert hastened to reply :
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 83 
 
 " MY DEAR MARQUIS : I arrived day before yesterday 
 at ten o'clock in the morning at Madame Vidal's, as I 
 told her I should the previous day. This time I was not 
 kept waiting. She came in immediately, and said quickly : 
 
 " 'I have reflected, and since there is no other way, I 
 think that I ought to accept your plan.' 
 
 " ' Very well, Madame,' I replied. 
 
 " Then, without losing more time, we sat down and 
 discussed a host of details. 
 
 " Two hours afterward I left her, and at once set to 
 work. I had to study the position of the enemy, so as 
 to come up with him as soon as possible and attack him 
 to advantage. 
 
 "In my last letter, M. le Marquis, I had the honor of 
 mentioning to you a certain Pe"lagie d'Ermont, once a 
 married woman in good society, but now an adventuress. 
 I told you that she was intimate with Albert Savari, and 
 I explained to you the nature of their relations. It is 
 this Madame d'Ermont whom I proposed first to become 
 acquainted with; in her house, if my plans should succeed, 
 Madame Vidal and Savari will meet for the first time. 
 
 " This is how I went to work to obtain my end : 
 
 " Yesterday, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I rang the 
 bell of Madame d'Ermont's house, No. 10 Rue Blanche. 
 If you had met me, believe me, Monsieur le Marquis, 
 despite all your cleverness and your rare qualities of 
 observation, you would never have known me. I was 
 quite another man ; I was gotten up as a foreigner, a 
 well-bred man, but a simpleton. Just the man to impress 
 the woman I was going to see with this thought: what a 
 good pigeon to pluck ! 
 
 "This was my toilet: a frock coat, black cravat, gray 
 trousers, lavender gloves, a high hat, varnished boots, a 
 gold chain, a diamond pin in my cravat, another diamond
 
 84 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 on my right hand which I kept ungloved, a stick with a 
 gold knob surrounded with turquoises. 
 
 "You see, Monsieur le Marquis, it was at once the get- 
 up of a rich man and a foreigner unacquainted with our 
 ideas. I need not tell you that the diamonds and tur- 
 quoises were imitation. 
 
 " ' Is Madame visible ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' I don't know, Monsieur. Will Monsieur give me 
 his name?' answered a sleepy looking maid. 
 
 " I pretended not to understand at first, as if I were 
 not accustomed to the French language; then I answered 
 with a pronounced Italian accent: 
 
 " ' Your mistress would not know my name, but I am 
 recommended to her by many of her friends. I have just 
 arrived from Naples, and if you will give her my card ' 
 
 " And I handed her a card with a crest on it which I 
 had ordered the day before; the maid, after ushering me 
 into an elegant salon, went to seek her mistress. 
 
 " I was on the spot! Madame d'Ermont soon appeared. 
 She is a small, light-haired woman, rather stout; she was 
 so much made up that I could not say whether she is pretty 
 or not, but her features are good. She was dressed in a 
 wrapper of blue silk. 
 
 " * Count,' she said, with a glance at my card which she 
 still held in her hand, ' I am delighted to make your ac- 
 quaintance. Please be seated. You are recommended 
 to me, I hear, by ' 
 
 "'By many of your friends, Madame; the Marquis de 
 Santa Vicchini, among others.' 
 
 "'Ah! the dear Marquis! I have not seen nim for five 
 or six years. Is he well?' 
 
 " ' Very well, Madame.' 
 
 " ' You come from Naples, Count? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, Madame.'
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA. PAIX. 85 
 
 "'And you have thought of coming to see me? That is 
 charming.' 
 
 " ' I have heard so many pleasant things of you.' 
 
 "'You are a flatterer; we shall quarrel, if ' 
 
 "'Ah! Madame, I should be in despair. Think! I have 
 in Paris no acquaintance, no friend.' 
 
 '"Poor young man! But my house is yours. And if 
 it is not an indiscreet question, may I ask how you come to 
 be in Paris?' 
 
 " ' I came for distraction, Madame ; I have recently had 
 the misfortune to lose a near relative.' 
 
 '"Do you intend to remain among us long?' she 
 asked, with interest. 
 
 " ' Possibly, if I like Paris.' 
 
 "'You know, to enjoy yourself here, costs a great deal 
 of money.' 
 
 "' Oh! I don't mind that, provided I do enjoy myself.' 
 
 "At this answer, made with great simplicity, Mad- 
 ame d'Ermont drew nearer. 
 
 '"And what are your tastes?' she said; ' I must try to 
 satisfy them, since you are recommended to me by my 
 friends.' 
 
 " ' Why, Madame, I like almost everything good and 
 beautiful.' 
 
 "'Oh! you are not difficult to please. But you must 
 have preferences.' 
 
 "'Yes.' 
 
 "'What are they?' 
 
 " ' You insist on knowing?' 
 
 " ' Certainly.' 
 
 " ' I adore the society of ladies.' 
 
 " ' I should not have thought so from your appearance.' 
 
 "'Why not?' 
 
 " ' It is natural that one should get tired of what is easily
 
 86 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 obtained,' answered Pelagic, attempting to blush, ' and, 
 frankly, you can not have met with many rebuffs.' 
 
 " Monsieur le Marquis, this was the first time I had 
 ever received such a compliment. I must have been 
 capitally disguised. Will you believe it, that I was 
 foolish enough to be pleased for a moment? Don't laugh 
 at me! When one can not have the substance, he must 
 try to be contented with the shadow. 
 
 " In order not to be behind Madame d'Ermont in 
 politeness, I pressed the hand she had placed in mine, 
 and replied: 
 
 " ' Italian conquests do not count. I wish to triumph in 
 Paris.' 
 
 "'In Paris! nothing is easier,' she responded, feigning 
 not to understand. ' And if you desire it I can introduce 
 you to some charming women. I shall have a little tea 
 party this evening, and if you care to join us ' 
 
 " ' Alas! all my evenings are occupied. I am not alone 
 in Paris.' 
 
 " ' Are you married?' she cried. 
 
 "' Thank Heaven, no!" I replied. 
 
 " ' Then, what prevents you from accepting my in- 
 vitation?' 
 
 " ' I came from Naples with a cousin of mine; she knows 
 no one in Paris, and I can not leave her alone in a hotel. 
 But,' I cried, as if a sudden idea had struck me, * you are 
 so kind to me that perhaps you would allow me ' 
 
 "'What?' 
 
 " ' To present her to you.' 
 
 " Pe'lagie was confounded. 
 
 "And indeed the game I was playing was a bold one; 
 to give myself out as a man of the world, and to con- 
 ceive the idea of bringing my cousin to Madame d'Er- 
 mont's was shockingly inconsequent. But I was a
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 87 
 
 foreigner, little familiar with Parisian customs, and I did 
 not appear to be endowed with much intelligence; Pelagie 
 might easily believe that I was ignorant of the exact 
 position she occupied in society, and that I took her for 
 what she was not, but had been at the time of her 
 marriage. Her vanity aiding, she might, after reflection, 
 not be so very much astonished at my error, and it was 
 little likely that she would try to enlighten me. 
 
 " You may ask me, Monsieur le Marquis, why instead of 
 passing off Madame Vidal as my cousin, I did not intro- 
 duce her as a woman of the same stamp as Pelagie 
 d'Ermont. Her presence in the latter's house would thus 
 have been naturally explained. 
 
 " Doubtless it would have been much more simple. But 
 I have a certain ridiculous delicacy of feeling, which it is 
 strange to find in me, but which is there nevertheless. It 
 seemed to me that I had no right to compromise Madame 
 Vidal to such a point, to make her pass for what she is 
 not and can never be. I consent, because I can not avoid 
 it, for her to go to Madame d'Ermont's, but I wish to have 
 it appear that her being there is due to my imbecility. 
 
 " Well, my calculations proved true; Madame d'Ermont, 
 when she had recovered from her first astonishment, 
 replied: 
 
 " ' Well! dear Count, present to me your cousin; I shall 
 be delighted to see her. Only, tell her this is but a 
 gathering of intimate friends. There will be no music or 
 dancing, simply conversation; perhaps a little game of 
 cards. Do you play?' 
 
 "'Yes, a little.' 
 
 "'You must not do so here; I do not like to have 
 any one lose at my house more than three or four louis 
 an evening. Now, I must say good-bye till this evening, 
 Count, as I have an engagement to drive in the Bois.'
 
 88 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " I took leave of her, and kissed, a little awkwardly, 
 the hand she extended to me. 
 
 " There, Monsieur le Marquis, is the exact account of 
 my first interview with Madame Pelagie d'Ermont. I 
 think I played my part well enough to merit your com- 
 pliments, with which I am always pleased. 
 
 " This evening will take place the first meeting of 
 Savari and Madame Vidal. If she should bet-ray her- 
 self! If she should prove less strong than she thinks! I 
 tremble at the thought! " 
 
 XII. 
 
 Vibert had played in such a remarkable manner his 
 role of a rich foreigner not knowing what to do with his 
 money, of a pigeon all ready to be plucked, that Pelagic 
 d'Ermont was entirely deceived. 
 
 There was nothing extraordinary in that, however; 
 women like Pelagie have met in their lives so many very 
 young men and ridiculous old ones, have seen so many 
 follies committed for them and about them, that they have 
 come to thoroughly despise the human race and to range 
 all men in the same category. They see in every new 
 individual presented to them only a lamb destined for the 
 sacrifice after being well shorn. So, when Vibert had left 
 her, Pelagie hastened to summon her friends. 
 
 " Come and take tea with me this evening," she wrote. 
 What she meant was that there would be lansquenet and 
 baccarat for high stakes. 
 
 By ten o'clock five or six of Pelagie's most intimate 
 friends were gathered together in her salon. They were 
 all pretty women and skillful players.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 89 
 
 While waiting for the hour for serious matters to arrive, 
 that is to say, for the gaming tables to be prepared, 
 Madame d'Krmont's friends, who were not restrained by 
 the presence of any stranger, chatted at their ease. 
 
 " It seems to me," said Adele X , a capital player, 
 
 for she played like a man and paid her debts with an ex- 
 emplary punctuality, " it seems to me, my dear Pelagic, 
 that we were not to meet again this week." 
 
 "True; but an opportunity presented itself to me to- 
 day to have a good game, and I hastened to take advan- 
 tage of it, in the hope of pleasing you/' 
 
 " Oh! of course, of course ! " they cried, in chorus. 
 
 "Whom do you expect?" asked Armande, a pretty 
 brunette, all the rage at that time. 
 
 " I expect," answered Madame d'Ermont, " little de 
 Fontelle, whom you all know." 
 
 "Oh! I am not going to play with him," said Adele; 
 " there is always some quarrel with minors." 
 
 " In the first place, my dear," replied Pelagie, a little 
 severely, " there are never quarrels at my house ; and, in 
 the second place, the person I speak of is no longer a 
 minor; here is the proof of it." 
 
 And she took from the mantel-piece a printed circular, 
 which she read aloud: 
 
 " The Baron Arthur de Fontelle has the honor to in- 
 form his friends and tradespeople that he attained his 
 majority on the tenth instant. His friends can therefore 
 win his money from him with impunity; and his trades- 
 people give him credit. Baron Arthur de Fontelle is alone 
 responsible for his actions." 
 
 " Until a guardian is appointed for him by the courts, 
 which won't be long," said Armande, laughing, as this 
 strange circular was passed from hand to hand. 
 
 " We are reassured as far as the little Baron is con-
 
 90 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 cerned," observed Adele. " Whom else do you ex- 
 pect? " 
 
 " Cordier." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the blonde, called Antonine. " He is no 
 good. He invariably comes with five louis, and leaves 
 when he has lost or doubled them." 
 
 " I also expect Cravoisier, Calvet and the Vicomte de 
 Beaune." 
 
 " Good ! they are serious players." 
 
 " I see that we shan't finish till ten o'clock in the 
 morning," said Armande. 
 
 "I don't care," responded Adele; " I took my precau- 
 tions and slept till seven o'clock this evening." 
 
 An Italian, who had just arrived in Paris, and whose 
 beauty had already created a sensation, here spoke up. 
 
 " Pelagic," said she, " has only spoken of persons we 
 all know. I understood there was to be a certain 
 stranger here." 
 
 " I was reserving him for the last," replied Madame 
 d'Ermont; " he is a countryman of youra, Count de 
 Rubini." 
 
 " I don't know him, but shall be glad to make his ac- 
 quaintance. Is he rich? " 
 
 " Very rich, it seems, and I think as simple as he is 
 rich." 
 
 " And Savari ? " suddenly asked Armande. " Shall 
 we see him this evening?" 
 
 " By the way," remarked Adele, " I haven't heard of 
 him for some time. What has become of him?" 
 
 " I expect him," replied Madame d'Ermont. " He 
 has been ill since his misfortune; he went out to-day for 
 the first time." 
 
 " Poor fellow! He has had enough to make him ill. 
 Fancy being accused of murder! "
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 91 
 
 "And being imprisoned for three days! " 
 
 " It seems that there was not the slightest proof against 
 him." 
 
 " No, he was set at liberty at once." 
 
 " His arrest was the result of a mistake, they tell me." 
 
 " Have you read what the opposition papers said about 
 this affair? They criticised the judges, examining magis- 
 trates, etc., pretty severely." 
 
 "And on the other hand they made our friend Albert 
 the hero of the day." 
 
 " Suppose," said Antonine, " we give him an ovation 
 when he comes." 
 
 " Agreed ! " cried Adele. " I will give the signal. 
 Hip! hip! hurrah!" 
 
 " Did not the bell ring?" asked Pelagie d'Ermont. 
 
 " 1 hope so; it is high time. These gentlemen make 
 us wait too long; they go to some ball or to the theatre 
 before coming to see us." 
 
 Between eleven and half-past twelve Madame d'Er- 
 mont's salon filled up rapidly. 
 
 Savari arrived one of the last; the women, as they had 
 planned, received him with enthusiasm; the men treated 
 him with more coldness. In France, people avoid what 
 the law has touched. An honest man, for instance, is 
 tried at the court of assizes and acquitted, not only by 
 the jury, but by the public and the newspapers; all hands 
 should be held out to him and prove to him, by a warm 
 clasp, the regret that is felt at his innocent suffering. 
 Instead of that, every one turns away, treats him coldly, 
 hesitates to bow to him, for fear of being compromised. 
 People say, " I know he is innocent, but that gentleman 
 who is looking at us may believe in his guilt." 
 
 " If I should be accused of stealing the towers of 
 Notre Dame," some one has said, " I should fly first, and
 
 92 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 establish my innocence afterward." And there is a 
 certain amount of sense in these words. A hundred per- 
 sons rise up to believe in a crime, but there are even more 
 who show themselves incredulous of a good action. So 
 long as Lesurques' innocence has not been officially de- 
 clared people will be found who believe in his guilt. And 
 this is not difficult to explain: a man is accused of a crime; 
 the whole paraphernalia of the law is employed; agents 
 of police, gendarmes, magistrates. His house is searched, 
 he is arrested in the sight of all, and cast into prison. 
 Every one knows about it. The street in front of the 
 house of the man who has been arrested is blocked up; 
 his family are pointed out, his crime is in every one's 
 mouth, and few friendly voices are raised in his defense. 
 
 However, it happens that the prisoner is not guilty; 
 the magistrates have recognized his innocence, and 
 opened the prison doors. " Go," they say, " you are 
 free." And he goes. He returns quietly to his home. 
 What has happened to him has so amazed, so 
 frightened him, that he has no more assurance ; he 
 imagines himself still behind the bars, threatened with a 
 trial, accused of a crime. He opens his door, embraces 
 his children, blushes before his domestics, retires, and for 
 some days perhaps does not dare to show his face. 
 
 His arrest was public, in the eyes of all; his return is 
 quiet, often unknown. 
 
 The arrest was a material act, which all the world could 
 witness ; his deliverance was, so to speak, a negative 
 fact. 
 
 The entrance of Vibert and Madame Vidal into Pelagie 
 d'Ermont's salon was not much noticed. The card tables 
 had been prepared full an hour before, and every one was 
 defending his money with too much eagerness to take 
 notice of anything outside of the game. . Vibert had
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PA IX. 93 
 
 foreseen this when he planned to arrive as late as possible. 
 He still distrusted Fedora's strength, and wished to make 
 it as easy for her as possible. He feared that this honest 
 woman, suddenly finding herself in the presence of such 
 people, would not be able to hide her disgust and re- 
 pugnance. Their language and manners might offend 
 her delicacy, and she might fly from the place and give 
 up her design. 
 
 But, as we have said, women who gamble are no longer 
 women; they have become simply gamblers. Their con- 
 versation is confined to the phrases belonging to the game. 
 "I pass; the king is good ; the ace is better; another 
 deal; this lansquenet is a miserable game; the cards were 
 not shuffled," etc. 
 
 Then Fedora had never been taken into society by 
 her husband; although she had all womanly graces, she 
 had also the ignorance of a foreigner, born in a second- 
 class city and brought up in the bosom of her family. 
 She might feel instinctive repugnance, but many of the 
 details which would have shocked a Parisian would es- 
 cape her notice. Finally, she was pursuing her scheme 
 of vengeance with all the ardor of her southern nature, 
 her youth and her excitable temperament. It little mat- 
 tered to her the sufferings which her self-respect might 
 undergo, the danger to her reputation, or the disgust she 
 might feel. All this was of no importance in comparison 
 with the order left her by her dying husband. Should 
 she feel herself weakening, she would not draw a bottle 
 of salts from her pocket to revive her, but Maurice 
 Vidal's memorandum book, and she would read the 
 words written with the blood of the only man she had 
 ever loved: " Fedora, avenge me! "
 
 94 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Fedora Vidal, grave and attentive, was seated on a sofa 
 in a corner of the salon, where she could observe at her 
 ease Albert Savari, who was standing near the card table. 
 
 She had already seen him once in the magistrate's 
 office; through the chinks of the screen which had hidden 
 her, she had been able to impress upon her mind his fea- 
 tures. He was no longer the same man. Obliged to 
 defend his liberty, perhaps his life, he had then worn a 
 mask. His safety might depend upon a gesture, a look, 
 a sudden change of color. At Pelagie's he was no longer 
 obliged to be on his guard, as he thought no one was 
 observing him; all the players had their eyes bent on 
 the cards spread out on the table and were not thinking 
 of him. So his features wore their usual expression. 
 
 What struck Fedora chiefly was the proud sadness 
 imprinted on Savari's countenance. This man had under- 
 gone some great sorrow, or was deeply discouraged or 
 tortured by terrible remorse. His eyes were hollow, his 
 cheeks sunken, his face pale; his lips, which he bit ner- 
 vously, alone had any color in them. 
 
 Although he appeared to be interested in the game of 
 baccarat going on before his eyes, Savari took no active 
 part in it. He held in one of his hands a handful of 
 louis, but whenever he seemed on the point of hazard- 
 ing them, he paused. "What is the use?" his discour- 
 aged look seemed to say; " what difference can it make 
 to me whether I gain or lose? What good will it do me 
 to have a few more louis?" 
 
 Suddenly he felt some one touch him on the shoulder. 
 It was Vibert, who, after having observed him as atten- 
 tively as Fedora, had gradually glided to ward. him.
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 95 
 
 "Pardon me, Monsieur," said the agent of police in 
 his Italian accent, " all the people in this salon are occu- 
 pied with the game; you alone are not playing. Would 
 you be kind enough to do me a service?" 
 
 "What is it, Monsieur?" asked Savari, coldly, after a 
 look at the stranger. 
 
 " I am a foreigner, an Italian, as it is easy for you to 
 perceive from my accent, and know very little about the 
 game of baccarat; I would like to play, though, as I am 
 rather fond of cards. Would you be kind enough to 
 devote a few minutes of your time to teaching me this 
 famous game I have heard so much of in Italy ? " 
 
 " I don't see why I should not, Monsieur, if you wish 
 it," replied Savari, no less stiffly than before. 
 
 "Thank you a thousand times; I can then sit down 
 with these ladies and risk a few bank notes without ap- 
 pearing too ridiculous." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, Monsieur, allow me to inform you that 
 no one appears ridiculous to those ladies, if he has bank 
 notes to risk." 
 
 " Indeed ! they like bank notes, perhaps ! " replied 
 Vibert, with a silly laugh. 
 
 " They adore them," responded Savari. 
 
 As he spoke, he took from the mantel-piece a pack of 
 cards, which the players had thrown aside. 
 
 " I will show you now, if you like," he said. 
 
 "Had we not better sit down?" suggested the agentof 
 police. 
 
 " As you choose ; here are chairs." 
 
 " You see I am not alone." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Yes, 1 have a lady with me, a countrywoman of mine; 
 she might be glad to learn also, and if you are willing " 
 
 "Where is the lady?"
 
 96 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Over there in the corner. She knows no one; and as 
 she speaks French imperfectly, she is very timid." 
 
 For the first time Savari's eyes fell upon Fedora. 
 
 Maurice Vidal's widow sustained his look with the 
 greatest courage and betrayed no emotion. But Vibert 
 prudently advanced quickly to her and presented Savari. 
 
 " We know no one in Paris," he continued, addressing 
 Savari, " and had it not been for Madame d'Ermont's 
 kindness, we should not have known what to do with our- 
 selves this evening. Ah! Paris is superb; but it appears 
 very deserted, if one has no acquaintances, as is our 
 case." Then suddenly stopping himself: " But pardon 
 me, Monsieur, for my Italian loquacity," he continued, 
 " you have probably other things to do here besides listen- 
 ing to me, and if you will give me my lesson, I am ready." 
 " My dear," he added, turning to Fedora, " Monsieur is 
 good enough to teach us baccarat. You remember, that 
 game we heard so much about last winter in Naples. 
 Enormous sums have been lost at it." 
 
 Savari took his place on the sofa beside Fedora and 
 opposite Vibert, and commenced the promised lesson. 
 Scarcely was it ended, when a voice cried out: 
 
 "Ten louis in the bank. No one bets?" 
 
 " I have a good mind to try," said Vibert, rising. 
 
 " I should advise you not to," remarked Savari. 
 
 " Why not? Thanks to you, Monsieur, I know the 
 game now." 
 
 " You don't know it well enough to play against the 
 person who is dealing." 
 
 "Bah! you can never tell!" replied Vibert, who 
 thought the time had come to leave Fedora and Savari 
 together. 
 
 He turned away and approached the table, where they 
 hastened to make room for him, for he had taken care to
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 97 
 
 draw from his pocket a pocket book apparently stuffed 
 with bank notes. 
 
 He had arranged this pocket book with infinite care: 
 two or three bank notes were carefully displayed among 
 unimportant papers tied up into little bundles labeled 
 five thousand, ten thousand and fifteen thousand francs. 
 
 The sight of this produced a great effect upon the 
 players, and especially upon the ladies. Vibert imme- 
 diately risked a louis or two. He had known for some 
 time, either by name or sight, most of the women present, 
 and he had good reason for distrusting them. He only 
 played for the purpose of avoiding suspicion and to keep 
 up, in all its details, the part he was playing. Moreover, 
 baccarat was as familiar to him as it was to Savari. Two 
 months before the crime of the Rue de la Paix, he had 
 been called on to break up a certain gambling house, 
 and he had carefully studied the game, to be able to 
 explain it in all its workings to the magistrates. 
 
 It was therefore with a certain repugnance and great 
 timidity that he laid down his money, thinking: "It is as 
 good as lost, but I will put it down in my bill of expenses." 
 But instead of losing his louis, he won one, then two, then 
 ten, then twenty. Gold and bank notes seemed to flow 
 in his direction. 
 
 Odd ideas came into his head and made him smile. " I 
 
 wish," he thought, " that the Marquis de X could see 
 
 me now; how he would laugh! An agent of police play- 
 ing at baccarat with the people it is his duty to watch. 
 The joke would be perfect if the police would make a 
 descent on the house and capture me with the rest." 
 
 All at once, just as he had won a considerable sum, for 
 his luck clung to him, as it always clings to those who sit 
 down to play without desiring or intending to win, he felt 
 some one leaning on the back of his chair. 
 
 7
 
 98 FEDORA : OB, THE TBAGEDY 
 
 He turned and saw Savari. 
 
 " You are profiting by my lesson," said the latter. 
 
 " Oh, a little." 
 
 "A little! you must have at least five or six thousand 
 francs before you." 
 
 " That's nothing," replied Vibert, in the careless tone of 
 a millionaire. 
 
 " Then since you care so little for your winnings, you 
 won't be angry with the person who has sent me to you." 
 
 " Ah! What does she want? " 
 
 " She wants to go, and asked me to tell you so." 
 
 Vibert rose at once, which provoked a general cry of 
 alarm. 
 
 " What! you are going? It is only the edge of the 
 evening. It is only three o'clock." 
 
 "Oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed Adele, "when you 
 have won so much money! " 
 
 " Monsieur is afraid he will lose it," remarked Antonine. 
 
 " I had more confidence in you, my dear Count," mur- 
 mured Pelagic d'Ermont. 
 
 Vibert saw that his departure would give rise to ill- 
 feeling, and that it would be committing an imprudence 
 to gain the ill-will of these people. 
 
 " Ladies," he said, " I am obliged to take home the lady 
 who came with me, and whom your excitement has made 
 you forget; but I shall return shortly, and I will leave my 
 money on the table to mark my place." 
 
 These last words gave general satisfaction, and Vibert 
 left the room with Fedora. 
 
 " Well," he said, as they descended the staircase. 
 
 " I have met him, as you arranged," she replied, " but 
 shall I see him again?" 
 
 "Certainly; if you did not see him again, this first 
 meeting would be useless."
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 99 
 
 " But where? I would rather not go to that house 
 again." 
 
 " You shall not." 
 
 "Then what is your plan? " 
 
 " I have none, as yet; but, trust me, I shall soon think 
 of one. May I ask you if your convictions in regard to 
 Savari have been shaken by the conversation you have 
 had with him?" 
 
 " They have not been shaken, but nothing has happened 
 to strengthen them." 
 
 By this time they had gained the street. 
 
 " I am obliged to return to Madame d'Ermont's," said 
 Vibert. 
 
 " Very well. Call a cab for me and give my address to 
 the driver." 
 
 " Are you not afraid to return home alone at this hour, 
 Madame? I have time to accompany you." 
 
 "No, thanks. If I wish to carry out to the end the 
 task I have undertaken, I must become familiar with all 
 the difficulties of my position." 
 
 Vibert hailed an empty cab, and placed Fedora in- 
 side. 
 
 " I shall have the honor, Madame," he said, as he closed 
 the door, " of seeing you to-morrow, in order to decide 
 what it is best to do." 
 
 " I shall be at home all day," she answered. 
 
 Vibert watched the cab as it drove off with Fedora 
 Vidal. Any one who had observed him at that moment, 
 would have found something strange in his look. But he 
 soon passed his hand over his forehead as if he wished to 
 drive away certain thoughts which troubled him; his 
 figure became erect, his eyes changed their expression, 
 and he turned and walked back to the house he had just 
 quitted.
 
 100 FEDOEA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " The first step is taken," he thought, as he mounted 
 the stairs; "but the second? If this very night I do not 
 find a way to become intimate with Savari, he will escape 
 us. How shall I, without awakening his suspicions, force 
 him to see us again, to see us often? Ah! how frequently 
 it happens that the most intelligent minds, which no 
 obstacle, no danger terrifies, meet with some trifling diffi- 
 culty and are conquered by it." 
 
 Suddenly he stopped short. 
 
 " I have it," he exclaimed. " Eureka! as the Marquis 
 
 de X would say. Now if fortune only stands by 
 
 me!" 
 
 He rang at Pelagie's door and was admitted. 
 
 It was now about three o'clock. 
 
 During Vibert's absence, the game had been very 
 animated. 
 
 Savari was banker, and fortune favored him; he had 
 nearly three thousand francs in the bank. 
 
 Vibert sat down quietly. 
 
 After a few minutes the cards were dealt to him. 
 
 " Make your bets, gentlemen," said Savari. 
 
 "What is your bet?" some one asked Vibert. 
 
 " The limit of the bank," he replied. 
 
 " You mean what remains after the others have bet." 
 
 " No, all there is in the bank. Have 1 the right to do 
 that?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied the others, withdrawing the bets 
 they had made. 
 
 "Which side will you take?" asked the banker. 
 " This or the other? Or will you take both? " 
 
 "Both. I feel that I am in luck." 
 
 Savari, despite his being so accustomed to the game, 
 was intimidated. Nothing so alarms a gambler as to find 
 against him an adversary who seems confident of winning
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 101 
 
 and who is playing for the first time. Vibert knew these 
 facts and he used them for his own advantage. 
 
 Savari dealt the ca*ds, looked at his hand, and said: 
 
 " I lay down, I have eight." 
 
 " Then I must have nine," replied the agent of police, 
 with imperturbable coolness. 
 
 And he did, indeed, have nine on each side. 
 
 Savari, distressed at having lost at one stroke all the 
 money he had won, hoping to have better luck and 
 desirous of getting his revenge upon Vibert, whose assur- 
 ance exasperated him, started a new bank with the thou- 
 sand francs he had left. 
 
 The first deals were lucky ones; in less than ten 
 minutes he quadrupled his capital, at the expense of the 
 other players. Vibert alone made no bet; he had risen, 
 and, leaning against the mantel-piece, was smoking a 
 cigarette with an indifferent air; but after awhile he 
 advanced to the table and said, as before: 
 
 " I bet the limit." 
 
 " Again! " cried Savari, startled. 
 
 " You have the right to give up the bank," observed 
 some one. 
 
 "No! " he exclaimed, "I will not give it up." 
 
 " As you please," said Vibert, throwing down on the 
 table his pocket book, from which he had removed the 
 false packages and substituted real bank notes. The re- 
 sult was almost analogous to the first. 
 
 The bank lost a second time, and the money amassed by 
 Savari passed into Vibert's hands. 
 
 Savari, at the end of his resources, gave up the bank, 
 and Vibert took it in his turn. But, instead of placing a 
 thousand francs before him in bask, he placed fifteen 
 thousand. He could thus back up his luck by the force 
 of capital.
 
 102 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 What gives great power to the gambling establish- 
 ments .of Germany is not the zeros of roulette or the 
 splits of trente-et-quarante, but the large sum at the 
 disposition of the bank. All the little purses are event- 
 ually swallowed up in this great purse. 
 
 There is in Paris a well-known man whose fortune 
 amounts, it is said, to eight or ten millions. He has gained 
 it principally by play, which he has made a sort of pro- 
 fession, a commercial enterprise. He has always been 
 relatively honest, and has never during his long career 
 had recourse to marked or stacked cards, nor any of the 
 methods of cheating resorted to by dishonest players. He 
 simply, instead of playing against the bank, is always the 
 banker, and has always before him large sums, with which 
 he can hold bad fortune in check and wait for his luck. 
 His rooms, where for a long time past a select society 
 has been in the habit of assembling, are a regular gambling 
 hell. Instead of going to Homburg, the gilded youth go 
 
 after dinner to B 's, who receives them politely, offers 
 
 them cigars and refreshments, charms them with his ready 
 wit, and wins their money to boot. 
 
 Vibert, from his position on the police force, was ac- 
 quainted with everything that went on in Paris, and had 
 
 doubtless heard of B and his manner of operating, 
 
 and tried to imitate him. His fifteen thousand francs 
 worked marvels; after a short time all the money spread 
 out on the table had been won by him. The great capital 
 absorbed the little ones. 
 
 Then happened what always happens in games of this 
 sort, where license runs riot; after the money was all 
 gone, they played on credit. 
 
 Vibert now lay in wait for Savari. 
 
 The latter, intimidated by the success of his adversary, 
 and knowing, through long experience, the dangers of
 
 Iff THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 103 
 
 playing on credit, made his bets at first with the greatest 
 reserve. He would perhaps have entirely given up strug- 
 gling against his bad luck, if he had commenced by losing. 
 But he chanced to win on the first few deals five hundred 
 francs; he thought that luck had returned to him, and 
 that he was going to win back from Vibert all he had 
 lost. He played recklessly, with a sort of feverishness, 
 and he commenced to lose again. All the skill ten years 
 of practice had given him availed nothing. It was no 
 longer a question with him of losing or winning money; 
 he was no longer fighting against an impersonal being, 
 a banker, nor a material thing, a turn of the cards; he 
 was fighting against a man, against Vibert, whose con- 
 stant good luck exasperated him, whose coolness irri- 
 tated him, whose soft manners and exaggerated politeness 
 excited his nervous system to the highest pitch. He felt 
 that his adversary was hostile to him, he did not know 
 why; he was a hundred leagues from suspecting Vibert's 
 projects, but something said to him: You are in the 
 presence of an enemy; beware! 
 
 A sort of intoxication, the most dangerous of all, that 
 occasioned by gambling, took possession of him; the 
 cards spread out on the table were no longer cards,in his 
 eyes, but swords whose point he attempted to direct to- 
 ward Vibert's breast. But Vibert parried his thrusts and 
 touched his opponent at each lunge. The play had now 
 become furious and every one but the banker was losing. 
 Slips of paper of all shapes and sizes, pledges of all sorts, 
 encumbered the table. One wrote upon a piece of paper, 
 good for ten francs or a thousand francs. Another offered a 
 ring, saying, " This is worth twenty -five louis." Another, 
 who had already pledged his watch, studs, and sleeve 
 buttons, fumbled in his pockets, and, producing a tooth- 
 pick, exclaimed: " This toothpick stands for two thousand
 
 104 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 francs." It was a curious thing to see all these people 
 attaching an exaggerated value to worthless objects, and 
 disputing the point, as if a fortune depended upon it. 
 Yet, such is the power of gold, that if by chance a real 
 louis appeared upon the table, every player made des- 
 perate efforts to obtain it; even if one chanced to have 
 no confidence in a bet, he would decide to try it, because 
 he saw the sparkle of this solitary louis. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning, Vibert still held the 
 bank. He had been extremely careful to put away 
 in his pocket book and his pockets all the money and all 
 the I. O. U.'s signed by Savari. He was playing only 
 with the pledges given him, and he paid his losses with 
 these things which had only a moral value. He seemed 
 to attach real importance only to Savari's paper. This, 
 Vibert respected as the equal of bank notes, and when he 
 had to pay five hundred francs to Adele, he preferred to 
 give her twenty-five louis out of his pocket rather than a 
 slip of paper signed by Savari which he had before him. 
 
 Finally, when Savari's indebtedness had reached a 
 considerable sum, Vibert declared that he was tired 
 out and must go home to bed. This declaration was per- 
 fectly proper. They had commenced by determining to 
 stop at eight o'clock, then at nine, and then at ten ; it 
 was now eleven o'clock, and those who had won could 
 leave without being accused of meanness. 
 
 They managed, however, to persuade Vibert to deal 
 once more. He consented, and played so carelessly and 
 generously that every one was delighted. He even ap- 
 peared to desire to make mistakes, so that they could get 
 even. So, at the end of the deal, the ladies had regained 
 their rings and the gentlemen their watches and I. O. U.'s. 
 Savari alone was Vibert's debtor to the amount of 
 fourteen thousand francs.
 
 IX THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 105 
 
 The game was over; they rose and stretched their arms 
 and legs; they now felt the fatigue which the excitement 
 of the game had prevented them from feeling before. 
 
 The shutters had been opened, and the sunlight poured 
 into the salon and dimmed the expiring candles. Every 
 one looked horribly ugly; the women especially presented 
 a most disillusionizing spectacle ; the blanc de perle and 
 rouge they had put on the previous evening, all the little 
 details, which had scarcely been perceived in the candle 
 light, but which could not bear the light of day, gave 
 them a strange appearance. 
 
 The carriages were ordered,and they all sought their 
 homes. 
 
 Before taking leave of Vibert, Savari said to him: 
 " Where shall I bring you the amount of my debt. 
 Monsieur? " 
 
 " If you choose, to the Hotel des Princes in the Rue 
 Richelieu, where I am living for the present," replied, 
 without hesitation, the agent of police, who was expecting 
 this question. 
 
 They saluted one another courteously, and each went 
 his own way. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Vibert walked down the Rue Blanche on foot. He 
 needed the air. His head was heavy and his eyes burned. 
 
 It was enough to fatigue any one: to sit down in a chair 
 at midnight, remain in the same place till eleven o'clock 
 in the morning, and during all that time, to continually 
 deal cards, to speak without cessation the same words; 
 to make the same gestures; not to dare to rise or to walk
 
 106 FEDOEA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 for fear of changing the luck; to be hungry and not to 
 eat in order not to lose a moment; to die with thirst and 
 not to drink for fear of leaving in one's glass the neces- 
 sary coolness; to live, finally, in a poisonous atmosphere in 
 the midst of blinding tobacco smoke. 
 
 But the passion for play renders one insensible to all 
 privation, all physical and mental suffering. A gambler, 
 as long as he has cards, money and an adversary, is never 
 unhappy. Shut up four inveterate gamblers in the same 
 cell and give them the means of satisfying their passion, 
 and you can be sure they will make no attempt to escape. 
 More than that, when the day for setting them at liberty 
 comes, if an interesting game is going on, they will ask 
 to have their imprisonment prolonged. 
 
 Although he was very much fatigued, Vibert did not 
 suffer from want of sleep; a man is not sleepy when he 
 has won at play. He counts his money, he makes calcu- 
 lations which keep him awake. It is only unfortunate 
 players who sleep heavily when they return home; they 
 thus forget a loss which is always felt, however great or 
 small it may be, and whatever may be a man's pecuniary 
 position. Then, besides, it is necessary for them to recu- 
 perate their strength in order to run about the next day 
 and gather together a considerable sum to pay their losses. 
 
 Still, Vibert could not be absolutely classed in the 
 category of happy gamesters. It was not the happiness 
 of having won and of counting his money that kept him 
 awake; it was the satisfaction of having gained a victory, 
 of having opened the campaign brilliantly. He did not 
 say to himself: " With all these bank notes, what fancies 
 I can satisfy! " He thought: "My debtor, Savari, is at my 
 mercy; I hold him more closely than any cell in the Con- 
 ciergerie could, and he must speak. I am a more terrible 
 judge than M. Gourbet, for I have time and space before
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 107 
 
 me and a woman at my side, a woman more devoted than 
 I myself to my plans. With the money I have won and 
 which I feel here in my pocket, I can live the same life 
 as Savari, share his tastes, his pleasures, follow him step 
 by step, dine at the Caf6 Anglais if necessary I, who am 
 used to a twenty-sou dinner at some cheap restaurant; 
 take a carriage I, who used to hesitate about getting into 
 an omnibus! I can surround myself with all desirable 
 luxury, and deceive every one as to my personality; for 
 no person endowed with common sense will suppose that 
 a minor employe of the Government throws his money 
 about recklessly. And to think that I have reached the 
 desired result by my own efforts, without having recourse 
 
 to the purse which the Marquis de X placed at my 
 
 disposal, and without appealing to the minister of the 
 interior for aid from the secret funds. " Secret funds is a 
 good name for them," he thought with a smile; "they are 
 so secret that we employes of the secret police never see 
 them. And there are people who suspect us of living on 
 a footing of fifty thousand livres a year. How they are 
 deceived! " 
 
 While communing thus with himself, Yibert, after hav- 
 ing walked down the Rue Blanche, reached the Boule- 
 vards by way of the Chaussee d'Antin. His head seemed 
 lighter, his legs were more supple, and the air had re- 
 freshed his eyes; he felt active, wide awake, and ready 
 for work. Like a prudent general, who does not rest on 
 his laurels, he sketched out a new plan, and set about 
 putting it into execution at once. 
 
 He took the first cab he met and drove to his modest 
 lodgings in the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec. Mounting to the fifth 
 floor, he made some slight alterations in his toilet; locked 
 up safely the greater part of his money, wrote to the Mar- 
 quis de X , according to the promise he had made
 
 108 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 him in his last letter, and then left his rooms and pro- 
 ceeded to the Rue de la Paix. 
 
 Fedora Vidal was expecting him. 
 
 He told her of what had happened at Pelagie d'Ermont's 
 after her departure, and then communicated to her his 
 new plans, which she approved of. 
 
 " From the moment that you consent to meet Savari as 
 often as possible," he said, in conclusion, " you can not 
 continue to live in this house. If the idea should come 
 to him some day to follow you here, he would know who 
 you are, and all would be lost." 
 
 44 Evidently." 
 
 " You are willing, then, to change your residence? " 
 
 " No, I shall keep this apartment. I have too many 
 memories connected with it to consent to leave it. But 
 I can hire another, where I shall go when necessary." 
 
 " Will you authorize me to select it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where would you like it to be?" 
 
 " It is immaterial to me. You can simply send me my 
 new address." 
 
 "You shall receive it this evening." 
 
 On leaving Fedora, Vibert, careful of the least details, 
 bought two second-hand traveling bags; they might have 
 belonged to some rich foreigner, and still bore the 
 placards of the countries they had been in. He filled 
 them with a quantity of things toilet articles, paper and 
 stamped envelopes, shirts, underclothing and handsome 
 clothes. The aspect of these bags, full to overflowing, 
 would inspire boundless confidence in the people of the 
 hotel where he was going to live. 
 
 He had now only to repair to the hotel he had men- 
 tioned to Savari, and where, according to Vibert's calcu- 
 lations, the latter would soon put in an appearance.
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 109 
 
 The Hotel des Princes enjoyed in 1847 a certain 
 reputation. It was the Grand Hotel of the time. The 
 only apartment which Vibert could obtain cost fifteen 
 francs a day; but the Count de Rubini took no thought 
 of money. Since the morning he had become so extrav- 
 agant that he no longer recognized himself; so his first ac- 
 tion, when he was left alone, was to look in the glass, to see 
 if it were really Vibert who drove about in carriages and 
 lived on the second floor front of the Hotel des Princes. 
 
 The glass reflected his image. Only he seemed better 
 looking; luxury appeared to agree with him. When he 
 had opened and emptied his bags, placed the toilet 
 articles on the bureau, filled the wardrobes with clothing, 
 he left his rooms, gave orders at the office in a lordly way, 
 and went out to seek a lodging for Fedora Vidal. 
 
 It would have been preferable for her to have live.d, 
 like him, at the Hotel des Princes, and if he had said to 
 her, " I have engaged rooms for you near mine," she 
 would not probably have made any objection." 
 
 Fedora had but one thought vengeance! Vibert to 
 her was not a man, he was a means. 
 
 And all means seemed good to this outraged wife, to 
 this Italian dominated by the greatest of all passions 
 hatred! 
 
 But, if in her eyes he was not a man, in his she was 
 perhaps a woman. And the agent of police had, in 
 regard to this woman, a strange delicacy of feeling. He 
 would not consent to compromise her, except so far as 
 ">as absolutely necessary. He had one constant thought: 
 to accomplish his purpose, without making Fedora Vidal 
 suffer in her womanly dignity. 
 
 So he took a great deal of pains in choosing the apart- 
 ment he had undertaken to procure for her. One was too 
 near the Hotel des Princes, another too far. This one
 
 110 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 was on the fourth floor, Madame Vidal could not go up 
 BO high. Here, the chimneys smoked; there, there was a 
 bad lookout. This apartment would suit, but it was too 
 dear, and as Fedora had not won money at play, received 
 no subsidy from the police, and had to live at her own 
 expense, Vibert, so extravagant for himself, was very 
 economical for her. 
 
 Finally, after a long search, he chose an apartment 
 situated in the Rue de Grammont. He said that he 
 engaged it for a relative of his who bore the same name 
 as himself, the Countess de Rubini. 
 
 This apartment had one great advantage ; it was fur- ' 
 nished throughout. The person who had formerly occu- 
 pied it had been obliged to leave Paris suddenly, and, 
 during his absence, wished to let his furniture, which, 
 without being new, was still fresh and in good taste. But 
 what principally attracted Vibert was the fact that the 
 apartment had two entrances upon different staircases. 
 The salon, besides its communication with the dining 
 room and the principal entrance, had also a door opening 
 into a little corridor leading to a back staircase, 
 
 Vibert arranged it so as to be alone for a moment in 
 the rooms, and took advantage of this to put in his pocket 
 the key of this latter door. " One never knows what may 
 happen," he thought, " and it is well to take every pre- 
 caution. It is sometimes useless, but it never does any 
 harm." 
 
 The agent of police had not taken a moment's rest for 
 more than thirty-six hours. He returned home and went 
 to bed early. But he did not sleep so soundly as he ought. 
 Accustomed to a poor bed in the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec, he 
 was not at ease on the spring mattress and feather bed of 
 the Hotel des Princes. Perhaps, also, his thoughts kept 
 him awake.
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. Ill 
 
 XV. 
 
 The next day Vibert breakfasted about ten, and then 
 awaited Savari's arrival. Gambling debts ordinarily being 
 paid in twenty-four hours, he had a right to expect that 
 his debtor would soon appear. 
 
 His only fear was that Savari would be able to procure 
 the fourteen thousand francs due and bring them with him. 
 This promptness, which would have delighted any other 
 creditor, would cause Vibert the greatest trouble, for his 
 plans rested on Savari's finding it impossible to discharge 
 his debt. The idea that he would neither pay nor show 
 himself never once occurred to the agent of police. Savari, 
 since his arrest, was in too false a position to be able to do 
 such a thing. He was also too prudent to give, just now, 
 any cause for just offense, to have his name bandied 
 about, and thus to call attention to the sad affair in which 
 he had been mixed up. It was evident, therefore, to 
 Vibert that his debtor would either pay, or, what was more 
 probable, not being able to pay, would ask for time. 
 
 At one o'clock Savari had not appeared, and Vibert, 
 whom the inaction rendered nervous, began to be worried. 
 " Suppose, instead of calling upon me, he should write to 
 me," he thought. "Still, he must desire to meet her 
 again! it is impossible that she did not produce any im- 
 pression on his mind, blase 1 as he is." Vibert could not 
 imagine that Fedora Vidal could pass unnoticed, and that 
 after having seen her once, a man should not desire to see 
 her again. 
 
 At three o'clock his nervous irritation was calmed and 
 his anxiety ceased; a servant of the hotel entered and 
 informed him that some one desired to see the Count de 
 Rubini.
 
 112 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Admit him," said Vibert, who at first was a little puz 
 zled, the name he had taken was so new to him. When 
 Albert Savari appeared, the agent of police rose to wel- 
 come him. 
 
 "Ah! it is you, dear Monsieur," he said, assuming his 
 Italian accent, his exuberance of language and his engag- 
 ing manners; " come in, I pray. I am delighted to see 
 you. How have you been since yesterday? I would 
 wager that you have been in bed ever since I saw you. 
 This is what I did: I took a bath when I returned home, 
 and had some champagne with my breakfast. Ah! how 
 good your champagne is! One ought to come to France 
 only to drink it. Then I went to bed and slept till nearly 
 an hour ago." 
 
 "I -slept less than you," said Savari, when he at last 
 found an opportunity to put in a word. 
 
 " Why so? You must have been tired." 
 
 " Yes, but I was worried." 
 
 "Worried? Pshaw! Sleep is the best thing for worry. 
 Ah! I see, you are in love with one of those pretty girls 
 we met at Madame d'Ermont's, and indeed they were 
 charming. What grace, what wit, what elegance! Ah! 
 the Parisians are justly praised. Our Italian women can 
 not hold a candle to them." 
 
 " Monsieur," began Savari. 
 
 " No, no! You are going, out of politeness, to flatter my 
 countrywomen. But you will not change my opinion 
 about them; they are not equal to yours. Stay, my 
 cousin, to whom I introduced you " 
 
 " Your cousin! " exclaimed Savari, in astonishment, as 
 Vibert had foreseen. 
 
 " Yes, don't you remember her?" 
 
 "On the contrary; but I did not think she was any 
 relation of yours."
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 113 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Well, you see because you took her to Madame 
 d'Ermont's." 
 
 " What was there so astonishing in that? " asked Vibert, 
 as innocently as possible. 
 
 " Don't you know what sort of society you were in?" 
 asked Savari in his turn. 
 
 '"What society? They played cards, to be sure. But 
 I have heard that they do that now everywhere in Paris." 
 
 " Perhaps. But they play as they did there and till 
 eleven o'clock in the morning, only in certain salons and 
 in a certain society." 
 
 " What do you tell me ? My cousin was out of place, 
 then, at Madame Pelagie's?" 
 
 " Since you ask the question yes." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! That is what it is to be a foreigner, 
 and not to know your customs. Why, one of my friends 
 said to me, when I left Naples: ' Go to Madame d'Er- 
 mont's, No. 10 Rue Blanche, and tell her I sent you. 
 She is a charming woman and her house is a very pleasant 
 one.' " 
 
 Savari smiled. 
 
 " And I," continued Vibert, " was fool enough to in- 
 troduce my cousin to her. Fortunately, she spoke to no 
 one; every one was playing, and no one paid any atten- 
 tion to her. But do you know that Paris is not a bit 
 like our cities. I have everything to learn." 
 
 " In certain respects only," said Savari, politely. 
 
 " If some one would only teach me ! " exclaimed 
 Vibert. " I tremble at the thought of committing some 
 new folly. This Madame Pelagie d'Ermont appeared so 
 well, when I called upon her." 
 
 " Being a foreigner, you might easily be deceived. 
 Madame d'Ermont was once a married woman in good 
 
 8
 
 114 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 society, but that was a long time ago. She has still 
 good manners, when she chooses, and she probably did 
 choose, with you." 
 
 " To such a point that I was entirely taken in. Good 
 Heavens ! if my cousin should suspect ! But it was 
 with the best intentions in the world that I took her 
 there. Poor woman ! She lost her husband six months 
 ago, and I verily believe her grief would have ended in 
 insanity, if she had not decided to come to France with 
 me. The journey has already done her some good, and, 
 since my arrival in Paris, I have been trying to find some 
 way of distracting her mind. It seems that my first effort 
 in that direction was not a happy one. I should have 
 questioned more closely the friend who spoke to me of 
 Madame d'Ermont. He thought I was traveling alone, 
 and he mentioned to me a house where only bachelors 
 are received." 
 
 " Oh ! Pelagie is not so exclusive," observed Savari. 
 "She receives married men also, but without their 
 wives." 
 
 " I will never forgive Madame d'Ermont for not having 
 told me the truth." 
 
 "You will be wrong, I think. Put yourself in her 
 place. It was difficult to say to you: 'You take me, 
 Monsieur, for an honest woman, but I am not.' " 
 
 " That is true. You are right. That is very true." 
 
 " Then Pelagie may have thought that the lady was 
 not really your cousin." 
 
 " She is, I assure you," cried Vibert, quickly. " She is 
 indeed, a Rubini like myself. She married one of her 
 cousins, who was also my cousin." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, Monsieur." 
 
 " She decided to travel with me on account of the state 
 of her health; but we do not live together; I am stopping
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 115 
 
 at this hotel, and she in the Rue de Grammont. You see 
 that" 
 
 " I repeat, Monsieur, I have no doubt in the matter," 
 interrupted Savari, whom the simple-mindedness of the 
 Count de Rubini was beginning to weary. " I have 
 come " he continued. 
 
 " You have come to settle a certain little affair. Don't 
 speak of that trifle." 
 
 " But-" 
 
 "Let me believe, rather, that you wish to become 
 better acquainted with me. As for the little sum I had 
 the misfortune to win, put it there on the table, and let 
 us talk of something else." 
 
 " But I " began Savari, all the more embarrassed 
 at the easy manner of his creditor, who treated his debt 
 so lightly. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" asked Vibert, carelessly. 
 
 " I find that I am obliged to remain your debtor a 
 few days longer. On account of various losses, I am 
 somewhat short of money, and " 
 
 " What ! really ! " said the agent of police, in the tone 
 of a person who thinks it astonishing that a man should 
 find it hard to pay so small a sum. 
 
 " And I have come, Count," continued Savari, " to ask 
 you to keep the secret of my momentary lack of funds, 
 and to give me a little time to discharge my debt to 
 you." 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," replied Vibert, " I will 
 give you all the time you need, two weeks, three weeks; 
 longer, if you like. It would be very ungracious for me 
 to refuse, especially as I want to ask you to do me a 
 great favor." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes; let me explain,"
 
 116 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Pray go on, Monsieur." 
 
 " You have been able to judge for yourself," continued 
 Vibert, with that frankness and good humor he knew so 
 well how to employ, " that I have had no experience in 
 Parisian society, and that I am liable to make some mis- 
 take at every step, if I am not guided by some ex- 
 perienced person. So, 1 am very glad of the opportunity 
 to make the acquaintance of a man like you, and I ask 
 you frankly to aid me with your knowledge and advice." 
 
 "I am at your disposal, Monsieur," replied Savari. 
 without hesitation. 
 
 The proposition made to him was too good a one not to 
 be accepted at once. He already foresaw vaguely the 
 possibility of not having to bother himself any more 
 about a debt, which since the day before, for the reasons 
 we have explained and which Vibert perfectly under- 
 stood, had caused him great anxiety. 
 
 " I thank you for your kindness," said Vibert to Savari, 
 when the latter had declared his willingness to grant his 
 request, " but don't agree to undertake more than you 
 can perform. I am not alone. I have with me a sad, 
 suffering woman, whom it is my duty to cheer up. As 
 far as you and I alone are concerned, everything could 
 be arranged; I might perhaps succeed in rendering my 
 society supportable to you, for I should share your tastes 
 and pleasures, which would become mine. But, in 
 charging yourself with me, you charge yourself also with 
 my cousin, and that is a more difficult task." 
 
 " I don't see why," responded Savari ; " in the short 
 interview I had with Madame, she appeared to me to be 
 a very charming woman." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, she is a very charming woman, 
 for an Italian. She had in Naples, both before and after 
 her marriage, a great reputation for wit. But you Paris-
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 117 
 
 ians are blase in that respect and in many others. Don't 
 try to make the bargain an equal one; in taking charge 
 of us, the obligation is all on my side." 
 
 " Very well, have it so, if you like." 
 
 " Good! Then I accept, and, I warn you, I shall not 
 be long in putting your kindness to the proof." 
 
 " So much the better." 
 
 " I have in the first place a quantity of information to 
 obtain from you, addresses, names of tradesmen, etc., and 
 then I want your advice. We intend to remain in Paris 
 all winter at least, and we would like to pass our time as 
 agreeably as possible. What shall we see? Where shall 
 we go? All this is very embarrassing to decide, I assure 
 you, and you can be of great use to us. When can I 
 present you to my cousin at her own house in a more 
 correct manner than the first time?" 
 
 " Whenever you like." 
 
 " I take you at your word ; to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow be it." 
 
 They separated a quarter of an hour afterward. Vibert 
 was delighted; and perhaps Savari was not entirely 
 dissatisfied with the bargain he had concluded. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 For the next three weeks Albert Savari was Vibert's 
 constant companion. He rose and went to the Hotel des 
 Princes every morning, where he usually breakfasted 
 with the agent of police, who better and better played 
 his part of a rich foreigner. 
 
 lu fact, Vibert had so identified himself with the Count 
 de Rubini, that he had begun to forget that he was only
 
 118 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 acting a part. He became so accustomed to being called 
 Count, that a simple Monsieur would have hurt his feel- 
 ings. Even in the privacy of his bedroom, alone with 
 himself, he scarcely acknowledged himself to be merely 
 a commoner. 
 
 " When I shall have finished with this affair of the 
 Rue de la Paix," he wrote one day to his powerful pro- 
 tector, the Marquis de X , " I must hunt up my 
 
 genealogical tree, there must be in my veins some drops 
 of old aristocratic blood." " Well, admit that it is so, 
 imbecile! What then?" replied the Marquis. 
 
 As far as expense went, Vibert denied himself nothing; 
 he lived as if he had always possessed an income of twenty- 
 five thousand francs. He did not hesitate to have cham- 
 pagne frappe at breakfast if Albert Savari were there, 
 and he ordered the famous Privat, steward of the Hotel 
 des Princes, to reserve his best wines for him. 
 
 To be just, however, and to give the generous and truly 
 hospitable qualities of the Count de Rubini their due, he 
 was extravagant only with his guest. When the latter 
 was not present, Vibert replaced the expensive wines with 
 a little win ordinaire. It was the same with numerous 
 other things; if, for example, Savari passed the evening 
 with him, he illuminated his apartments with the greatest 
 brilliancy; but, if he were alone, he lit a cheap little can- 
 dle only. If he shut himself up to write to the Marquis 
 
 de X or to the Prefecture, he took off his frock coat, 
 
 made at a fashionable tailor's, and put on a coat which 
 he had brought from the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec, and of 
 which he appeared to be very fond, as he covered up the 
 sleeves with linen protectors in order not to soil them. 
 In fact, Vibert excelled in his twofold character: on 
 the one side, appeared majestically the Count de Rubini, 
 great lord to the tips of his fingers, and on the other,
 
 I THE KtJE DE tA PAlX. 119 
 
 the modest little police employe, economical by habit and 
 by necessity. 
 
 It was generally after breakfast, over their cigars, that 
 Vibert discussed with Savari the plans of the day. 
 
 " See here, mio caro" he would say, with a negligent 
 puff at his cigar, " you are kind, obliging, full of thought- 
 fulness for my cousin, and I thank you with all my heart. 
 But we have not carried out the famous programme we 
 arranged. We scarcely know Paris better than we did 
 six weeks ago. What have we done? In the first place, 
 you have taken us to dine in the Palais Royal; do you 
 remember that day you gave us such a proof of what a 
 strong head you have?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 "Madame de Rubini tried capriciously to make you 
 drink too much, and I seconded her. Bah! it was impos- 
 sible. You drank all we wished, but you remained per- 
 fectly sober. We could not obtain the slightest confidence 
 from you." 
 
 " Perhaps I had none to give." 
 
 " Every one has: especially a young man who has lived 
 as you have. Ah! you are discreet with your friends, 
 you don't open your heart to them. Take example from 
 me, I am frankness itself, you know my whole life, I 
 have told you all my little secrets. But no matter about 
 that. Since that dinner, what have we done? Nothing, 
 absolutely nothing. We ought to visit all the famous 
 places of Paris. I can not return to Naples, and say that 
 I have seen none of the sights." 
 
 " That would be deplorable." 
 
 " You needn't laugh ; it would be deplorable. It is well 
 enough not to go to the theatre, as Madame de Rubini is 
 in mourning. But we must see the sights. When will 
 you take us to Notre-Dame, to the Louvre, to the Luxem-
 
 120 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 bourg, to the Tuileries, to the Palais de Justice? I espe- 
 cially long to see the Palais de Justice." 
 
 " Bah! it is not very interesting." 
 
 "Ah! that is just like you Parisians. You are so 
 blase that you admire nothing, absolutely nothing. You 
 scarcely deign to cast a disdainful look at what is world- 
 famous. I would bet that you have never asked permis- 
 sion to visit your prisons." 
 
 " No, indeed, I confess it; I have visited them without 
 permission." 
 
 " Indeed! How was that? " 
 
 " It would take too long to explain it to you." 
 
 "Could you not manage it for me, too? Come, take 
 me there." 
 
 " I can't promise." 
 
 " You are not anxious to see such places, then? " 
 
 *l Once is sufficient." 
 
 " Then arrange it so I can go alone." 
 
 " I will try to do so." 
 
 "And the Arsenal, the Gobelins, etc., etc. Why, I 
 shall never get through with them all." 
 
 "It is better not to commence, then." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I want to commence as soon as possible. 
 Why, I don't even know your principal streets; you took 
 us one evening to the Rue Vivienne, the Rue de la 
 Chausse"e-d'Antin and the Rue Laffitte, but we have not 
 had a glimpse of the Rue de la Paix, of which we have 
 heard so much in Italy. Tell me frankly, why we have 
 never been to walk in the Rue de la Paix?" 
 
 " Because we have not happened to be near it, I sup- 
 pose," replied Savari, very simply, while Vibert watched 
 him closely. 
 
 "Well, when shall we see all these things?" 
 
 "Whenever you like."
 
 IN THE RtTE DE LA PAIX. 121 
 
 " To-day, then." 
 
 "Very well, to-day." 
 
 Such were the projects which were constantly formed 
 and never executed. His little scene once played, the 
 agent of police, who did not think it best to show him- 
 self much in public with Fedora Vidal, did not recall to 
 Savari his promises, and the latter had good reasons for 
 not refreshing Vibert's memory. 
 
 After breakfast, about three o'clock, they would go to 
 Fedora's in the Rue de Grammont, chat by the fireside, 
 and sometimes, though rarely, drive out in a close car- 
 riage. They usually dined and spent the evening to- 
 gether. 
 
 Vibert had thus organized about Savari one of the nar- 
 rowest and strangest surveillances that could be imagined- 
 Narrow, in this sense, that he watched not only the indi- 
 vidual himself, but his smallest gesture, word and look. 
 Strange, because it was the person watched who came 
 every day to seek the agent of police and give himself 
 up to his scrutiny. Without the slightest trouble, either 
 in his own apartments or at Fedora's, Vibert performed 
 his duty. And what a duty! Always ready to lay a trap 
 for his adversary, to profit by his least mistake, to scruti- 
 nize his every action, his every word, to obtain against 
 him moral and material proofs, which he still thought he 
 should sooner or later discover. 
 
 Still, if we might presume to criticise the conduct of so 
 clever an agent as Vibert, we should say that he had 
 been committing a mistake for some time. What had 
 been his purpose in asking Fedora to aid him? What 
 had been his arguments to induce her to do so? After 
 having clearly established that Savari, in consequence o 
 his dissipated life, had never really loved, he had exclaimed 
 " He must love you." And as Fedora, stupefied, did not
 
 122 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 comprehend, he had added: "That is the only way we 
 can arrive at the truth. Savari does not know you and 
 can not suspect you; you must form a part of his life, 
 gain his confidence, and sooner or later you will unmask 
 him. You will be the Delilah of this new Samson; you 
 will cut his locks and deliver him up to the Philistines." 
 In this plan, then, it was Fedora who was to play the 
 principal r61e, and not Vibert. His part was to have 
 been that of the confidant, to keep as much as possible 
 in the green room and to appear on the stage only at 
 rare intervals, to listen to a tirade, to dry the heroine's 
 tears and comfort her. In a word, he was to have only a 
 subordinate part in the action of the piece. 
 
 But, carried away doubtless by his artistic instincts, 
 animated by too much zeal, he had increased his part and 
 made it a leading one. He would suddenly leave the 
 green room, without being called, and glide upon the 
 stage in the midst of a scene which should have been 
 confined to the principal actors Fedora and Savari. 
 
 Had Fedora asked him to lend her his aid? Was she 
 afraid of coming into too close contact with Savari? Did 
 she fear that, if left to herself, she would not be able to 
 play her part well, would betray herself, would be unable 
 to hide her horror of the man she persisted in suspecting? 
 But Vibert was not indispensable to Madame Vidal; she 
 might have summoned, to make a third at these interviews 
 and interrupt some dangerous tete-a-tete, Marietta, her 
 maid, countrywoman and friend. Besides, Fedora was not 
 so timid as all this. She must have had a very strong char- 
 acter and great courage to have accepted the part Vibert 
 had proposed to her, to have consented to throw herself 
 into the breach as she had done, to have become volun- 
 tarily the accomplice of an agent of police, and to obey so 
 scrupulously the wishes of Maurice Vidal. Such a woman
 
 IN THE BtTE DE LA PAIX. 123 
 
 would walk right straight to her goal, without asking aid 
 from any one or even crying out for help. 
 
 Must she not desire to prolong as little as possible the 
 cruel position she was in, and to get rid of Savari, either 
 because she recognized his innocence, or because she had 
 given him up to justice? 
 
 The mistakes we have mentioned could therefore be 
 attributed only to Vibert. He prolonged this false situa- 
 tion, and instead of keeping in the background as he 
 should have done, he prevented Savari from seeing Fedora 
 alone and thus perhaps betraying himself. 
 
 And yet the ground was prepared, the hour propitious; 
 all Vibert's calculations had proved good. Did not his plan 
 depend entirely on the love which Fedora must necessarily 
 inspire in Savari? And could this love be slow to appear? 
 
 In answer to this last question, let us cast a rapid 
 glance over the events of Savari's life. 
 
 Albert Savari's father was forty years old and held a 
 modest position in the prefect's office of the department 
 of the Meurthe, when he made the mistake of falling in 
 love with a very pretty woman, named Coralie, who was 
 the cashier of the Cafe Stanislas at Nancy. 
 
 After having paid assiduous court to her for many 
 months, he decided to marry her, despite the advice of his 
 friends and the remonstrances of his employers. 
 
 Such a marriage could not prove a happy one. 
 
 At the end of two years, Coralie eloped one fine day 
 with an officer of the garrison. Savari's father died, not 
 long afterward, of an illness brought on by this event. In 
 his last moments, he addressed no reproach to the one who 
 had so cruelly abandoned him, and who was now living in 
 Paris, surrounded with luxury. He simply begged her to 
 watch over the son, who had been born in the first year of 
 their marriage, and whom he left penniless and unprotected.
 
 124 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 To do Coralic justice, she at once answered this appeal. 
 She sent for the child and took care of his education. 
 But what bringing up can the son of such a woman 
 receive? It is in vain for her to attempt to hide her life, to 
 have, as far as her child is concerned, the delicacy of an 
 honest woman; she invariably betrays herself in some way, 
 either by some allusion which escapes her, or some indis- 
 creet action she commits; or perhaps some speech is made 
 which she could not foresee and which she could not 
 prevent him from hearing. 
 
 The child grows, compares and reflects: he perceives 
 that his mother, when she comes to see him at school, 
 is not dressed like other ladies; her behavior is different, 
 she has a way of expressing herself which seems to shock 
 everybody; the parents of the other pupils avoid sitting 
 beside her ; the principal speaks to her with less respect 
 than to the other mothers, although she pays her son's 
 bills with perfect regularity. On Sundays and during 
 vacation he constantly sees new faces at home; there are 
 men who pet him and give him presents, and whom he 
 never sees again. When he asks his mother, " What 
 has become of such a one? I never see him now," the 
 mother answers, " I have quarreled with him." He ends 
 by discovering that his mother quarrels very often. 
 
 Then he is present at disagreeable scenes with creditors, 
 etc.; they try to hide things from him, but childhood is 
 so curious. 
 
 Finally, some day he finds out all. Some comrade 
 older than he, some rumor which has reached the school, 
 or some indiscretion or accident, tells him the whole story. 
 He knows that his birth places him outside of respectable 
 society, as his mother has been and is. 
 
 Sometimes this sad discovery brings about good 
 results.
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 125 
 
 He says to himself that, after all, his mother has taken 
 care of him, petted him, loved him, that she has given 
 him everything except respect, and this respect he must 
 acquire by hard work. 
 
 He was a child; suddenly, as by enchantment, he has 
 become a man. 
 
 But this is only the exception; in most cases, bad ex- 
 amples have produced their fruit and the child sinks to 
 his mother's level. 
 
 That is what happened to Albert Savari. He had 
 scarcely attained his twenty-third year, when Coralie 
 died, leaving him in possession of a magnificent estab- 
 lishment, two carriages, three horses, a quantity of jewels, 
 twenty-eight dresses, five Indian shawls and fifty-two 
 francs in money. An auction was held which brought in 
 one hundred and twenty-five thousand francs, upon which 
 a multitude of creditors pounced. When all claims were 
 settled, there remained to Albert Savari thirty thousand 
 francs. It is needless to say that he hastened to squander 
 them, and that he had recourse to gambling at cards and 
 upon the Bourse, to direct and indirect loans, to a variety 
 of little stratagems to enable him to continue to live as he 
 had done, thanks to the unintelligent tenderness and com- 
 plete want of foresight of his mother. 
 
 This odd, hand-to-mouth existence, which one can live 
 only in Paris and which is that of many young men, was 
 diversified with numerous so-called love affairs. Savari 
 took after his mother; he fancied himself in love many 
 times, but he had neither the time nor the leisure to be 
 seriously so. He loved women; he did not love a woman. 
 
 We do not mean to say, however, that he ever gave 
 himself up to vulgar intrigues with women of no reputa- 
 tion. Thanks to the education he had received at one of 
 the best schools in Paris, to the distinguished manners he
 
 126 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 had copied from certain friends of his mother's, to the 
 care he took to conceal his origin, thanks above all to his 
 remarkable adaptability, to his excessive tact and his 
 brilliant mental qualities, he managed to gain the entree 
 to many respectable houses and to ingratiate himself with 
 more than one woman in good society. Only, to be in 
 favor with such a woman does not necessarily imply real 
 love on either side. There are women whose birth, dis- 
 tinction and fortune place them in the first ranks of 
 society, who treat love as lightly, more lightly perhaps, 
 than women in the lowest social scale. Their only virtue 
 consists in not being mercenary, and in committing from 
 impulse the faults other women commit from calculation 
 and to obtain the necessaries of life. Liaisons of this 
 sort are binding on neither side; they leave behind no 
 deep memories nor bitter regrets. They cease as they were 
 begun, and sometimes good friendships are founded upon 
 these ephemeral love affairs. 
 
 Such had been Savari's experience; many love affairs, 
 no real love. 
 
 Vibert had guessed correctly, and he had also compre- 
 hended that the time was come when this man, still 
 young; jaded, but not worn out; incredulous in regard 
 to many things, but ready to believe in new things; this 
 man who had always lived like a bird of passage, must 
 desire ardently to make an end of these enervating pleas- 
 ures of which he was weary, to enter upon a better life, 
 to replace caprice, with which he was too well acquainted, 
 with love, of which he knew nothing. 
 
 And what woman was better adapted thanJFedora Vidal 
 to inspire him with this love? Her beauty resembled in 
 no respect that of the women whom Savari had hitherto 
 encountered. She spoke little and only in monosyllables 
 in reply to some direct question, and there was then in her
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 127 
 
 voice a certain vibrating quality which produced a strange 
 impression. There was in her a mixture of sadness, 
 bravery and sweetness, of strange contrasts which attracted 
 the imagination, and, little by little, won the heart. 
 
 It was impossible that Savari should not feel the charm 
 of her fatal beauty. He recognized the kind of fascina- 
 tion which she might exercise over him, the danger which 
 he was running; but, instead of avoiding and flying from 
 this danger, he seemed to take pleasure in courting it. 
 
 Perhaps he had some serious sorrow which he wished 
 to forget; perhaps he suffered from some hidden trouble, 
 which he hoped to cure by a still graver one. Might he 
 not know, not because he had proved it, but from having 
 heard it stated, that a real love, an unfortunate love, a 
 hopeless passion, brings a terrible but efficacious cure to 
 all other troubles? 
 
 This situation was prolonged for some time, about a 
 month; and then Savari had no longer but one thought; 
 to be alone with Fedora, and to be free from the impor- 
 tunate presence of Vibert. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The latter, however, seemed less and less inclined to 
 give up his surveillance. The more efforts Savari made 
 to get rid of him, the more he clung to his habitual place 
 in Madame Vidal's salon. 
 
 Why did he act thus? Did he take in serious earnest 
 his role of relative and guardian ? A suspicious husband 
 or a jealous lover, who has the greatest interest in remain- 
 ing near the woman he loves, sometimes is absent; but 
 Vibert, on the contrary, whom common sense and his
 
 128 FEDOKA t OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 own interest ordered to withdraw, persisted in remaining 
 always. Was he, like Savari, under Fedora's magnetic 
 influence, and near her did he forget that he was only a 
 simple agent of police, delegated by the Prefecture to 
 enlighten justice as to the guilt or innocence of a sus- 
 pected person? 
 
 One day, however, Savari determined to see Fedora 
 Vidal alone, without being embarrassed by Vibert's 
 presence. He made an appointment, as usual, with him, 
 but instead of joining him at the Hotel des Princes, he 
 went directly to the Rue de Grammont. 
 
 Marietta informed her mistress that Savari was alone 
 and that he asked to be received. Fedora hesitated for a 
 moment, then took courage, embraced Marietta, and 
 joined Savari. Perhaps she thought that it was time to 
 put an end to a situation which had become intolerable, 
 and perhaps also she saw that Vibert, instead of aiding 
 her, was interfering with her designs. 
 
 When she entered the salon, she was, as usual, 
 dressed in mourning. According to the Italian fashion, a 
 long lace veil, fastened to the head by jet pins, half 
 covered her hair and fell over her shoulders. This 
 entirely black toilet increased her stature, showed off her 
 fine figure to the best advantage, and gave to her beau- 
 tiful face the greatest charm. 
 
 Savari gazed in admiration and did not dare to speak. 
 This man, who up to this time had never been timid or 
 lacking in boldness, whose principle in love had been 
 that faint heart never won fair lady, trembled when 
 Fedora appeared, felt his heart beat violently, and could 
 recall none of the speeches he had prepared in advance. 
 
 " I expected to find him here," replied Savari. 
 
 She was the first to break the embarrassing silence. 
 
 " What have you done with the Count?"
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 129 
 
 *' I thought, on the contrary, that you had arranged to 
 meet him at his hotel." 
 
 " So I had, but I was late, and I thought that instead 
 of waiting for me he had come here. Is my presence 
 disagreeable to you, Madame ? " 
 
 " To me? Not the least in the world," she answered, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " I am glad, Madame, to have the opportunity of see- 
 ing you alone." 
 
 "Have you anything to say to me?" she inquired, 
 quietly. 
 
 "Yes, I have many things to say to you," responded 
 Savari, eagerly. 
 
 " I shall be happy to listen to you, Monsieur." 
 
 "Monsieur! Monsieur! You always call me Monsieur," 
 he said, in an aggrieved tone. 
 
 " Is that not the proper expression? " she asked, feign- 
 ing not to understand him. " I am not very familiar 
 with the French language, and I am always glad to be 
 corrected." 
 
 "It was perfectly proper; I did not mean that." 
 
 Then rising, he said: 
 
 " Ah ! pardon me, Madame; I am nervous, uneasy, 
 agitated. Pardon me." 
 
 " Why, certainly," she said, smiling. " But tell me the 
 reason of your agitation." 
 
 He approached Fedora, sat down beside her, and said: 
 
 " Do you not understand, then?" 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " You do not understand that a man can not live near 
 you with impunity for more than two months; that it is 
 dangerous for a man's reason to see you constantly, to 
 breathe the same air as you, to " 
 
 He was about to continue, but, raising his eyes to her 

 
 130 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 face, he stopped short. There was a strange expression 
 on Fedora's face; she was pale to the lips and her features 
 were rigid. With her usual courage, she had not hesi- 
 tated to face danger, but she had presumed too much on 
 her strength. At the first words of love which escaped 
 from Savari, her whole being revolted; her womanly 
 modesty and delicacy were shocked. 
 
 What! was it to her that one dared to speak of love! 
 To her, whose husband was scarcely cold in his grave! 
 And this man she suspected of being the cause of her 
 husband's death! Ah! she had not foreseen what she 
 would be obliged to suffer. 
 
 Neither spoke for some time ; he alarmed, and she, half 
 fainting. 
 
 Little by little, however, Fedora recovered her self-con- 
 trol; she passed her hand over her forehead as if to collect 
 her thoughts; she appeared to take a desperate resolution, 
 and turning and looking Savari in the face, she said: 
 
 "You love me, then?" 
 
 He had not expected this speech. From the expression 
 of her face, he had anticipated being ordered to change 
 the conversation, to be silent, or perhaps to retire. She 
 had, on the contrary, completed his sentence and come to 
 his aid; she had encouraged him to proceed, instead of 
 dismissing him. 
 
 When he had recovered from his first astonishment, he 
 determined to seize the opportunity presented to him to 
 speak of the love which filled his heart. By a quick 
 movement which Madame Vidal could not prevent, he 
 seized her hands, and drawing her toward him, he ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 " Yes, I love you as I have never loved, as I did not 
 think myself capable of loving! You are my first, my 
 only love! If you could only know that I am speaking the
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 131 
 
 truth! If you could only know how unhappy I am away 
 from you, and how great my happiness is when I am by 
 your side! The first time my eyes fell upon you, I thought 
 I had never seen so beautiful a woman. Yes, there is no 
 other beauty to equal yours; in you is all charm, all per- 
 fection, all distinction, all fascination! And I, who 
 thought myself so strong, so invulnerable, suddenly under- 
 stood what an empire beauty like yours could exercise 
 over me; I made up my mind never to see you again, to 
 fly from you! But I could not! Te brought me here; he 
 made me his companion. I obeyed my fate. But I knew 
 what was in store for me, that near you I should lose my 
 strength, my peace of mind, that I should love you madly!" 
 
 Savari's clasp had become too close, his words and 
 looks too passionate, and Fedora could bear it no longer; 
 she disengaged her hands from his, rose, stepped back- 
 ward, and leaned againgt the marble mantel-piece. 
 
 "Have I encouraged your love?" she asked. 
 
 " No, never," he replied, " neither by word nor look, 
 and that is what proved my ruin. Ah! if you could 
 know the style of women I have come in contact \vitLi 
 heretofore. What easy victories! You asked me just 
 now if you had ever encouraged me, and I answered no. 
 I retract. Yes, you have encouraged me, or rather, never 
 have I met a woman who has more successfully played 
 the coquette, although perhaps you did it unconsciously. 
 You did not understand that your obstinate silence and 
 coldness were a sort of challenge. I longed to conquer 
 you and gain your love. I long for it still." 
 
 Savari was no longer the man we saw defend himself 
 with so much calmness and coolness against an accusa- 
 tion of murder, in the magistrate's office. His cheeks 
 were flushed, his eyes expressed even more than his lips 
 saidj he was animated, excited. For the first time in his
 
 132 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 life, perhaps, Albert Savari lived. Passion had metamor- 
 phosed him; it had made of a cold, self-contained, cun- 
 ning man, a young, ardent and thoughtless being. 
 
 He was about to continue and to open his entire heart, 
 when Vibert was announced. 
 
 One glance enabled the agent of police to take in the 
 scene and to understand the situation. He frowned and a 
 pallor spread over his face, but he advanced toward Fedora 
 with a smile upon his lips, asked after her health, and 
 then turning to Savari, said to him, affecting good 
 humor: 
 
 " Well, you are a nice fellow to come here, when I was 
 waiting for you at the hotel ! " 
 
 Savari repeated what he had already said to Madame 
 Vidal, and his explanation appeared satisfactory to Vibert. 
 But when the latter commenced to speak of indifferent 
 things, the weather, the news of the day, etc., Savari, still 
 affected by the thoughts he had expressed, and not feel- 
 ing able to take part in the conversation, rose and pleaded 
 a pressing engagement as an excuse for withdrawing. 
 
 " Do not forget that we dine together," exclaimed 
 Vibert, " Cafe" Anglais, seven o'clock ! " 
 
 Savari was about to invent some pretext for declining 
 this invitation, when his eyes happened to rest upon 
 Fedora. Still leaning against the mantle, with one hand 
 supporting her head, she seemed absorbed in reflection, 
 and she looked so lovely that he could not deny himself 
 the pleasure of seeing her again that evening. 
 
 "Very well," he replied, "I will be there."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PALS. 133 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 He had been gone for some time, and Fedora still kept 
 silence. Vibert had retired into a corner of the room 
 and was observing her attentively. One would have 
 said that he was striving to divine her thoughts, to read 
 her heart, and that he suffered from the discoveries he 
 made. His suffering became probably too intense, for 
 suddenly he rose and advancing toward Fedora, said 
 brusquely: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She drew herself up, looked at him and said: 
 
 " Ah ! pardon me, Monsieur; I did not know that you 
 were there." 
 
 " So I thought," replied Vibert, with a sort of bitter- 
 ness he could not conceal. " I am no longer of any con- 
 sequence here, now that you no longer need my services, 
 but conduct your affairs by yourself." 
 
 After a pause, he continued, more gently: 
 
 "At least something must have resulted from this long 
 interview? " 
 
 " No," she replied. 
 
 "You are no further advanced than before?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then we must begin all over again." 
 
 " No," she said again. 
 
 Astonished at this last response, he questioned her 
 with a look, when suddenly she left the fire-place, ad- 
 vanced toward Vibert, and said to him: 
 
 " Do you know, what we are doing is infamous ! " 
 
 "Why?" he asked.
 
 134 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Because he loves me and he suffers." 
 
 " Really ! " cried the agent of police, no less moved 
 than Fedora; " he loves you and he has told you so ! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you believe him? " 
 
 " I believe him." 
 
 He folded his arms, advanced toward her as she had 
 advanced toward him, and said sharply: 
 
 "Well! why need that trouble you?" 
 
 " I have no right to make him suffer so," she answered. 
 
 He regarded her narrowly, and responded in a low, 
 harsh voice: 
 
 " Do you really think so, considering he is the man 
 who killed your husband?" 
 
 " Suppose he did not kill him? " 
 
 " Ah ! you doubt, now ! " 
 
 " Yes, I doubt," she replied, lowering her head, as if 
 ashamed of her weakness. " When he is not here," she 
 continued, " when I am alone with my thoughts, it seems 
 to me still that he is guilty, and as formerly, I wish to 
 be avenged ; but when he is by my side, I am no longer 
 sure of myself, I doubt." 
 
 Pale and with quivering lips, he listened to her without 
 interrupting. When she had finished, he said: 
 
 " We must have done with all uncertainty. This can 
 last no longer." 
 
 " No," she repeated, " it can last no longer." 
 
 "He must give us, once for all," continued Vibert, 
 " proofs of his innocertoe, and then my task will be accom- 
 plished. I shall return to my former occupation and shall 
 have nothing more to do here." 
 
 He spoke sharply, almost excitedly, but Fedora was too 
 agitated to notice anything strange in his manner. 
 
 " If, on the contrary," he continued, " Savari is guilty,
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 135 
 
 as I still believe, as I am sure, he must betray himself; 
 we must free ourselves from him." 
 
 These last words, " we must free ourselves from him," 
 were spoken by the agent of police in a singular manner. 
 But he whispered them, probably, rather than spoke them, 
 for Madame took no notice of them, but replied only to 
 the first part of his speech. 
 
 " It is not enough," she exclaimed, " to say, he must 
 betray himself; what means have you of making him 
 do so?" 
 
 " I have a means here," said Vibert, drawing from his 
 pocket a long, narrow object, wrapped up in paper. 
 
 And 'as she looked at him in astonishment, he asked 
 her abruptly, without any preparation : 
 
 " Do you know, Madame, what weapon your husband's 
 assassin used?" 
 
 She turned pale, and replied: 
 
 " A knife or a dagger." 
 
 "A knife; a knife which you know, for it belonged to 
 M. Vidal. If you have missed it, it was because the 
 police had taken possession of it." 
 
 " And this knife ? " she asked, turning still paler, with 
 her eyes fixed upon the object Vibert held in his hands. 
 
 " The authorities, at my request, ordered it be given to 
 me. Here it is ! " 
 
 She recoiled with a cry. 
 
 " What are you going to do with it?" 
 
 " I shall place it in Savari's hands, and perhaps, when 
 he recognizes it, he will betray himself. You would not 
 care, probably, to be present at the time ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, I do wish to be present," she cried; 
 " it is my duty." 
 
 "I intend to try the experiment this very evening." 
 
 "This evening? Very well! But," she continued,
 
 136 FEDORA I OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " how will you explain how this weapon came into your 
 hands? To show it to him is to betray yourself, to betray 
 us both." 
 
 " No, not so much as you think. I hare thought of that, 
 and I know what I shall say. Then, what difference does 
 it make if he does know now who you are who we are? 
 Have you not decided that this shall all cease? And have 
 I not declared to you, that this experiment shall be the 
 last? If he comes out of it victorious, if his innocence 
 is proven to you, will you continue to receive him, and 
 do you desire to make him your friend? " 
 
 " No, certainly not ! " she cried. 
 
 " If, on the contrary, this experiment is convincing, what 
 matters it whether he knows us or not? Ah! in that 
 case, I swear to you he is lost ! " 
 
 No words could describe the expression with which the 
 agent of police pronounced this sentence. There was 
 in his tone at once anger, hatred and anguish. Fedora 
 was frightened, and for the first time, perhaps, her atten- 
 tion was drawn to Vibert. 
 
 They separated soon after, agreeing to meet the same 
 evening at the Cafe" Anglais. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Instead of entering the police force, Vibert should 
 have become a dramatic author, and he would unques- 
 tionably have obtained great success. He would have 
 excelled in constructing the plots of his pieces, in imagin- 
 ary situations, and no one could have rivaled him in the 
 mounting of the play. 
 
 He desired that Savari, the principal hero of his drama,
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 137 
 
 should betray himself and be unmasked, and he believed 
 he had found the means of effecting this by placing in his 
 hands the weapon used to commit the crime. How care- 
 fully and with what infinite care he had prepared for his 
 great scene! He might have presented this situation in 
 the first act of the piece, but then it would have had no 
 effect: Savari, upon his guard since his arrest, and dis- 
 trusting everybody and everything, would have taken the 
 dagger unconcernedly, examined it, and returned it tran- 
 quilly to its owner. Vibert had allowed several months 
 to slip by; by intelligence and stratagem he had inspired 
 Savari with entire confidence in him; by kind acts and 
 words he had softened him, and by the serious love 
 which he had caused him to feel, he was able to control 
 his strong nature. 
 
 Then see how well he chose the place for his scene: 
 the Cafe Anglais. Was it not at the Cafe Anglais that 
 Savari dined an hour before Maurice Vidal's assassination? 
 If he were the one who committed the murder, would he 
 not be somewhat troubled at being in the place where 
 he had doubtless meditated and prepared his crime? 
 
 Then how propitious was the moment for the decisive 
 experiment! Savari had seen Fedora during the day; for 
 the first time, he had spoken to her of his love and opened 
 his heart. His nervous system was excited, his self-con- 
 trol less great, and he was in one of those physical and 
 mental conditions when a man is easily influenced and 
 impressed. 
 
 At half-past six Vibert entered the Caf6 Anglais. He 
 was immediately ushered into the cabinet he had engaged 
 the day before. 
 
 While waiting for his guests he made some important 
 preparations. He placed on the table some flowers which 
 he had bought and chosen from among those which were
 
 138 FEDOBA: OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 most odorous. Vibert, who had studied everything, be- 
 lieved in the effect of flowers upon the nervous system. 
 He also ordered his wines with the greatest care; he 
 wished them to be heady, but not too exciting. Finally, 
 he had the number of candles doubled, and took care 
 above all that the place which Savari was to occupy should 
 be in a strong light. 
 
 At seven o'clock Madame Vidal, Savari and Vibert sat 
 down to the table. The conversation languished at first; it 
 could not be otherwise, as all of them came to the dinner 
 with serious thoughts in their minds. But Vibert soon be- 
 came master of himself, drove away all thoughts likely 
 to injure the important object he had in view, and directed 
 the conversation toward whatever subject he wished. 
 During the first course it was light, varied, almost gay; 
 then it became graver; at dessert it touched upon serious 
 things, moral and philosophical subjects. Vibert sum- 
 moned to his aid his recollections, his early religious 
 studies, the more or less paradoxical theories advanced by 
 
 the Marquis de X , and all the knowledge he had 
 
 acquired in the office of the commissary of police. He 
 developed certain novel ideas in regard to the organiza- 
 tion of prisons, the cellular system and the galley system. 
 From things, he passed to individuals, and discussed with 
 Savari many celebrated criminals, whose trials had inter- 
 ested him. He spoke of his desire to be present at a sitting 
 of the court of assizes, and asked if some interesting case 
 were not soon to come off. " You can not imagine," he 
 said, pleasantly, "how interested I have always been in 
 such things. I have read most of the celebrated trials of 
 different nations, and all the police memoirs." Then, 
 addressing himself directly to Savari: " Do you know why 
 I took a fancy to you in the first place?" he asked. 
 
 " I have no idea."
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PALX. 139 
 
 " It is absurd and ridiculous, I know, and you will be 
 angry with me." 
 
 "No, indeed." 
 
 " Well, your name was familiar to me, I liked to pro- 
 nounce it; it differs only in orthography from one of our 
 most celebrated ministers of police, Rene Savary, Due 
 de Rovigo, whose interesting memoirs I had just finished 
 reading; I am an original sort of fellow, and people please 
 me for little things." 
 
 "That is very fortunate for me." 
 
 "No, no, there are great reasons for liking you; I dis- 
 covered them later; but it was your devil of a name which 
 attracted me first." 
 
 "It has never rendered me a greater service," said 
 Savari, graciously. 
 
 Vibert bowed, and continued, with his habitual volu- 
 bility: 
 
 "The police, trials, murders, those are what I love! I 
 am not telling you anything new, however; ever since I 
 have known you, I have asked you every day to take me 
 to see your prisons and your Palais de Justice. By the 
 way, do you know, I concluded not to wait for you, and 
 went myself." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Why, to the Conciergerie, Sainte-Chapelle and the 
 Palais de Justice, of course! I could not wait any 
 longer, and, by Jove! I satisfied my fancy without you, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 "Well, what did you see?" 
 
 " Everything, absolutely everything. I found a guide, 
 who pleased me very much; a fine fellow, about fifty 
 years old, with medals all over his breast. Yes, I left my 
 carriage on the quay, and I was gazing in wonder at the 
 great towers of the Conciergerie, when my man perceived
 
 140 FEDORA: OB, THE TEAGEDT 
 
 me and said to himself: ' There is a stranger, an imbecile, 
 I will pilot him about and bleed him well! ' He came to 
 me and offered me his services. I accepted eagerly, and 
 as he had influence, he took me almost everywhere. I 
 saw all the places of interest, the hall where the court of 
 assizes sits, the criminal court, the famous tower where 
 Marie- Antoinette was imprisoned, etc.; it is very curious, 
 very curious! I was so pleased with my guide that I did 
 not wish to part from him, and he, on his side, took a great 
 fancy to me. Ah! I owe to him a famous acquisition! " 
 
 "A famous acquisition!" repeated Savari, who, with 
 Madame Vidal's permission, had lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, a famous acquisition," continued Vibert; 
 "you shall see it presently. Still accompanied by my 
 guide, I mounted a staircase, descended again, passed 
 through a corridor, and went all over the Palais de Jus- 
 tice. In the midst of this interesting excursion, I sud- 
 denly came upon a half-open door. * Where does that 
 door lead to?' I asked. ' To one of the rooms belonging 
 to the record office.' 'Ahl And what does the room 
 contain?' 'Papers and documents of all kinds, and 
 also the different objects which figure in criminal trials; 
 the weapon used by the accused, the hat he lost in his 
 flight, the bloody handkerchief found upon him, some- 
 times the garments of the victim; in fact, all objects 
 which the judges or the jury need to help to convict. 
 During the trial, according as they are needed, these 
 things are taken into court.' ' But,' I asked, eager for 
 information, * when the trial is over, what becomes of the 
 different objects you speak of ? ' * Some, on an order of 
 court, are returned to the owner or his family, and 
 others are sold. You can imagine, Monsieur,' added my 
 guide, 'that the whole Palais de Justice would not be 
 large enough to contain all these articles which would
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 141 
 
 accumulate during the course of years.' ' And when do 
 the sales of which you speak take place?' I asked, with 
 interest. ' At certain times fixed in advance. There is 
 one going on at this moment.' ' Where? ' ' Quite near 
 here.' ' By Jove! ' I cried, 'but I should like to see it. 
 I might be able to buy something which belonged to a 
 great criminal.' ' Nothing easier, Monsieur, if you will 
 follow me.' I did not wait for him to repeat it, but 
 followed my guide, and a quarter of an hour afterward, I 
 was the possessor of a very curious object indeed." 
 
 "A stolen jewel?" asked Savari, with a puff at his 
 cigarette. 
 
 " Oh! better than that." 
 
 " Some garment which belonged to some poor wretch 
 sent to the galleys or the scaffold?" 
 
 " No! no! I adore curiosities, but I desire to make 
 some use of them at the same time. An Englishman 
 cares nothing for that; he gives rolls of bank notes for an 
 old butt of a cigar which has been pressed by illustrious 
 lips. But I am not English, and 1 like to mingle the 
 useful with the agreeable, utile dulci, as the poet says. 
 Just look at this! " 
 
 And suddenly, without further preparation, he extended 
 to Savari the knife which he had held concealed under 
 the table, and which he had opened an instant before 
 without being perceived. 
 
 Fedora, pale and trembling, watched for the result. 
 
 Vibert had risen, as he produced the knife. With 
 both hands resting on the back of the chair, he was also 
 observing Savari through his blue eyeglasses; but he was 
 watching him coolly, ready to seize the slightest change 
 in his adversary's face. He forbade his heart to beat, and 
 it obeyed him. 
 
 The servants had finished their duties and retired.
 
 142 FEDORA: OE, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Nothing was heard but the heavy rumble of the car- 
 riages on the Boulevard. 
 
 At last, perhaps, the truth would be known! 
 
 If Savari were the murderer, it appeared impossible in 
 the state he was in, carefully prepared, as he had been, 
 that he should not betray himself by some gesture, cry or 
 start, at sight of the weapon which would recall to him 
 his crime in the most vivid manner. 
 
 Savari manifested at first a certain repugnance to take 
 the knife held out to him. But, after having carefully 
 examined it, he laid it down on the table, saying: 
 
 " I would not advise you, if you were attacked, to make 
 use of that weapon ; it is in a very bad condition." 
 
 Vibert was confounded. 
 
 All his calculations were at fault, all his plans over- 
 thrown. For three months he had been losing time and 
 working for nothing; he was on a false trail. It was 
 enough to drive him to despair. 
 
 As he made these reflections, he happened to wonder 
 what were Fedora's impressions. He turned to look at 
 her, as Savari, without troubling himself more about the 
 knife on the table, rose and lit a second cigarette at one 
 of the candelabra placed upon the piano. 
 
 Fedora had not changed her attitude, but she was less 
 pale, and a sort of sad smile played about her lips. One 
 would have said that she was indifferent to the bad result 
 obtained. This was too much for the irascible Vibert. 
 What! while he was in despair, his companion, his accom- 
 plice, who was even more interested than he in the success 
 of the experiment, did not share his feelings! He was 
 conquered, and, instead of pitying him, she looked as if 
 she almost rejoiced at his defeat. Such injustice revolted 
 him; but, instead of overwhelming him, it inspired him 
 suddenly with a desire for revenge.
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 143 
 
 " The game is not yet lost," he said to himself; " the 
 experiment is not yet complete. It is possible that, in a 
 moment of fury and exasperation, a murderer uses the 
 first weapon at his hand, without even noticing it, and 
 that the sight of it, therefore, recalls to him no memory. 
 I will complete the experiment." 
 
 He joined Savari, chatted with him for a minute or two 
 on indifferent subjects, took his arm, made a few turns 
 about the room, and led him gradually up to the table, to 
 the same places they had formerly occupied. 
 
 " So," he said then, sitting down and pointing to the 
 knife on the table, " you don't think that weapon I was so 
 delighted at having purchased, is good for anything?" 
 
 "I do not think so; the point is blunted; look at it 
 yourself," responded Savari. 
 
 " So it is," said Vibert, appearing to examine it atten- 
 tively. "That is easily explained, though," he added; 
 " when it penetrated the victim's body, it must have en- 
 countered " 
 
 " What! " asked Savari, quickly, " was some one really 
 struck with that weapon?" 
 
 " Yes, and the blow was fatal," replied Vibert. 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, do you think that I buy things 
 of that sort without inquiring into their origin? That 
 knife is historical, and I know every detail of its history. 
 It was the property of a young man, who was killed last 
 October, at No. 6 Rue de la Paix." 
 
 Savari made a quick movement. 
 
 Vibert continued: 
 
 " This young man was called Wait! th name will 
 come to me he was called " 
 
 " Maurice Vidal," said Savari. 
 
 It was Vibert's turn now to make a gesture of surprise.
 
 144 FEDORA : OU, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "You know about the affair?" he asked. 
 
 " I was directly mixed up in it," replied Savari. 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 " I was accused of being the assassin of Maurice Vidal." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes, I. So, when you spoke to me suddenly of that 
 crime, my emotion was extreme. I have not gotten over 
 it yet; I must be as pale as death. Please hand me that 
 pitcher." 
 
 Vibert obeyed. 
 
 Savari took a swallow of water, and continued: 
 
 " If you knew how much I have suffered from that 
 affair! Imagine! I was arrested and dragged to prison." 
 
 " It isn't possible! " cried Vibert. 
 
 " Alas! it is only too true. I appeared before a magis- 
 trate, I was handcuffed and placed in close confinement. 
 That is the way of the police in France. Yes, it is in vain 
 for you to be calm, not to defend yourself, to go where 
 you are ordered to go, they handcuff you all the same; it 
 is a measure of prudence." 
 
 He continued, turning toward Fedora: 
 
 "Excuse my emotion, Madame; I acknowledge that it 
 is in bad taste at the dinner table and before a woman, 
 but when I think of all I suffered, I am not master of 
 myself." 
 
 " If I could have suspected," began Vibert, " believe 
 me, my dear Monsieur " 
 
 He stopped in the midst of his excuses, and said in a 
 most natural tone: 
 
 " Do you care to tell us how you got out of all 
 this?" 
 
 "By proving in the clearest possible manner," an- 
 swered Savari, " that I was not guilty." 
 
 " But how did the magistrate happen to suspect you f "
 
 IN THE BUB DE LA PAIX. 145 
 
 "Why, simply because I had some business with 
 Maurice Vidal two days before his death." 
 
 "Good Heavens! that is frightful ! " exclaimed Vibert. 
 " Why, then, if you should be assassinated to-night, I 
 might be suspected of the crime, because I passed the 
 evening with you?" 
 
 " Certainly. If the real murderer were not discovered, 
 you would run the chance of being arrested. I advise 
 you to take care," said Savari, less pale than he was. 
 
 "Justice is very queer," remarked the agent of police. 
 
 "Not as much so as you think; it does its duty, after 
 all, and you see it does not delay to release those who are 
 innocent. But, all the same, I suffered much, and you 
 have this evening reopened a wound by no means healed 
 yet." 
 
 He spoke these words calmly and quietly, with a sort 
 of sad melancholy. Suddenly he laid his hand on the 
 table, seized the knife he had placed there, and after 
 looking at it for some time in silence: 
 
 " It was with this, then, that you were killed, poor 
 Maurice Vidal ! " he said. " You were not my friend, I 
 had even quarreled with you. Yes, you, the thoroughly 
 upright man, the man successful through labor, energy 
 and honesty, could not understand certain difficulties of 
 my life, a certain moral and material impossibility of my 
 being what you were. You showed yourself severe, 
 harsh, unjust, perhaps, toward me. Ah ! I am not angry 
 with you, Maurice Vidal; I pity you with all my heart. 
 You had youth, wealth, strength, and one blow from 
 this wretched weapon was sufficient to deprive you of 
 all ! " 
 
 He paused a moment, and then continued, as if oblivious 
 of Fedora's and Vibert's presence: 
 
 "Ah! if the man who struck you had known certain 
 10
 
 146 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 details of your life, as I have known them since that de- 
 plorable affair; if he had known that you loved, and were 
 loved, that you were expecting the next day your dear 
 wife, perhaps his hand would have trembled, and the 
 blow would never have been struck ! Poor fellow ! Poor 
 woman ! " 
 
 Savari ceased, and two great tears rolled down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 At the same moment, Fedora, who up to this moment 
 had been able to keep her self-control, overpowered by 
 Savari's last words, burst into a passion of sobs. 
 
 Vibert's first impulse was to hasten to her side, but it 
 occurred to him at once that this sudden outburst must 
 be explained, and turning to 1 Savari, he said: 
 
 " It was our fault, we were too melodramatic. For an 
 hour past we have talked of nothing but murder and 
 assassination, and she is nervous. By Jove ! it was 
 enough to malce her so." 
 
 Savari did not answer, but regarded Fedora in silence 
 and without approaching her. 
 
 " Come ! " continued Vibert, desirous to put an end 
 to this scene, " what we had better do now is to separate 
 and promise to be more cheerful in the future." 
 
 He rang the bell, ordered a carriage, and, taking leave 
 of Savari, conducted Madame Vidal home. 
 
 In Fedora's condition Vibert did not wish to have any 
 explanation with her. He left her to Marietta's care, 
 and retired. 
 
 What explanation, besides, could he have had? 
 
 What new proof did he possess of Savari's guilt? He 
 had hoped to produce a great effect; the effect had 
 been produced and had surpassed his hopes: Savari had 
 not only turned pale and trembled, he had wept, he had 
 given all the signs of the strongest and deepest emotion.
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PA IX. 147 
 
 But this emotion could be easily explained, and Vibert 
 was taken in his own trap. He had arranged all the de- 
 tails of the scene, developed to the fullest extent his 
 adversary's sensitiveness, and done all he could to render 
 him disposed to sentiment. What more natural, there- 
 fore, than that Savari had been affected by the memory 
 of an affair with which he had been so intimately con- 
 nected, and from which he had so cruelly suffered? His 
 pallor, his tears, his emotion, were no signs of his guilt; 
 they showed only that the suspicions against him, his 
 arrest and imprisonment, had left a deep wound in his 
 heart. In trying to confound Savari, Vibert had, on the 
 contrary, given him an opportunity of showing himself in 
 a more favorable light. This man, whom they had hitherto 
 thought to be volatile, selfish, incapable, perhaps, of 
 any fine sentiment, had suddenly appeared serious, gen- 
 erous and thoughtful. He had been touched at the 
 memory of Maurice Vidal's death, he had eulogized the 
 man who had been his enemy, he had paid a tribute to 
 his memory and mingled his tears with those of Fedora 
 Vidal. 
 
 As he made these different reflections, which were by 
 no means pleasant ones, Vibert wended his way on foot 
 toward his old home in the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec, which he 
 had taken care not to give up. He was not sorry to be- 
 come again, for a short time, his former self, to throw 
 aside the garments of the Count de Rubini, which had 
 profited him so little, to refresh himself with the memory 
 of a life, which, if not a gay one, had been at least peace- 
 ful and tranquil. 
 
 " Ah ! M. Vibert ! " said the concierge, recognizing 
 him. " It is a long time since I have seen you." 
 
 " I have been in the country," said the agent of police. 
 "Has any one called during my absence? "
 
 148 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " No, Monsieur; but here is a letter for you." 
 
 Vibert took the letter, which bore the stamp of the 
 
 commissary of police of the first arrondissement, section 
 
 of the Tuileries, and read as follows : 
 
 MY DEAR VIBERT: When you were employed in my 
 office, you issued a warrant, during my absence, for the 
 arrest of a man named Langlade, and a girl with red 
 hair, known as Soleil-Couchant. They wish at the Pre- 
 fecture information in regard to these two individuals, 
 which you alone can give, and I would be obliged to you 
 if you would come to my office as soon as possible and 
 help me to draw up the required report. Y . 
 
 " I will go to-morrow morning, before returning to the 
 Hotel des Princes," murmured Vibert, placing the letter 
 in his pocket, and ascending the stairs to his room.
 
 IN THE BUE DE LA PAIX. 149 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 I. 
 
 Vibert passed the night of the dinner at the Caf6 
 Anglais in his room in the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec, and the 
 next morning, after giving to the commissary of police of 
 the Tuileries the information demanded in regard to 
 Langlade and Soleil-Couchant, he returned to his apart- 
 ments in the Hotel des Princes. 
 
 He had, however, been almost on the point of giving 
 up the struggle; of writing to the examining magistrate 
 that Savari was certainly innocent or too clever to fur- 
 nish any proof of his guilt; of making his last visit to 
 Madame Vidal and expressing to her his regrets at not 
 being able to serve her better; finally, of resigning his 
 position entirely. 
 
 Restrained by an unwillingness to confess himself 
 beaten or perhaps by a sentiment of quite another nature, 
 he did not put these ideas into execution, but decided to 
 continue, for some time longer, his role of the Count de 
 Rubini, which he had so marvelously created. But 
 he did not play it with the same perfection; he was, so 
 to speak, only the double of that personage. He neg- 
 lected his dress, formerly so orderly; he forgot, in speak- 
 ing, that he was an Italian, and appeared astonished when 
 the hotel people addressed him as "Count." At the 
 same time his temper became unequal, hasty, passionate.
 
 150 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 He seemed to be dominated by one fixed idea, which 
 would be betrayed, when he was alone, by absurd excla- 
 mations and soliloquies, something of this kind: 
 
 " You fool ! you wished to leave your quiet office in 
 the Rue St. Honor; you wished to live ! Well, you do 
 live! What do you complain of? To suffer is to live ! 
 to live is to suffer ! You live then, for you certainly 
 suffer enough ! " 
 
 Then he would suddenly stop, and striking his forehead, 
 exclaim : 
 
 " It is a good thing, I tell you it is a good thing; it 
 will teach you a lesson! Instead of remaining quietly 
 in the rut of your daily life, you wished to have your 
 little pleasures like the rest of the world; you have 
 allowed your heart to beat, and it has taken advantage 
 of your permission and beats. But to make up for lost 
 time, it beats so hard that it may possibly break. Break! 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! Suppose it does break ! Then, no more 
 anger, no more jealousy, no more suffering! Six feet of 
 earth, a mound, a cross of wood, perhaps, given by the 
 
 Marquis de X , and all would be ended. But no! no! 
 
 I do not wish to die; it is too absurd to die for such a 
 cause. I ! Vibert ! to die because Come! come! it 
 is ridiculous! Ah! how the Marquis would laugh! On 
 the contrary, I wish to live, to live well, and indulge in 
 all kinds of follies. I shall live in one year so as to 
 make up for all the time I have been idle ! " 
 
 Then he would pause again, and continue this time 
 more calmly, and with a sort of bitter sadness: 
 
 " Pshaw! I am boasting; I could not live like that. A 
 man does not change thus his habits in a day. One does 
 not burn at thirty-five for pleasures he has never tasted. 
 Then, there are memories which can not be effaced, 
 thoughts which can not be chased away, faces which other
 
 IN THE RtJE DE LA PAIX. 151 
 
 faces can not replace. Ah! if I had a son, how I would 
 launch him at eighteen into the whirlpool of the world 
 and its pleasures. ' Go,' I would say to him, * love, enjoy, 
 suffer, expend your strength, take your heart in both hands 
 and toss it to whoever will have it. You will render it 
 invulnerable and insensible, and when you reach the age 
 of strong passions, my age, you will laugh instead of cry- 
 ing, you will make others suffer instead of suffering your- 
 self! ' Ha! ha! ha! Make others suffer, do you say? Ah! 
 Vibert, my friend, you are a fool. Your son would doubt- 
 less resemble you, and no one, framed after your image, 
 could make others suffer. Look at yourself ! There is a 
 glass; be courageous enough to contemplate your hand- 
 some image. With such a face and figure as that, one 
 suffers, but does not cause suffering. Turn away your 
 head quickly, my good fellow, for fear of disgusting 
 yourself! Bah! what am I doing here? Why am I not 
 attending to my business? I am an employ^ of the Gov- 
 ernment, after all, I take its money, 1 have a duty to 
 perform, and I am not performing it. I have declared I 
 would answer for success. Well! where is that success? 
 I have stopped half-way, before the game was really lost. 
 The devil! it is not lost, it is not lost, I say, and I will 
 pick up the cards again ! " 
 
 Then he would start out and hasten to the Rue de 
 Grammont. But, when he arrived before a certain door, 
 he would stop, and commence his eternal soliloquy again: 
 
 " What is the use of going in? What shall I learn up 
 there? He is with her, I know that! What can I do 
 there? I must wait now, wait silently and without show- 
 ing myself, without disturbing them. It is the only means 
 remaining to me to know the truth, and it is a very slen- 
 der one. It is terrible to be forced to rely upon it." 
 
 One day, however, Vibert did not stop at Fedora's door,
 
 152 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 but passed rapidly by the concierge, mounted the back 
 staircase, and did not appear till an hour afterward. But 
 he was not ushered into Madame Vidal's salon; Marietta 
 did not hear him ring; no one suspected his presence in 
 the house. What had become of him during that time? 
 
 He probably had learned nothing satisfactory; his mys- 
 terious expedition had doubtless caused him the greatest 
 discouragement, inspired him with a profound disgust for 
 life, for, the day after his visit to the Rue de Grammont, 
 he committed one of those terribly imprudent acts which 
 almost always hide an unacknowledged idea of suicide. 
 
 Summoned to the Prefecture to give some details in 
 regard to the matter intrusted to him, he was introduced 
 into the office of the chief of police. When he entered, 
 the following dialogue was taking place between the chief 
 and one of his subordinates: 
 
 " So, you have faith in the information given by this 
 woman? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; she has every reason to speak the 
 truth." 
 
 " According to her, Langlade will sleep to-night in the 
 Rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs?" 
 
 " It is more than probable." 
 
 " Nothing prevents you, then, from arresting him to- 
 morrow morning?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur; none of my men would hesitate to 
 follow me, but I must warn you that their lives would be 
 in great danger. This Langlade has a terrible reputation. 
 He has already escaped twice from the galleys of Toulon 
 and Brest. He is endowed with gigantic strength, and 
 never sleeps without loaded pistols close at hand. The 
 first man who enters his room is sure to be killed." 
 
 "Bah! not if he knows how to act," suddenly said 
 Vibert, who had remained near the door.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PALX. 153 
 
 The chief and the inspector turned in astonishment. 
 
 " I would like to see you try it," said the inspector. 
 
 "That is easy enough done; you have only to follow 
 me, if I am authorized to go to-morrow morning to the 
 Rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs." 
 
 "Who are you, then?" asked the chief, regarding the 
 agent of police more closely. 
 
 " My name is Vibert, Monsieur; you have sent for me 
 in regard to the murder in the Rue de la Paix." 
 
 " Ah ! very well ! We have not heard from you for 
 some time. What have you to tell us? " 
 
 "Nothing new, Monsieur; I am still waiting, and very 
 impatiently, I can assure you." 
 
 " All right. We know your zeal and count upon you. 
 But to return to this Langlade. You offer to undertake 
 his arrest? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " But," cried the inspector, " you do not know what a 
 man he is! " 
 
 "That is where you are mistaken," replied Vibert; 
 " Langlade has already passed through my hands, when I 
 was secretary of the commissary of police in the Rue St. 
 Honore. He did not fear to come one morning, accom- 
 panied by his mistress, and ask me for a passport to 
 England; his appearance struck me as suspicious, so I 
 had him followed and arrested. Since then, he has 
 escaped from the galleys, where, thanks to me, he was 
 sent." 
 
 " Since you know him so well, I am surprised that the 
 thought of encountering him does not alarm you more. 
 You remember, doubtless, his gigantic figure?" 
 
 " Perfectly. I am a dwarf beside many people, and 
 especially beside him; but I remember also the victory 
 won by David over Goliath."
 
 154 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Do you dream of meeting him in single combat?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Do you pretend you can arrest him alone?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Do you wish to die, then ? " cried the inspector. 
 
 " That is no affair of yours," responded Vibert. " There 
 is a difficult task to be performed. No one is anxious to 
 attempt it. I charge myself with it and ask no recom- 
 pense or aid of any description. Permit me, Monsieur," 
 he added, addressing directly the chief, " to say to you 
 that it would be a mistake, perhaps, to refuse such dis- 
 interested services." 
 
 " But I don't refuse them, and I will send you at 
 once to the persons who can give you all the details you 
 need. One observation, however. Are you not afraid, 
 that, during the time you are occupied with this Lang- 
 lade, you will be obliged to neglect the other important 
 matter confided to you? " 
 
 " Monsieur," replied Vibert, " two hours will suffice for 
 me to arrest your colossus. I will take them out of my 
 sleep; which is all the more easy, as I never sleep." 
 
 u Very well," said the chief, with a smile. " By Jove! 
 they spoke the truth when they told me you were a queer 
 agent of police." 
 
 Vibert's only response was a grave bow. 
 
 II. 
 
 The next day, about half-past five o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, Vibert mounted with a determined step the staircase 
 of the house where Langlade was to have passed the 
 night, in the Rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs. After having
 
 IN THE RtJE DE LA PAIX. 155 
 
 sought in vain for a bell at the door, which had been 
 pointed out to him, he rapped resolutely. 
 
 " Who is there?" cried a voice from within. 
 
 "A policeman who has come to arrest you," replied 
 Vibert. 
 
 " You idiot ! " answered the voice. " If you were a 
 policeman, you would not say so; they take more pre- 
 cautions than that before grappling with me. It is you, 
 Crampin, isn't it?" 
 
 " Well, yes; let me in." 
 
 " It is devilish hard to have to get out of bed; but, for 
 a friend, I don't mind the cold; I can open the door and 
 come back again." 
 
 Scarcely were the bolts drawn and the key turned in 
 the lock, when Vibert, who had kept close to the door, 
 pushed it rapidly open, threw himself into the chamber, 
 made a bound toward the bed, seized the cocked pistol, 
 which was lying on a small table near it, and, turning to 
 Langlade, cried: 
 
 " If you make a step, you are a dead man ! " 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! " vociferated the convict, " it 
 is a policeman! " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you so, idiot? Come, you are taken; 
 give yourself up ! " 
 
 " Give myself up ? Never ! " cried Langlade, exas- 
 perated, " I prefer to devour you, damn you ! You have 
 my pistol, but I have a tough fist and teeth which cut 
 like steel." 
 
 "Bah!" responded Vibert, tranquilly; "to use them, 
 you must first get near me, and if you advance a step, I 
 shall stretch you on the ground." 
 
 And with his right hand raised, the pistol on a range 
 with his eye, he seated himself tranquilly on the bed 
 which Langlade had quitted.
 
 156 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Four steps from him, the convict foamed with rage, but 
 did not dare to approach. They looked at each other a 
 moment, the one ready to make a spring, the other ready 
 to fire. 
 
 Vibert spoke first. 
 
 " Well ! " he said, in a jeering tone, " you have given 
 up your idea of devouring me, eh? That is a shame; I 
 would like an original death." 
 
 " You must be a determined dog to dare to come here," 
 cried Langlade, becoming more master of himself, and 
 glancing round for something to use as a weapon. 
 
 " Bah ! " replied Vibert, " you are thought to be more 
 terrible than you really are. Come, don't move about 
 like that, or you will force me to send a bullet through 
 you to keep you in your place. What do you want? 
 What are you looking for ? Your slippers, perhaps ; 
 your feet must be cold. Well, here they are. I am a 
 good-natured devil, and I don't want you to catch the 
 rheumatism." 
 
 And still upon his guard, he fished out with his left 
 hand a pair of slippers from under the bed, and threw 
 them to the convict. 
 
 " Thanks," said Langlade, who had recovered his usual 
 assurance. 
 
 " Don't mention it. Would you like to have your 
 trousers also, and your coat and vest? Don't fear to 
 trouble me, you know; they are right here." 
 
 "If you don't mind," responded the convict, rather 
 astonished. 
 
 The coat, vest and trousers, sent in the same manner 
 and with the same precautions, followed the slippers. 
 
 " Would it be indiscreet for me to ask what you intend 
 to do when you are dressed?" asked Vibert, as Langlade 
 hastily arrayed himself in his garments.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 157 
 
 "I don't know just yet; I am thinking, and I have not 
 fully decided. I think that I should jump upon you, if 
 you did not have that devilish pistol." 
 
 " Would you like to have it? " 
 
 " Of course I would, but " 
 
 " But you fear that I prefer to keep it. Well, I don't 
 know about that. Tell me, if I should give it up to you, 
 what would you do? " 
 
 " Damn it ! I should kill you ! A fine question ! " 
 responded the convict, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "Are you quite sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 "With one bullet?" 
 
 "With one bullet." 
 
 " Well, be comforted, my friend. Here is your pistol." 
 
 Vibert rose, walked up to Langlade, gave him the 
 pistol, turned his back and went and sat down again 
 quietly on the bed. Then he folded his arms and said: 
 
 " I am waiting." 
 
 " Why, you are not a policeman ! " cried the convict, 
 utterly nonplussed. 
 
 "You are very ungrateful," responded Vibert; "I am 
 good to you, I treat you most kindly, and you refuse to 
 believe me." 
 
 "You are really a policeman? " 
 
 "Good Heavens! what do you think I am? A peer 
 of France, perhaps? Thank Heaven, no ! They don't 
 enjoy themselves much; I know one who does nothing 
 but twirl his fingers all day long. I am really a police- 
 man. See here ! I have in my pocket the principal 
 attributes of my profession, handcuffs. They were all I 
 took with me when I came to see you; I even left my 
 sword-cane at home." 
 
 " You are a brave man I "
 
 158 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " You repeat yourself, my dear Langlade," said Vibert, 
 turning about on the bed, " you have already made that 
 remark." 
 
 " And do you think that I am going to allow you to 
 put those handcuffs on me?" demanded the convict. 
 
 " You are either going to allow me to do so or you are 
 going to kill me," responded Vibert. " Between our- 
 selves, you can choose; it is perfectly immaterial to me. 
 Only, you must take your choice! " 
 
 "You don't care for your life, then?" 
 
 "What an absurd question! Should I have come to 
 wake you up this morning if I had cared for my life ? By 
 the way, are you fond of yours?" 
 
 "Yes, just now. Some one loves me." 
 
 " Oh! really? You are lucky." 
 
 " Yes," said the convict, proudly. 
 
 Vibert placed his blue eyeglass on his nose and scruti- 
 nized his companion curiously. 
 
 " Your father and mother were not niggardly when they 
 brought you into the world. You're a tremendous fellow, 
 I understand why women adore you; they have such bad 
 taste." 
 
 Then, suddenly turning his back to Langlade and chang- 
 ing his tone, he added: 
 
 " It is a little cold here ; you have forgotten to light 
 your fire. Shall we go? They are expecting us." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " At the Conciergerie. You will be better off in that 
 place than anywhere else. Besides, you will be close at 
 hand for your examination to-morrow. You can be sure, 
 that as an escaped galley slave, you will be well taken 
 care of; you won't have to mix with the common herd; 
 you shall have a cell to yourself, I promise you." 
 
 "Oh! you do, do you?" screamed Langlade,
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 
 
 " Don't yell like that; you will wake up the neighbors, 
 and it is only six o'clock." 
 
 " The noise of the pistol which I am going to fire at your 
 heart will wake them much better." 
 
 "Don't bother me! You are always threatening and 
 never do anything, and it is annoying," replied the agent 
 of police, stretching himself out at full length upon the 
 convict's bed. 
 
 Langlade made a spring upon the couch, and placed 
 the pistol against Vibert's breast. 
 
 The latter murmured a name, regarded Langlade fixedly, 
 and waited. 
 
 Even had a struggle taken place, the giant, whose anger 
 doubled his strength, could easily have overcome his slen- 
 der, weak and unarmed opponent. 
 
 Nearly two minutes passed; then the convict lowered 
 his eyes, let his pistol fall, and recoiled, murmuring: 
 
 " My God! I do not dare to kill him! " 
 
 " Very well," said Vibert, rising. " Then I must con- 
 tinue to suffer." 
 
 "You are unhappy, then?" asked Langlade. 
 
 " So unhappy that I would change places with you and 
 go to the galleys. Ah! if you had carried out your inten- 
 tion, you would have done me a great service. But I did 
 not come here to tell you my sorrows. This time nothing 
 detains us; let us go." 
 
 " You can go, if you like ; I shan't kill you. But I 
 remain here." 
 
 " That is not possible, my dear Langlade," replied 
 Vibert, gradually regaining his self-control. I have 
 promised to take you away. Come, don't let us have 
 any trouble; you are a good fellow, so am I; let us 
 try to come to an understanding, and as quickly as pos- 
 sible. You have a mistress, have you not, a red-haired
 
 160 FEDOKA I OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 girl, called Stephanie Cornu, and nicknamed Soleil- 
 Couchant?" 
 
 " How do you know that? " 
 
 " Don't we police know everything? It is our business 
 to be well informed. Moreover, if you desire details, I 
 will tell you, for I can refuse you nothing, dear boy, that 
 it was Soleil-Couchant herself who told us where to find 
 
 you." 
 
 " That is false! ! " shrieked Langlade. 
 
 " It is true, I tell you. If it were not true I should not 
 amuse myself by causing you useless pain. I respect 
 affairs of the heart, and I consider it cowardly to tell a 
 man that his mistress has betrayed him when she has not 
 done so; it would be less cruel to him to drive a knife 
 through his heart." 
 
 "Ah! you are right," said the colossus, whose counte- 
 nance had entirely changed. " Rather than learn of her 
 treachery, I would have preferred a knife through my 
 heart." 
 
 " You are not alone in that," replied Vibert, with a deep 
 sigh. 
 
 All at once, Langlade rushed upon the agent of police, 
 and, covering him with his pistol, said: 
 
 " Will you swear to me that Soleil-Couchant betrayed 
 me?" 
 
 " I swear it," responded Vibert, without a movement. 
 
 The convict looked him in the eyes, and then, drawing 
 away, exclaimed: 
 
 " You can not be lying; you are too brave! " 
 
 He threw himself into a chair, with his arms hanging 
 listlessly down by his side. 
 
 "This is why I have not seen her for two days. Ah! 
 the wretch! And how I loved her! She was the only 
 thing I loved on earth! "
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 161 
 
 And turning to Vibert a face streaming with tears: 
 
 " I give myself up," he said, " put on the handcuffs." 
 
 "What do you take me for?" returned the agent of 
 police. "Profit by your weakness! Never! When you 
 are calmer we shall see." 
 
 The colossus sobbed like a child. Vibert walked up 
 and down the room, thinking: 
 
 "He is fortunate to be able to cry like that! I can 
 not, and my tears are burning into my brain." 
 
 After a minute or two he approached Langlade and 
 laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Come! come with me, I will take you to Soleil- 
 Couchant." 
 
 The convict started up. 
 
 " You know where she is, then?" he cried. 
 
 " She has been in prison since yesterday. She became 
 alarmed, lest she should be compromised and imprisoned 
 for the rest of her life, and she betrayed your hiding-place 
 to gain the good graces of the authorities." 
 
 " Ah! And you offer to take me to her? " 
 
 " At once." 
 
 "But I shall kill her!" 
 
 "That is your lookout. I am simply charged with 
 arresting you, and my duties are ended when you are 
 lodged in jail. If it pleases you, therefore, to kill Soleil- 
 Couchant, I shall not oppose you; one woman more or 
 less in the world is no great matter." 
 
 " I am ready, then. Come ! " cried the convict. 
 
 " Come ! " repeated the agent of police. 
 
 11
 
 162 FEDOEA : OE, THE TEAGEDY 
 
 III. 
 
 Vibert, accompanied by Langlade, descended the stair- 
 case. The convict did not seem to be conscious of what 
 he was doing; plunged in reflection, his head bent on his 
 breast, he followed the agent of police mechanically, as 
 a dog follows his master. Soleil-Couchant had betrayed 
 him! What mattered anything else in the world to 
 him? 
 
 However, when he reached the sidewalk, the fresh air 
 striking him in the face aroused him. He looked up and 
 down the street and said to Vibert: 
 
 " Well ! where is your carriage?" 
 
 "What carriage?" 
 
 " The one containing your men." 
 
 "I have no men." 
 
 "You came all alone to arrest me?" 
 
 " I have already told you so; I did not need a squadron 
 of cavalry to back me up; I am in the habit of conduct- 
 ing my business myself, and I find it answers every pur- 
 pose. Does it annoy you not to find before your door 
 three or four policemen, buttoned up to the chin and 
 looking like .undertaker's men? I don't go out into the 
 street with men like that; I have some pride. But if 
 their absence chagrins you, I can send for them." 
 
 " No, it doesn't matter." 
 
 "Don't hesitate, you know," said Vibert; "if you 
 desire a first-class funeral, I wiH. procure it for you. It 
 won't cost you any more." 
 
 " No, I tell you, your society is enough for me," replied 
 the convict, who was in no state to appreciate his com- 
 panion's jokes. 
 
 " You are very kind," retorted Vibert, " and I will
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 163 
 
 return your politeness by ordering a carriage; we can not 
 go on foot." 
 
 A cab was passing, Vibert hailed it, and pushing Lang- 
 lade by the shoulders, said to him: 
 
 " Get in first; don't stand upon manners, please." 
 
 He ordered the man to drive to the Palais de 
 Justice, and seated himself beside the convict. They 
 kept silence for some moments, each being absorbed in 
 his own affairs, without regard to his neighbor. Before 
 long, however, Langlade, whom inaction made nervous, 
 gave a kick against the seat opposite, and exclaimed: 
 
 " To betray me so, me, who have done so much for 
 her! " 
 
 This speech required no answer, but Vibert, ever well- 
 bred, thought it best to respond. 
 
 " My dear Langlade," he said, without turning his 
 head, " notice, I beg, that she could not , have betrayed 
 you, if you had not done something for her; she could 
 have given you up to the police, but that's all. For 
 tr-eachery to exist, there must have been confidence; do 
 you perceive my reasoning? It is specious, but it is 
 just." 
 
 Langlade perceived nothing, and continued: 
 
 " Did I let her want for anything? Never! She had 
 from me whatever she wished. I was the slave of her 
 caprices. She would say to me: 'I wish all that jewelry 
 shop,' and the following night I would strip it. One day 
 we were walking in the Rue Vivienne, and she exclaimed: 
 ' That dress would be very becoming to me! ' That very 
 evening it was in her room." 
 
 "You bought it for her?" asked Vibert, ironically. 
 
 " No," responded the convict, proudly, " I stole it." 
 
 " That is an excellent way of having a mistress without 
 ruining one's self," thought the agent of police.
 
 164 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Langlade, pursuing his line of thought, continued: 
 
 "Did I need money for myself ? Pooh! A glass of 
 wine, a bit of bread and a pallet of straw were enough 
 for me. I was brought up in the country, arid I have 
 simple tastes." 
 
 " That is easily seen," thought Vibert. 
 
 " It was for her sake that I wanted money at any cost. 
 It was to procure things for her that I became a thief and 
 an assassin." 
 
 "By Jove!" reflected the agent of police, "take any 
 crime, sift it, and you will find a woman at the bottom. 
 The idea is not mine, it is as old as the world. Would 
 Adam have gathered the apple if Eve had not cov- 
 eted it?" 
 
 " The last time I went to prison," proceeded Langlade, 
 " was because of her. Did I reproach her? No. And 
 even at Brest I found means of making money to send to 
 her. I made straw baskets and carved little figures of 
 cocoanut. But that was not enough; one day she wrote 
 to me that she needed a hundred francs. A hundred 
 francs! Where could I get them in prison? I made up 
 my mind to rob three convict guards of their savings. I 
 was condemned to the chain gang for a month, but she 
 had her hundred francs." 
 
 " Men are not just," remarked Vibert; " to rob convicts 
 deserved a reward." 
 
 " It was for her sake," exclaimed Langlade, " that I 
 committed all my crimes; those which are known and 
 those which are not known." 
 
 At this the agent of police made a quick movement. 
 With his head thrown back indolently against the cush- 
 ions of the carriage, and his feet stretched out on the 
 seat opposite, he had contented himself with taking but 
 a feeble part in the discourse. The convict soliloquized
 
 nT THE ETTE DE LA PAIX. 165 
 
 on the right, and the police employe on the left; it was a 
 very innocent way of passing the time. But these last 
 words, " the crimes which are known and those which 
 are not known," aroused Vibert from his lethargy. The 
 agent of police, in love with his profession, was suddenly 
 awakened. The evening before, these words might per- 
 haps have been pronounced before him with impunity. 
 He was in such a state of physical and mental prostration, 
 that he would have cared nothing for them. "What mat- 
 tered to him then the police, his duty and the crimes of a 
 Langlade? He would have cared nothing for this convict; 
 it was Savari, Savari alone, he wanted. The world began 
 and ended for him in the Rue de Grammont. He had 
 only offered to arrest Langlade to take his mind off his 
 sorrow. And he had succeeded; the expedition he had 
 made, the danger he had run, his vain farewell to life, his 
 morning ride through Paris, side by side with a redoubt- 
 able malefactor, had in a great measure brought him to 
 his senses; he was roused to life, and the Count de Rubini 
 disappeared to give place to the agent of police, Vibert. 
 There were in Langlade's existence unknown crimes; it 
 behooved him then to discover them. 
 
 " By the way, do you know what time it is?" he asked 
 Langlade, after a moment's reflection. 
 
 The convict, buried in reverie, did not reply. Vibert 
 touched him on the arm. 
 
 "What! are we there?" cried Langlade, starting up as 
 if suddenly awakened. 
 
 " No, not yet. I have disturbed you to ask if you knew 
 what time it was." 
 
 "What matters the time to me?" 
 
 " I have been reflecting," continued Vibert. 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " It is much too early to see Soleil-Couchant."
 
 FEDORA t OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the convict, threateningly, " you are 
 already seeking for reasons not to keep your word." 
 
 " How ill-tempered and suspicious you are ! " replied 
 Vibert, tranqxiilly. "At my slightest observation you 
 fly off at a tangent like a skyrocket. What I have the 
 honor to tell you is very simple, however; I can not go to 
 the prison and say to the warden: ' Here is my friend, 
 M. Langlade, an escaped galley slave. He desires to have 
 a moment's interview with his mistress, Mademoiselle 
 Soleil-Couchant, who is at present residing in your house. 
 Would you have the kindness, Monsieur, to ask that lady 
 to descend to the salon, or to conduct M. Langlade to 
 the apartment she occupies? ' The warden would answer 
 me : ' Monsieur, M. Langlade's visit honors and delights 
 us, all the more as we hope to have the pleasure of keep- 
 ing him with us for a long time. But we can not disturb 
 Mademoiselle Soleil-Couchant; for your protege to see 
 her an order of court is necessary, and the persons who 
 can give that order are not up at this early hour.' That, 
 my dear Langlade, is what would certainly happen on 
 our arrival. You have intelligence, and you must see 
 it would be so." 
 
 " Well ? " asked Langlade, harshly, and totally insensible 
 to the pleasant joking of the agent of police. 
 
 "Well," responded Vibert, in the most courteous tone, 
 " I simply propose to kill two or three hours, where you 
 like and as you like; to delay our visit a little, that's all. 
 You are sure of me, since I promise not to quit you. At 
 nine o'clock we will go to the Prefecture, I will have a 
 moment's interview with the chief of police and tell him 
 I have given you my word, and that he must help me 
 to keep it. At ten o'clock, at the latest, you shall see 
 Soleil-Couchant. Does that satisfy you? " 
 
 " It must, I suppose," growled the convict.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 167 
 
 " Good ! you are reasonable, as I expected you would 
 be. We have now only to decide what we shall do with 
 our time. Have you any idea? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What would you say to a nice little breakfast?" 
 
 " I am not hungry," responded Langlade. 
 
 " You selfish fellow ! Perhaps you are not hungry. 
 But you don't think of me, who got up at five o'clock to 
 call upon you. Then, you have subjected me to all sorts 
 of excitement; you wished to kill me, then you did not 
 wish to kill me; I said to myself it was all over, and slap! 
 bang! I was still alive! You see, all that has broken me 
 up. Come, let us put something in our stomachs; it will 
 enable you to chat all the more eloquently with Soleil- 
 Couchant." 
 
 " Oh ! what I have to say to her won't take long," ex- 
 claimed the convict. 
 
 "Yes, I understand you, a good blow is quickly given; 
 there is no need of the eloquence of Demosthenes. Still, 
 if I were in your place, I should like first to give her a 
 piece of my mind, to treat her as she deserves, and say to 
 her all that I have in my heart." 
 
 " I don't know how to talk, I only know how to act." 
 
 " Believe me, you could talk like a parson, if you had 
 only a good beefsteak and a bottle of Chablis upon your 
 conscience." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " Do I think so? Why, every time that I have an 
 appointment with a woman, I begin by eating a good 
 breakfast. Then a man's brain is excited and aroused, 
 and he acquits himself satisfactorily." 
 
 "Yes, it is possible," replied the convict; "one kills 
 then without hesitation." 
 
 Vibert had touched the right spot.
 
 168 FEDORA: on, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Is it settled? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You are an angel." 
 
 " Driver," called out the agent of police, putting his 
 head out of the window, " drive to Baratte's." 
 
 " No, not there! " cried Langlade. 
 
 "Why not? Isn't it a good place?" 
 
 " I have another reason." 
 
 "You owe some money there?" 
 
 " No, I owe nothing." 
 
 "What is your reason, then, for not wanting to go there ?" 
 
 " I dined there, three days ago, with her," replied the 
 convict, with a sigh. 
 
 Vibert looked at Langlade without astonishment; he 
 understood him. An agent of police and a convict, those 
 two extremes, have sometimes points of contact. 
 
 However, Vibert reflected that it might be advantage- 
 ous to have Langlade in the room where he had dined 
 with Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 " My dear friend," he said to his companion, " ordinarily 
 I understand all the workings of the heart, but I don't 
 quite see through this. Now, look here; either you still 
 adore your faithless charmer, and in that case you must 
 take pleasure in being again in a place where you were 
 together; or you despise and execrate her, and all that 
 concerns her is perfectly indifferent to you." 
 
 " I do despise her! I do execrate her!" 
 
 "Well then, here we are at Baratte's; let us go in." 
 
 " As you please," said Langlade, sullenly. 
 
 They got out of the carriage, passed through the hall, 
 and mounted a sort of ladder, which did not deserve to 
 be called a staircase. 
 
 On the first floor a waiter showed them into a private 
 room. Langlade glanced about it and said:
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 169 
 
 " It is the same; I recognize it." 
 
 " Chance always brings such things about," responded 
 the philosophical Vibert. 
 
 Then he ordered an excellent breakfast, appropriate 
 for the occasion, and sat down at the table opposite the 
 convict. 
 
 " I am unworthy to belong to the police," he thought, 
 " if, before breakfast is over, that idiot has not told me 
 all. What unknown crime can he have committed? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 To commence with, four dozen oysters were brought, 
 to which Vibert, to give a good example, did full justice. 
 Langlade was not slow in following suit; either his appe- 
 tite had returned to him, or he was ashamed to appear 
 longer to regret his faithless mistress. 
 
 "Now give your order," said Vibert, when the four 
 dozen had disappeared. "Don't be afraid; it is the State 
 which pays. I have secret funds." 
 
 " Then, I propose a beefsteak with mushrooms," said the 
 convict, somewhat cheered up by the bottle of white wine 
 they had drank with their oysters. 
 
 " All right," said Vibert, " but I'll bet you have some 
 particular reason for wanting that." 
 
 "What reason?" 
 
 " Sentiment. She must have asked for a beefsteak 
 with mushrooms the last time you .dined here. Come, 
 confess it." 
 
 " But" 
 
 " Now don't make me tease you as if you were a pretty 
 woman."
 
 170 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " One can hide nothing from you. You are a devil," 
 said the convict, emptying his glass. 
 
 "You love your Soleil-Couchant still, eh?" asked 
 Vibert. 
 
 " No, I do not love her," cried Langlade, bringing his 
 heavy fist down upon the table with a force that broke 
 two glasses. 
 
 " Now don't tell me such fibs as that ! " retorted the 
 agent of police. "Is it possible to suddenly cease loving 
 a woman one has adored all his life?" 
 
 " Adored, yes, adored! " said the colossus, with a heavy 
 sigh. " And she never loved me! " 
 
 " That is always the case," remarked Vibert. 
 
 " If you knew all the tricks she played me! " 
 
 " I don't doubt it. They are all alike. And at each 
 trick you loved her all the more eh?" 
 
 Alas ! " 
 
 He swallowed a glass of wine, and added: 
 
 " But I don't want to talk of that. I should say too 
 much." 
 
 " That is a good thing to know," thought Vibert; " have 
 no fear, my friend, we will return to this subject before 
 breakfast is over." 
 
 Then, turning to Langlade, who was sitting with his 
 head buried in his hands, he said, aloud: 
 
 "You no longer eat. Remember, it will be a long 
 time perhaps before you have so good a breakfast." 
 
 " Why? " demanded the convict, raising his head. 
 
 " Why? Well, you must know, from long experience, 
 that the State is not in the habit of nourishing its board- 
 ers on beefsteaks with mushrooms." 
 
 "I know that. But perhaps I have no intention of 
 becoming one of the State's boarders," said Langlade, 
 looking the agent of police full in the face.
 
 I1ST THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 171 
 
 "Really?" answered the latter, without betraying the 
 slightest emotion. " I thought, however, that I had had 
 the pleasure of arresting you this very morning." 
 
 "You arrested me, I acknowledge. But what will pre- 
 vent me from going where I choose when I have finished 
 
 my breakfast?" 
 j 
 
 "You! " exclaimed the colossus, with a roar of laughter. 
 "You haven't taken a good look at me, then?" 
 
 He rose to his full height, and his head nearly touched 
 the ceiling of the room. 
 
 " Yes," said Vibert, examining him through his eyeglass, 
 " you are a fine man. I knew it already, and I don't think 
 it is very kind of you to parade your physical advantages 
 before me." 
 
 "And my shoulders, have you remarked them?" con- 
 tinued Langlade, admiring himself complaisantly in a 
 glass placed behind Vibert. 
 
 " Can you give them to me? No. Then don't boast of 
 your charms; it humiliates me." 
 
 "I only wished to make you understand," said the 
 convict, seating himself again, " that after breakfast it 
 would be very easy for me to take you up in my arms, 
 cram a napkin into your mouth to prevent you from giving 
 the alarm, and throw you under the table, while I went 
 quietly about my business." 
 
 " Yes," said Vibert, helping Langlade to half an ome- 
 lette, " all that you have said appears at first sight very 
 easy of execution. But " 
 
 " But?" demanded the convict. 
 
 " You will not execute it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Two motives will prevent you." 
 
 " What are they?"
 
 172 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " In the first place, you won't be able to lay a finger 
 on me." 
 
 " You are joking?" 
 
 " Not in the least. Look! " and placing a pistol before 
 him. " Do you know that? " he asked. 
 
 " That's my pistol." 
 
 " Exactly. In your despair, you forgot it, but I took 
 possession of it. If, during your absence, your room 
 should be searched, this weapon would have compromised 
 you, and I wished to spare you that annoyance Oh! don't 
 cast covetous looks at that pistol ; I shall not give it up 
 to you again. Affairs have changed during the last hour. 
 This morning I did not care to live ; now, your society 
 and this white wine have cheered me up, and I am no 
 longer morbid. Be kind enough to keep that in mind. 
 What will you take for dessert?" he continued, in the 
 same pleasant tone. " I propose a little roquefort, some 
 crackers, and a cup of black coffee with a glass of brandy. 
 How does that suit you?" 
 
 " Order what you like," said Langlade, gruffly. " But 
 you spoke of two motives which would prevent me from 
 leaving this restaurant without you. You have mentioned 
 the first; what is the second? " 
 
 " Oh, the second is still better." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I promised you that before you were locked up, I 
 would procure you the pleasure of seeing Soleil-Couchant; 
 you would not put me in such a position that I could not 
 fulfill my promise." 
 
 "Bah! I care more for my liberty than for a woman," 
 said Langlade, in a careless tone. 
 
 " Soleil-Couchant is not a woman to you, she is an idol." 
 
 " I shall find her again." 
 
 " In ten years, two years, six months, or even two
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 173 
 
 weeks, if you like. But what you want is to see her this 
 very day, at once; you desire to be able to cast in her 
 face all the anger which has been gradually swelling in 
 your heart against her for the last two hours, and which is 
 stifling you." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is true," cried the convict, who had just 
 drank a glass full of brandy. " And when I have told her 
 all I have in my heart, I will strangle her with these two 
 hands." 
 
 "You will make a mistake, then," observed Vibert, 
 removing the bottle of brandy. He wished Langlade to 
 be under the influence of liquor, but he did not desire 
 him to become absolutely drunk. 
 
 " Why should I make a mistake?" asked the convict. 
 
 " Because it is foolish to kill her, when you can be re- 
 venged in a better way." 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 "A day in prison," said Vibert, "frightened Soleil- 
 Couchant; she was afraid of being shut up for five or ten 
 years, and she betrayed you. Betray her, in your turn. 
 She must have been your accomplice in more than one 
 crime; a word from you would send her up to the court 
 of assizes, and the judge would sentence her to some 
 prison where she could betray no one." 
 
 Langlade reflected a moment, and said: 
 
 " No; I want to kill her, but I don't want her to suffer." 
 
 " I have failed," thought Vibert. " This fellow is too 
 virtuous. I must try some other way." 
 
 " You see you love her still," he said, aloud. 
 
 " Well, yes, I do love her, damn you ! Yes, I do love 
 her ! " cried the convict, rising to his feet. 
 
 " But you are not jealous." 
 
 " Not "jealous, I ! " 
 
 " No; if you were jealous, you would have her shut
 
 174 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 up, so that she could not deceive you during your absence 
 at Brest or Toulon." 
 
 " But I tell you I am going to kill her ! " vociferated 
 Langlade, advancing toward Vibert with clenched fists. 
 " Ah ! I am not jealous ! " he continued, becoming more 
 and more excited; " I, who killed a man because of her! " 
 
 "Don't tell me that," said Vibert, "I should be 
 obliged to denounce you." 
 
 He knew that a lover and a drunken man are all the 
 more desirous to speak if one appears to avoid their 
 confidences. 
 
 " Well, denounce me then ! " cried the convict, wild 
 with excitement. " What difference does it make to me? 
 Since Soleil-Couchant has betrayed me, I prefer to mount 
 the scaffold rather than to return to the galleys." 
 
 He seized the bottle of brandy, and placing it to his 
 lips took a long draught; then, approaching as near as 
 possible to the agent of police, he continued in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " Yes, I repeat it, I killed a man, because of her. 
 Oh ! it was not long ago; it was last October or Novem- 
 ber. She was living then in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Au- 
 gustin. One evening I went up to her room and rapped 
 at her door. She did not answer. I thought that she 
 was out, and I was about to go, when I heard voices 
 within. Then I went down to the story below and 
 waited. An hour passed. The door opened and a man 
 appeared. She accompanied him to the top of the stairs. 
 ' I shall see you soon again,' she said to him, and she kissed 
 him. Why did I not dash up and kill them both? I 
 don't know. The man descended; I flattened myself 
 against the wall to let him pass, and followed him. He 
 walked down the Rue Neuve-Saint-AuguStin,and turned 
 into the Rue de la Paix. Suddenly he stopped before a
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 175 
 
 house and entered; I did the same. Then, I don't know 
 what happened. I lost my head. I remember nothing 
 but a terrible cry, a cry uttered by my rival. Five 
 minutes afterward I was with Soleil-Couchant, and I said 
 to her: ' I have killed your lover! ' ' 
 
 This recital, mingled with numerous libations, com- 
 pletely prostrated Langlade; his head fell heavily upon 
 the table. All Vibert's efforts to obtain further details 
 were useless. However, what more did he need? Was 
 not the story he had heard as clear as possible? 
 
 While the convict slept a heavy slumber, the agent of 
 police philosophized, but his thoughts kept reverting to 
 the Rue de Grammont. 
 
 " Men never change, then," he thought; " their wives 
 absent themselves for two months, and they have not the 
 strength to remain faithful to them. Some pretty woman 
 appears and smiles upon them, and they forget immedi- 
 ately their promises, their duty, their love! Their love?" 
 with a shrug of his shoulders. " How can I use that 
 word? Do those people love? No ! When one really 
 loves a woman, no other exists upon the earth. Bah ! 
 he only received what he deserved; to deceive a woman 
 like that is infamy ! " 
 
 When, an hour afterward, the convict awoke, Vibert 
 tried to continue the conversation at the point it had been 
 broken off. But Langlade, half drunk, obstinately re- 
 fused to say more. He had now only one idea; to see 
 Soleil-Couchant as soon as possible. The agent of police 
 saw that it would be dangerous to delay longer in keeping 
 his word. He paid his bill, cocked his pistol, entered 
 the carriage which was still waiting, and drove with his 
 companion in the direction of the Prefecture.
 
 176 FEDOEA: OB, THE TKAGEDY 
 
 v. 
 
 The drive of Vibert and his prisoner was troubled by 
 no incident. Langlade, still partially stupefied by drink, 
 lay back in one of the corners of the carriage and did 
 not open his lips. The agent of police watched him at- 
 tentively; with his pistol in his hand, he was ready to 
 fire at the slightest attempt to escape. He did not want 
 his captive to escape at the very moment he was about to 
 land him in the prison. 
 
 At a short distance from the Prefecture, Vibert ordered 
 the driver to stop, and as Langlade made a movement to 
 get out, he laid his hand on his arm, and said : 
 
 " One word, please." 
 
 " Again ! " grumbled the convict. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, it won't take long. You have only 
 to listen for a moment." 
 
 "Go on, then," said Langlade, in a resigned tone, 
 throwing himself back again in the corner. 
 
 " I don't know," continued Vibert, " what your opinion 
 is of agents of police in general. It probably is not a 
 very good one, as I can easily understand. But I have 
 my own personal conceit, and I want you to think as 
 little badly of me as possible. Let us establish our posi- 
 tion clearly, then, so that you may have nothing to 
 reproach me with. You have expressed a wish to see 
 Soleil-Couchant, and I have promised you that you shall 
 see her, and I will keep my word; in the first place, 
 because 1 have no interest in not keeping it, and secondly, 
 because, in my opinion, an agent of police who respects 
 himself and his profession has no right to deceive a 
 malefacWr; that would be descending too low. But 
 when you set your foot within the Prefecture, you are
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 177 
 
 only an escaped galley slave, a dangerous being at open 
 war with society, and against whom too many precautions 
 can not be taken. You have then only me to rely upon; 
 my influence ceases at the door of the building you see 
 before you. Just now, I was your table companion, a 
 comrade to whom you narrated your domestic sorrows; 
 now I become a simple employe of the Prefecture. I have 
 arrested you, I deliver you up to the authorities, and 
 come what may, my task is ended, and I return to my 
 own affairs." 
 
 " You will not leave me before letting me see Soleil- 
 Couchant," said Langlade, who, still dominated by one 
 fixed idea, had paid but scanty attention to Vibert's 
 discourse. 
 
 " Of course not," replied Vibert, " but now please hold 
 out your hands." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " So I can put on the handcuffs." 
 
 " But I shan't hurt any one," said the convict, com- 
 pletely subdued and as gentle as a child; " Soleil-Cou- 
 chant is the only one I have a grudge against." 
 
 " My friend," replied Vibert, mildly, " during the four 
 hours we have been together, I have proved to you 
 sufficiently, I think, that I have no fear of you. But, 
 from this moment, we shall not be alone. You must go 
 up the staircase, traverse corridors, and enter an office 
 where you will be met by a crowd of persons who know 
 you by sight and reputation, and whom you inspire with 
 fear, exaggerated, I confess, but still very great. It is in 
 the interest of their peace of mind that I propose to you 
 this little precaution. Be good enough to agree to it." 
 
 " If I am handcuffed," observed the convict, quietly, 
 " I shall not be able to kill Soleil-Couchant." 
 
 " In the first place," replied Vibert, " the handcuffs 
 12
 
 178 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 will not prevent you from raising your hands and bringing 
 them down on a certain person's head. With the strength 
 you are fortunate enough to possess, a movement of that 
 kind would be sufficient to disembarrass you of several 
 feeble women. Then also, as Soleil-Couchant's life, I 
 have already told you, is a matter of no moment to me, I 
 promise you, if you insist, that the handcuffs shall be 
 removed when you are in her presence." 
 
 "Then go ahead; I am in a hurry," said Langlade, 
 holding out his hands to Vibert. 
 
 Vibert availed himself of the permission, and said to 
 the driver: 
 
 " Take the Rue de Jerusalem, enter the court of the 
 Prefecture, and stop before the main entrance." 
 
 In five minutes Vibert, with his captive, entered the 
 office of the chief of police. 
 
 He advanced to the desk and said: 
 
 " I have kept my promise; here he is." 
 
 "Who?" asked the chief, raising his head. 
 
 " Langlade." 
 
 " You have arrested him? " 
 
 " I, alone. Did I not promise to do so? " 
 
 "Very well, Monsieur. I thank you heartily; you 
 have rendered us a signal service. In an hour I shall see 
 the prefect, and I promise to speak to him of you." 
 
 " As you please, Monsieur," said Vibert, " but I shall 
 refuse any reward for this business, which has interested 
 me greatly and taken my mind off my own troubles. I 
 have only one request to make of you." 
 
 " It is granted in advance." 
 
 The chief rose and spoke with Vibert in the embrasure 
 of one of the windows. 
 
 " Very well," he said, after a short conversation. "lam 
 of your opinion that it is always necessary to keep prom-
 
 IN THE BUB DE LA PAIX. 179 
 
 ises made to people of that sort. They fear us, they hate 
 us, they kill us, but they are forced to respect us. I will 
 have Langlade taken to one of the cells of the Concier- 
 gerie, and will give orders in regard to his mistress. " 
 
 "I would like," said Vibert, " to have an interview with 
 that woman before she meets Langlade; I have an impor- 
 tant point to elucidate in regard to another matter, and 
 she may be able to give me useful information." 
 
 "Certainly, you have only to go to the prison; here is 
 a note for the head- jailor." 
 
 Vibert bowed and retired, while agents summoned by 
 the chief of police conducted Langlade to the Concier- 
 gerie. This man so strong, so brutal, so terrible, followed 
 his guards quietly. He had only one thought: to see 
 Soleil-Couchant again as soon as possible. Any resistance 
 would have delayed the moment he looked forward to so 
 ardently. 
 
 The news of his arrest spread rapidly through the 
 building. Clerks, police officers and some strangers who 
 happened to be at the Prefecture, ran to see him pass by. 
 He walked before them all, calm and indifferent. What 
 mattered these people to him? He was reserving all his 
 anger for the woman who had deceived and betrayed him. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Stephanie Cornu, nicknamed Soleil-Couchant, as we 
 have said, was a girl with red hair, naturally red. It is 
 well to be explicit on this subject, in an age when 
 woman's hair changes so easily its shade. 
 
 Souvent ch&eeu varie; 
 Bien f ol est qui s'y fie, 
 
 Frangois I. would say to-day.
 
 180 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Soleil-Couchant, therefore, had all the beauty and charm 
 of women with red hair, as she had also certain of their 
 imperfections. She was a tall, handsome girl, with broad 
 shoulders and a superb figure. Her hands and feet were 
 large, but well shaped. There was something at once 
 strange, tender, cold, lascivious, passionate and cruel about 
 her. Very thin and rather pale lips enclosed teeth, white, 
 small, regular and slightly separated from one another. 
 The chin was heavy and sensual; the nose small, turned 
 up, and with sensitive, dilated nostrils. The eyes, long 
 like those of a Chinese, without distinct color, green, blue, 
 gray or yellow, according to the time of day and the de- 
 gree of light, were surmounted by thick, well formed 
 eyebrows, which is rare among red-haired women. A few 
 freckles scattered here and there rather enhanced her 
 beauty than otherwise. As for her hair, we will be ex- 
 pected, perhaps, to give its exact shade. To say that a 
 woman has red hair is not sufficient. As there are degrees 
 in crime, there are perhaps even more in the color red. 
 We will say that the nickname of Soleil-Couchant (Set- 
 ting-Sun) given to Stephanie Cornu was perfectly justified. 
 Her massive, silky hair, which, when let down, fell below 
 her knees, had the shades and reflections of the sun when 
 it sets at the end of a warm autumn day. 
 
 In our days a woman like the one we have so imper- 
 fectly described would create a veritable furore. Mag- 
 nificent toilettes, superb houses, elegant equipages would 
 be at her command. But in 1847 red hair was not yet 
 in fashion. At that rather backward epoch they still 
 believed in brunettes. 
 
 Soleil-Couchant should certainly have been born fifteen 
 years later. We are not certain, however, that, despite 
 her wonderful beauty, she would even in that case have 
 been an entire success in the monde galant. She would
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX 181 
 
 have had some success, certainly, but it would have 
 been an ephemeral success. This would not be her fault; 
 she did not know how to make her way in the world. To 
 understand this is a great art in our days; and in those 
 who do understand it, many imperfections, faults and 
 even vices are overlooked. 
 
 A man of the world who knows how to make his way 
 and establish a position for himself, always has elegant 
 clothes, snowy linen and irreproachable boots. He would 
 not, for an empire, appear in the streets of Paris in a pot 
 hat, even in the month of August. He would not allow 
 himself to appear in a cab, he would not dare to carry in 
 his hand the smallest of parcels. He will have a dozen 
 mistresses; he will ruin himself for them and compromise 
 at the same time the future of bis wife and children, but 
 he will avoid showing himself in the first tier at the opera 
 or in an open carriage in the Bois with the least compro- 
 mising of his mistresses. He may never pay his trades- 
 people, but he will with the most exemplary regularity 
 settle his losses on the Bourse, his racing bets and his 
 gambling debts. 
 
 A woman of the world who knows how to keep her 
 position will carry on, if it suits her, many intrigues; but 
 she will never parade her lovers. She will appear in 
 public as often as possible with her husband and her 
 children, although the rest of the time she forgets them 
 entirely. She will flirt, as much as she pleases, in the 
 privacy of her own boudoir, but she will not indulge in 
 the slightest coquetry in public. 
 
 As for women of another class, men demand of them 
 also to know how to keep their position. They consent 
 to be deceived, but they wish to be so with persons in 
 their own rank of life. In fact, the demi-mondaine is 
 ruined, pecuniarily speaking, of course, for morally she
 
 182 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 gains, perhaps, the day it is rumored in the principal 
 clubs of Paris that she has a fancy for men in a low rank 
 of life. 
 
 In this way Soleil-Couchant never knew how to keep 
 her position. Of an especially capricious nature, she had 
 always sacrificed her interests to her caprices. She could 
 not deny herself the pleasure of a tete-a-tete with a man 
 who pleased her; it made no difference to her if he wore 
 heavy boots, rough clothes, and had the face of a clown 
 in a circus. 
 
 It is related of her that one evening, during her short 
 reign, she was suddenly smitten with a supe at the Varietes 
 Theatre; and to join him, she at once left her box, in 
 which were a son of a peer of France and two secretaries 
 of legation. 
 
 She probably was smitten in this same sudden way 
 with Langlade. His magnificent physique and broad 
 shoulders fascinated her at first sight. Excessively curi- 
 ous, she no doubt wished to know how such giants made 
 love; if they were tender, impassioned and eloquent. 
 
 Informed in this respect, she then thought, according 
 to her usual custom, of satisfying other curiosities. But 
 here she encountered a little difficulty in reckoning with- 
 out her host. Langlade had fallen violently, madly in 
 love with her. His heart was in proportion to his stature; 
 there was room in it for an ardent, serious love and vio- 
 lent passions. He would not agree, when she wished to 
 quit him as easily as she had taken up with him. He 
 declared that if Soleil-Couchant were tired of him, he 
 was not tired of her, and refused to yield his place to 
 others. 
 
 From this moment the existence of the beautiful Ste- 
 phanie Cornu underwent a complete change. It was suffi- 
 cient for her to show herself twice in public with Lang-
 
 IW THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 183 
 
 lade to be banished from elegant Bohemia. Her most 
 intimate acquaintances and most indulgent friends were 
 forced to avoid her. Langlade, although at that time he 
 had never been in prison, had all the qualifies which 
 might well send him there. His appearance and language 
 were anything but what they should be. He seized upon 
 Soleil-Couchant, as an eagle seizes its prey. He had 
 his way by the sheer force of strength; he obliged her to 
 live with him and forbade her any other relation. These 
 two beings were more closely bound together than if the 
 church and the law had united them. 
 
 But it was necessary to live. In our modern society 
 brute strength is only of use to porters and day laborers; 
 strength, in Paris, brings in an income of only three or 
 four francs a day. This sum would have been sufficient 
 for Langlade; it was totally insufficient for Soleil-Couchant. 
 It was then that he had recourse to theft to supply the 
 wants of his mistress. He beat her whenever she indulged 
 in the slightest flirtation, but he could not refuse her any- 
 thing she fancied. Soleil-Couchant had much to console 
 her for being beaten, but one fine day, Langlade, who was 
 trying to obtain, in his own peculiar fashion, something 
 she had admired in a jeweler's window, was caught, and 
 shortly after sent to the galleys of Toulon. 
 
 Scarcely had Soleil-Couchant drawn a long breath and 
 begun to think of forming new ties more easy to break, 
 when her dear tyrant, whom she thought she was forever 
 rid of, appeared before her and destroyed her dreams of 
 independence. Unable to live away from his mistress, 
 he had succeeded, thanks to his wonderful strength, in 
 escaping from prison. 
 
 Stephanie Cornu now enjoyed even less liberty than 
 formerly. Obliged to avoid the police, who are very 
 severe upon escaped convicts, Langlade thought it the
 
 184 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 most natural thing to hide himself in the apartments 
 occupied by Soleil-Couchant. He never left her for a 
 minute. He watched over her with the most touching 
 solicitude ; he was more closely attached to her than ivy 
 to an old oak. Excessively jealous, he never permitted 
 her to go out, under the pretext that he could not accom- 
 pany her for fear of being arrested. Six months of 
 unalloyed happiness passed by. Langlade was the hap- 
 piest of men; Stephanie, behind her blinds, watched the 
 policemen, thinking to herself that they might possibly* 
 take a notion to come up. The poor woman no longer 
 saw the shops, and could have no more fancies. One 
 day, however, she expressed a wish to have some furni- 
 ture of her own. Langlade, always a gentleman, hastened 
 to please her; he went out two nights in succession, made 
 a skillful survey, and the third night he robbed from top 
 to bottom a country house in the suburbs of Paris. 
 
 He did it well, as his eminently generous nature knew 
 how to do; he even brought the kitchen stove, so that 
 Soleil-Couchant should not have to buy one. The owner 
 of the house, who had doubtless never been in love, had the 
 bad taste to complain. The police had the indelicacy to 
 listen to him, and following up certain traces, they arrested 
 this time not only Langlade, but Soleil-Couchant with 
 him. 
 
 Ah! if the magistrates had only been kind enough to 
 give them the same sentence and to send them to the 
 same prison, Langlade would have been the happiest of 
 men! But he was condemned, as a second offender, to 
 twenty years'hard labor at Brest, while Soleil-Couchant, 
 as a receiver of stolen goods, was sent for one year to 
 Saint-Lazare. 
 
 The day of her release from prison, at the end of the 
 year, she found a carriage at the door of Saint-Lazare,
 
 IN THE RITE DE LA PAIX. 185 
 
 and upon the box, disguised as a coachman, was the faith- 
 ful Langlade, who had escaped from Brest a week before 
 in order to celebrate the release of his dear mistress. 
 
 We know how he was arrested for the third time, with 
 which Soleil-Couchant had something to do. 
 
 All these private details were unknown to the police. 
 They imagined naturally that, frightened by her arrest, 
 trembling lest she be compromised again by Langlade's 
 crimes and be sent to prison for a number of years, she 
 had denounced her lover in order to merit the indulgence 
 of the magistrates. 
 
 To believe this was not to know Stephanie Cornu; she 
 was not a woman to be frightened at so little. She had 
 denounced Langlade in order to get rid of him, and she 
 had managed her own arrest so as to be out of the reach 
 of his anger till he should escape again. 
 
 With much spirit, Soleil-Couchant had great intelli- 
 gence. Red-haired women are never ordinary women. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When Vibert entered her cell, Soleil-Couchant was 
 seated upon a straw bed, playing, like a child, with her hair 
 which fell over her shoulders. A ray of sunshine, gliding 
 through the barred window, fell upon her luxuriant locks 
 and made them glitter like gold. 
 
 Any other than the agent of police would have admired 
 this picture, but Vibert reserved his admiration for other 
 subjects. He closed the door behind him, while Ste'pha- 
 nie Cornu, startled, threw her hair back from her face. 
 
 " So, my girl," said Vibert, in a paternal tone and with- 
 out further preamble, " here you are, locked up again."
 
 186 FEDORA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Oh! Good Heavens, yes," replied Soleil-Couchant, 
 who, during her sojourn at Saint-Lazare, had become 
 familiar with the customs of prisons, and was neither 
 astonished at Vibert's sudden entrance nor his cavalier 
 manner. 
 
 " You will end by being sent up for a long sentence," 
 continued the agent of police. 
 
 " Let them do it! I ask nothing better! " 
 
 "What!" cried Vibert, "you have passed a year at 
 Saint-Lazare, and a prison life does not alarm you?" 
 
 "Prison life for me is paradise! Liberty is hell!" 
 replied Soleil-Couchant, a trifle emphatically. 
 
 "What do you say? You are not happy then?" 
 
 "Happy, I!" 
 
 " Your home is not a pleasant one?" 
 
 "My home, oh!" 
 
 Nothing can describe the tone in which she said these 
 words. No long speech could have been more expres- 
 sive, or could have explained more clearly the situation 
 to Vibert. He guessed in a second through what terrible 
 trials this woman must have passed, the suffering she 
 must have undergone, and the implacable hatred which 
 burned in her heart. 
 
 " Then," he said, after a moment's silence, " to be a 
 colossus is not sufficient to render a woman happy?" 
 
 She started to her feet. 
 
 " You know him, then?" 
 
 " Not so well as you, fortunately for me," he replied; 
 " but I know him." 
 
 " Well," she cried, " I hate him ! " 
 
 " It is easy to see that," remarked Vibert. 
 
 She seized his hands, drew him toward her, so that 
 he should not lose a word of what she was going to say, 
 and, with her features contracted with anger and her long
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 187 
 
 hair floating about her head and over her naked shoulders, 
 she continued: 
 
 " Yes, I hate him ! And I wish to say it, I wish to scream 
 it out, so every one can hear me! At last I can speak 
 to another man than him ! I have broken my chains, my 
 tyrant does not spy upon me, I no longer tremble before 
 him ! Ah ! the wretch! He has made me suffer enough! 
 He has treated me as his slave, as his dog, long enough! 
 It is five years that it has lasted ! Yes, five years, during 
 three of which I was forced to live by his side. What 
 agony! I was only happy at Saint-Lazare; I breathed, 
 at least; I was free ! What tyranny ! I, who was so 
 joyous and gay once, who obeyed only my own caprices ! 
 Ah! my caprices! Upon my word, my last one was most 
 successful ! What ! because one accepts a man's society 
 for a day, must lie impose himself upon you all his life, 
 rivet you to him with a chain, brand his initials upon your 
 shoulder? 'I love you,' he said to me, 'I love you, and I 
 don't wish to leave you.' Well, what business is it of 
 mine if you do love me, if I no longer love you? A man 
 one has ceased to love is nothing, less than nothing! You 
 say to him, 'Go ! ' and he ought to go. Do not my youth 
 and beauty belong to me? I consent to lend them, I 
 don't give them away, or lease them for ninety-nine years! 
 My God! what a coward I have been! what a coward I 
 have been! I! so brave once! I! to whom all yielded. 
 Ah! how I managed men! It was no use for them to 
 plead and beg and complain; I would say, 'you annoy 
 me,' and they would depart to return and throw them- 
 selves at my feet the next day. But he! he suddenly 
 broke me down, overpowered me, killed me! His harsh 
 voice made me tremble; his slightest gesture sent a 
 shudder through me. He commanded, and I obeyed; I 
 would have lain under his feet, if he had exacted it,
 
 188 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 and he did exact it, the coward ! He liked to show his 
 strength! Why did they nickname me Soleil-Couchant? 
 Chien-Couchant would have been better; for I was a 
 dog, nothing but a dog of the worst kind. He would 
 strike me, and after striking me, say, ' Forgive me,' and 
 I would seem to forgive him, so as not to be struck again. 
 He would say to me 'Am I not handsome?' and I would 
 reply, * Oh yes, you are very handsome.' * You love me, 
 do you not?' and I would murmur, 'I adore you!' be- 
 cause I knew it would not do for me to contradict 
 him, the monster ! In a fit of rage, he was capable of 
 anything; he would have killed me without hesita- 
 tion, and I want to live ! Why? I don't know; but 
 death terrifies me. I wish to live; it is five years 
 since I have done so; I long for liberty, the sun, and 
 the fresh air ! " 
 
 She stopped to take breath, and continued: 
 " Monsieur, I do not know you ; but it is easy to see 
 that you belong to the police from the manner you entered 
 my cell and your way of speaking. Langlade, conse- 
 quently, is your enemy; you can wish no good to an 
 escaped convict; you will not betray me. Well, if I 
 committed a theft day before yesterday, it was only to 
 be out of his reach, free from his presence. Scarcely was 
 I brought here, when I was recognized and questioned in 
 regard to Langlade. I answered frankly, and they 
 thought I wished to buy the good graces of the police. 
 Your good graces ! What for? You are my friends, 
 gentlemen; I only ask one thing of you, to keep me as 
 long as possible among you. Does the prison terrify me? 
 Nothing terrifies me, nothing! I am brave. He alone 
 made me tremble, he alone! Away from him, all my 
 eourage returns to me." 
 
 " Well, my girl," said Vibert, " you need have no fears.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 189 
 
 Thanks to your excellent information, Langlade has been 
 arrested." 
 
 " Truly? " she cried. " Truly? " 
 
 " I have told you the truth." 
 
 "Ah! I did not hope it !" 
 
 Her face fairly beamed and she seemed to breathe more 
 easily. 
 
 " He did not defend himself, then ? " she asked, 
 scarcely daring to believe her good fortune. 
 
 " Very little," responded the agent of police. 
 
 "Who dared to arrest him?" she inquired again. 
 
 " I." 
 
 She looked at Vibert, smiled disdainfully, and said: 
 
 " That isn't possible." 
 
 " Why not? " he answered, with a shade of annoyance. 
 " Because I am ten inches shorter than he? Height is 
 nothing; intelligence is everything. You are too material 
 to understand that; physical strength overpowers you; 
 you don't make enough allowance for strength of mind. 
 But still, it only took me an hour to make of your Langlade 
 a regular lamb; you were not able to accomplish it in five 
 years." 
 
 " Then it was you who arrested him? " 
 
 " I myself, and I alone." 
 
 Suddenly she threw her arms about the agent of police 
 and kissed him warmly on the lips. 
 
 " You are very kind and very eifusive, my dear," said 
 Vibert, completely insensible to this unexpected caress. 
 " I can not understand the joy you appear to feel. Lang- 
 lade is arrested, in prison, and will be sent back to the 
 galleys, true; but he has escaped twice; he will escape 
 again, and your martyrdom will begin over again." 
 
 Soleil-Couchant's face fell terribly. 
 
 " You will never be at ease," continued Vibert, " you
 
 190 FEDOKA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 will never sleep peacefully as long as you know he is at 
 the galleys. He can escape as easily as possible. It is 
 only fun for him." j 
 
 "What shall I do?" she asked, without yet under- 
 standing the agent's drift. 
 
 " There are in the code," observed Vibert, " other pun- 
 ishments besides confinement and forced labor." 
 
 What? " 
 
 " Well, for instance, the death penalty." 
 
 " He can not be condemned to death," she said, turning 
 pale. " He has done nothing to deserve that." 
 
 " Are you so very sure ? " asked Vibert, approaching 
 her and looking her in the eyes. 
 
 She became still paler, and the agent of police heard 
 her murmur these words: 
 
 " I will not speak. No, this time I will not speak. I 
 do not wish him to die." 
 
 " It is strange," observed Vibert, " how you and Lang- 
 lade differ in opinion! You say: I wish him to be put in 
 prison, but I do not wish him to die. He said to me not 
 long ago: I do not wish her to be put in prison, I wish her 
 to die." 
 
 "Ah! he said that?" 
 
 " I give you my word." 
 
 "He wishes me to die?" 
 
 " Not only that, but to kill you himself." 
 
 " How could he kill me? He is in prison! " 
 
 " Nothing would be more easy for him. I will even 
 tell you now that you run the greatest danger at this 
 moment." 
 
 " I told you I was afraid of death, and you are trying to 
 frighten me." 
 
 " Believe what you choose; but I swear to you that at 
 this moment Langlade is plotting your death."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 191 
 
 " Why should he kill me? What have I done to him?" 
 
 "Why! you betrayed him." 
 
 " He doesn't know it." 
 
 " Pardon me, I told him of it." 
 
 " What! you have" 
 
 " It was my only means of persuading him to come with 
 me." 
 
 " It is outrageous! " she cried. " The commissary whom 
 I told of Langlade's hiding-place promised my name 
 should not be mentioned to him." 
 
 " The commissary has kept his promise, but I had made 
 none, and I told him what seemed best to me." 
 
 "Then I am lost! 1 am lost, if he escapes! " 
 
 " Prevent him from escaping, and send him up to the 
 court of assizes. The jury will send him to the scaffold." 
 
 "He may be acquitted." 
 
 " Impossible, if he has any murder upon his conscience. 
 Little mercy is shown to a twice escaped galley-slave, 
 enjoying such a terrible reputation as Langlade." 
 
 " That is true," she said, " he will be condemned." 
 
 " Speak then, if you wish to live." 
 
 "Certainly, I wish to live; but how will you preserve 
 my life? He is arrested, he is in prison, and yet you tell 
 me yourself that I run the risk of being killed by him." 
 
 " Do you wish me to tell you all? " 
 
 " That is the least you can do." 
 
 " Listen, then. After learning of your treachery, Lang- 
 lade still hesitated to follow me. Then, to decide him, I 
 gave him my word that he should see you to-day face to 
 face." 
 
 "See me!" she cried in terror; "and yet he had told 
 you that he would kill me." 
 
 " Certainly. What difference do you suppose that made 
 to me? I didn't even know you."
 
 192 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 She reflected a moment, and said: 
 
 " Will you keep the word you have given him, if I tell 
 you what you want to know?" 
 
 " It is impossible for me not to do so. But I can do it 
 without danger to you. Instead of having Langlade 
 brought here to your cell, as was my intention, I shall 
 simply have him taken to the waiting room of the Con- 
 ciergerie. You will also go there. He can say to you 
 what he likes, insult you to his heart's content; but he 
 can not touch a hair of your head; there will be an iron 
 grating between you." 
 
 " But," said Soleil-Couchant, who thought of everything 
 when her life was in question, " suppose he should have 
 some firearm?" 
 
 "Oh! you need not worry about that. No one enters 
 the Conciergerie without being thoroughly searched; but 
 to make sure, and in view of the interest with which you 
 inspire me, I will have him searched again. Moreover, 
 you can judge for yourself whether he is already dis- 
 armed; cast your eyes upon that pistol." 
 
 Stephanie looked at the weapon which Vibert presented 
 to her, and said: 
 
 " Yes, I recognize it. Ah! how often he has frightened 
 me with that! He never ceased to threaten me with it. 
 Only last week, under the pretext that I was flirting, 
 through the window, with a neighbor, he wanted to blow 
 my brains out. So, while he was asleep, I took the pistol, 
 and drew out the charges. Try it. It won't go off." 
 
 Vibert snapped both triggers with no effect. 
 
 "Well!" he cried, laughing, " to think that Langlade 
 and I threatened each other for over an hour with this 
 pistol, and both in good faith! What a power imagina- 
 tion is!" 
 
 He was about to continue the conversation where they
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 193 
 
 had left it off, when Soleil-Couchant, who was standing by 
 his side, passed her arm about his neck, laid her cheek 
 against his, and said in her most caressing voice: 
 
 "Then you are intelligent?" 
 
 " I have always thought so," said Vibert, trying to dis- 
 engage himself. 
 
 But she continued: 
 
 " Langlade is big, clumsy and stupid; you are little, 
 thin and clever, and I like you." 
 
 " What, suddenly, like that? " he asked. 
 
 " Bah! " she said, " it is such a long time since I could 
 have a fancy for any one." 
 
 " I see," said Vibert, coldly, " that your lover was right 
 in distrusting you. But," he added, disengaging himself 
 from Soleil-Couchant's embrace, " this is no time for such 
 folly. The time and the place are poorly chosen. We 
 have serious things to talk about. Sit down and hide noth- 
 ing from me, or I swear to you, despite your charming cajol- 
 ery, you are lost. It rests with you, with you alone, to see 
 Langlade, in half an hour, in the waiting room, behind a 
 grating, or to be shut up with him alone in this cell." 
 
 This latter prospect made Soleil-Couchant shiver, and 
 she became grave at once. She sat down upon the straw 
 bed, arranged a little her disordered hair, and waited for 
 Vibert to question her. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Vibert this time used no circumlocution. He went 
 straight to the point. 
 
 "A young man," he said to Soleil-Couchant, who lis- 
 tened to him with the greatest attention, " was murdered 
 
 13
 
 194 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 this winter in the Rue de la Paix, quite near the Rue 
 Neuve-Saiiit-Augustin, whore you were living then with 
 Langlade; what details can you give me in regard to 
 this as yet unpunished murder?" 
 
 " But how does it happen " 
 
 " That I come to you for information? Nothing could 
 be simpler. This morning, Langlade,in a state of drunk- 
 enness and excitement, confessed to me his crime." 
 
 "Well?" said Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 " That is not sufficient," said Vibert. " Justice needs 
 details and proofs; I have come to ask you for them." 
 
 " Question me," said Soleil-Couchant. " I will answef 
 you." 
 
 "How long did you know the person murdered by 
 Langlade?" 
 
 " Two days." 
 
 "You had never seen him before?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Where did you meet him? " 
 
 " Upon the Boulevards, near the Rue Vivienne, about 
 three o'clock in the afternoon." 
 
 " Near the Rue Vivienne, you say? He was coming 
 from the Bourse, probably." 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
 " He noticed you at once? " 
 
 " No, it was I who noticed him ; I thought him a hand- 
 some fellow. You see, I went out so rarely, and I was so 
 often shut up with Langlade, that all men seemed hand- 
 some to me, little men especially." 
 
 "The person of whom you speak was a small man, 
 then?" 
 
 " Of medium height." 
 
 " What did you do then? " 
 
 " I tried to attract his attention," she answered, naively."
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 195 
 
 " In what way?" 
 
 " By looking around as often as possible, by stopping 
 at all the shop windows, by raising my dress a little to 
 show my foot, by the thousand-and-one little manoeuvres 
 known to coquettes." 
 
 "And did this coquetry succeed?" 
 
 "Yes; after a moment or two my unknown followed 
 me. Then I left the Boulevard and took the Rue de 
 Choiseul, and stopped before my door. He advanced, 
 raised his hat very politely and told me that I was very 
 pretty. I tried to blush and answered with the words 
 always employed on such occasions: ' What do you take 
 me for, Monsieur? ' ' For a duchess, Madame,' he an- 
 swered, smiling, ' and if you will permit me to make your 
 acquaintance ' I did not wish to be too severe, so I 
 gave him my name and the permission to come and see 
 me the next day at an hour when I should be alone. He 
 was punctual. Langlade, who I thought was busy that 
 day outside of Paris, returned unexpectedly. You know 
 the rest, since he has confessed all to you." 
 
 "At what time did Langlade return?" 
 
 " It must have been about nine o'clock," she replied. 
 
 " Did he not say to you, on entering, these words: ' I 
 have killed your lover' ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What did you respond?" 
 
 " Nothing. That evening he would have killed me as 
 he had killed the other. He was in a frightful state of 
 excitement. I never saw him half so terrible." 
 
 " His hands were doubtless stained with blood." 
 
 " No, and I was surprised at that." 
 
 "Nothing is more easily explained," said Vibert. 
 " Blood does not always flow immediately from a wound, 
 and Langlade fled at once after committing the crime.
 
 196 FEDORA ! OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Since then, have you ever reproached him for the 
 murder?" 
 
 " No, I did not dare to," replied Soleil-Couchant. " I 
 have told you, Monsieur, that I am always like a leaf 
 before that man." 
 
 "Did he ever speak of it again to you?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Do you recall the precise date of this event? " 
 
 " It was the last of October or the first of November." 
 
 " I asked you for the precise date." 
 
 " I do not know it, Monsieur." 
 
 " And yet it was an epoch in your life." 
 
 "Doubtless; but I have always lived very carelessly, 
 and not paid much attention to the day of the month." 
 
 " Do you know the name of the person whom you 
 received at your house? " 
 
 " I did not think of asking him his name." 
 
 " Did he tell you his first name? " 
 
 " I don't think so. At all events, I don't remember it," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Describe this young man as exactly as you can." 
 
 " He was of medium height, as I have already told you, 
 and he wore a mustache." 
 
 She stopped, seemed to be trying to remember, and then 
 said: 
 
 " Yes, that is all. I don't recollect anything more. It 
 was nearly three months ago, you see." 
 
 " Do you think that he was married? " asked the agent 
 of police. 
 
 " Possibly. He had not a very confident air when he 
 entered. He seemed to be afraid of being seen." 
 
 "How was he dressed?" 
 
 "Like every one else. I think, though, that he wore a 
 dark overcoat."
 
 IN THE EtTE DE LA PJLIX. 197 
 
 "Exactly," said Vibert. "He did not happen to 
 take anything out of his pocket while he was with you, 
 did he?" 
 
 "Yes, his pocket book. He wished to offer me, he 
 said, a remembrance; but I refused; I am not a mercenary 
 woman." 
 
 "What sort of a pocket book was it? Reflect well 
 before answering." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Stephanie after a moment, " that 
 it was not exactly a pocket book. It was rather " 
 
 "A memorandum book?" asked Vibert. 
 
 " Yes; one of those memorandum books with elastic 
 about them." 
 
 " Do you remember its color?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! it was red." 
 
 " There is no longer a doubt," thought the agent of 
 police; "this information is incomplete, but it is very 
 precise." 
 
 "Are you satisfied with what I have told you?" she 
 asked, timidly, still trying to approach Vibert. 
 
 " Satisfied, I? " he said, gruffly. " Not the least in the 
 world. I did not want Langlade to be proven guilty of 
 this crime ; but now that he is Duty before all ! " he 
 added, with a sigh. 
 
 " I have no more to ask you, just now," he continued, 
 rising; " my visit is ended. Good-bye!" 
 
 "What! shan't 1 see you again?" 
 
 " Perhaps. I don't know." 
 
 She threw her arms about him, without his being able 
 to prevent it, and said, in a beseeching voice: 
 
 " Ah ! please come back ! " 
 
 " Queer girl ! " thought the agent of police. " If I 
 wished, I could succeed Langlade; I, Vibert! Well, 
 perhaps it would be better."
 
 198 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 He gently unloosed her arms, and pushing her away 
 from him, said aloud: 
 
 " My good friend, prepare to see your dear Langlade. 
 Within half an hour you will be conducted to the waiting 
 room." 
 
 These words produced upon the tender Stephanie the 
 effect of a dash of cold water; she recoiled, exclaiming: 
 "You swear to me that a grating shall separate us? " 
 
 " I swear it ! Good-bye," he said, opening the door. 
 
 " Good-bye ! " she replied, sadly. 
 
 When she was left alone in her cell, she commenced 
 again to play with her hair, like a child. It was in this 
 way that she prepared to meet her lover again. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Two turnkeys of the Conciergerie conducted Lang- 
 lade to the waiting room, where at this moment there 
 were no visitors. 
 
 As had been arranged between the agent of police and 
 the convict, the latter's handcuffs were removed. 
 
 Langlade was apparently perfectly calm; during his 
 progress from the cell to the waiting room, he had ap- 
 peared indifferent to all about him and had answered 
 quietly the questions addressed to him. 
 
 One of the turnkeys, the youngest, remarked to his 
 companion : 
 
 " He has been slandered; he is a lamb." 
 
 "Wait and see; there maybe something beneath all 
 this," responded the second turnkey, an old prison em- 
 ploye, accustomed to these sudden lulls frequently noticed 
 in the boldest and most violent men, and which are gen-
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 199 
 
 erally followed by terrible reactions. The old turnkey 
 was not mistaken; the reaction came. 
 
 "By what door will she enter?" suddenly asked 
 Langlade, who was seated in a corner on one of the 
 benches with which the room was furnished. 
 
 They pointed out to him a door on the other side of the 
 grating which divided the waiting room in two. 
 
 The convict threw back his head quickly with clenched 
 teeth and dilated nostrils. He began to suspect some- 
 thing. 
 
 " If she enters there," he said, in an unsteady voice, 
 Jt how can she join me? " 
 
 " She will not join you," said the young turnkey. 
 
 *'Oh! she will not join me! " he repeated. 
 
 " You can go as near as you please to that grating and 
 say to her whatever you like," said the other jailor, 
 gently, who perceived the contraction of Langlade's feat- 
 ures and wished to appease him. 
 
 " Then I have been deceived ! " cried the convict, 
 with a burst of anger. 
 
 " You were told that you should see her, and you are 
 about to do so." 
 
 "I have been deceived, I tell you," he repeated, still 
 more violently. " She was to be near me, by my side. 
 No grating was to separate us. This is infamous. My 
 trust has been abused ! If I had known, I would never 
 have given myself up; I would have defended myself. I 
 would have killed that miserable devil ! I would have 
 killed you all, scum that you are ! " 
 
 He rushed toward the old turnkey, who with his bunch 
 of keys in his hand, awaited him unflinchingly. 
 
 " I wish to be close to her," he cried, " I wish her to be 
 brought here to this part of the room, or else let me go on 
 the other side."
 
 200 FEDORA: OR, THE TKAGEDY 
 
 " My orders are precise," responded the jailor; '"what 
 you ask is impossible." 
 
 "Oh, it is, is it?" vociferated Langlade. "Then, I 
 have not submitted. You have not arrested me. Nothing 
 is done. You have got to commence over again." With 
 one hand he detached from the wail, to which it was 
 fastened, a wooden bench; he seized two stools, three 
 cane-bottomed chairs, and a little table, hurled them into 
 a corner of the room, made a club of one of the legs of 
 the table, backed up against the wall behind the sort of 
 barricade he had improvised, and cried out in a terrible 
 voice, brandishing his club about his head: 
 
 " Come on, then ! " 
 
 " Help ! " cried the young turnkey, edging away pru- 
 dently toward the door, while his companion, a man noted 
 for his bravery, remained firmly at his post and regarded 
 Langlade with a shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 The man's calmness exasperated Langlade beyond 
 bounds; he leaped over the barricade and advanced 
 straight toward him. 
 
 Then the jailor saw that he was uselessly exposing him- 
 self to danger. With his eyes fixed upon his adversary, 
 holding in one hand his bunch of keys to parry the blows 
 of the club, with the other hand stroking his big gray mous- 
 tache, he stepped quickly backward, without uttering a 
 cry or calling for aid. 
 
 When he reached the door, which had remained open 
 since his colleague's flight, he leaped backward, just as 
 Langlade was close upon him, and shut the door in the 
 latter's face. The convict was left alone. 
 
 During this time the file of soldiers, which is always kept 
 in all State prisons, had taken their arms and marched 
 toward the waiting room. It was evident that a terrible 
 struggle must take place; the convict in the end would
 
 IN THE EtJE DE LA PAIX. 201 
 
 be obliged to yield to the force of numbers, but not before 
 he had vigorously defended himself. In his mighty 
 hands, any sort of weapon would deal death. Nothing 
 prevented him, moreover, from throwing himself upon the 
 first soldier who should appear, wresting his gun from 
 him, leaping behind the barricade and keeping the en- 
 emy at ba}' for a long time. 
 
 The soldiers, led by the two turnkeys, had arrived before 
 the door of the waiting room and were about to enter, 
 when suddenly Vibert appeared. 
 
 As he was leaving the Conciergerie to go to the Palais 
 de Justice to speak to M. Gourbet, the examining magis- 
 trate, he had heard an unusual noise, and on inquiring 
 the cause of it, he had been informed of what had oc- 
 curred. 
 
 "I expected it," he said to himself; "it is my fault, 
 after all. Langlade certainly has a right to complain; I 
 have not strictly kept my word. It is my duty, perhaps, 
 to repair the evil I have done, and to prevent the shed- 
 ding of blood, even at the cost of my own." 
 
 Brave and resolute, as we know him, he did not hesitate 
 long. He joined the soldiers, and placing himself before 
 the door which they were about to open, 
 
 " Don't go in," he said to them. " I will take care of 
 this business." 
 
 " What are you going to do? " asked the old jailor, who 
 knew Vibert. 
 
 " I don't know. But send away the soldiers, please. 
 There is no need for them to be killed by this madman. 
 I have already tamed him once this morning; perhaps I 
 can do it again. We can at any time call upon the sol- 
 diers for aid, and you know your chiefs will be glad to 
 avoid violence." 
 
 " Certainly, I have always been told to use mildness as
 
 202 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 much as possible. But you don't know what a state the 
 scoundrel is in. You will never subdue him." 
 
 "I can try, at all events." 
 
 " You risk your life." 
 
 " That is better than risking yours and those of these* 
 brave men," responded Vibert. 
 
 " As you please, Monsieur. Shall I enter with you?" 
 
 " No, my friend, there is no need of that. Lion-tamers 
 never allow a guest in the cage of the wild beasts; there 
 is no use in exciting their appetites! " 
 
 " Then I shall remain here to lend you aid, in case of 
 need." 
 
 " Do as you like about that." 
 
 As he spoke, Vibert opened the door and entered the 
 waiting room. 
 
 Langlade, who had heard the sound of voices and the 
 rattle of the guns, had expected to be attacked and had 
 ensconced himself behind the barricade. When he per- 
 ceived Vibert, his anger became madness. With a bound 
 he leaped upon the agent of police, grasped him in his 
 arms, and threw him like a ball ten feet away. 
 
 Vibert fell upon his knees, rose, brushed the dust from 
 his trousers, for in the gravest circumstances he was 
 always a neat man, and without waiting for Langlade to 
 return to the attack, marched up to him with folded arms 
 and said: 
 
 "You are a coward! " 
 
 " And you are a traitor! " cried the convict. 
 
 "Why am I a traitor?" asked Vibert, without lowering 
 his voice. 
 
 " You promised that I should see her, and I have not 
 seen her." 
 
 " She is there, behind that door; they are waiting for 
 you to be calmer, before admitting her."
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PA IX. 203 
 
 " But I shall see her behind that grating. This is not 
 what you promised me." 
 
 " I promised you nothing in regard to this; you can not 
 say that I promised she should be close to you." 
 
 " We did not speak of that, but ' 
 
 " You should have spoken of it, then, in making your 
 conditions. I can not guess what you desire. As for 
 my promises, I have kept them all religiously. You asked 
 me to have your handcuffs removed, and they have been 
 removed. I am the victim of my kindness to you. If 
 you had not had the use of your hands you could not 
 have ravaged this room as you have, nor behaved like a 
 coward toward me." 
 
 "Like a coward! " repeated Langlade. 
 
 "Yes, like a coward! I am little, you are big; I am 
 weak, you are strong; I enter here alone and unarmed, 
 to avoid a sanguinary struggle in which you would have 
 finally got the worst of it, and you dash upon me like a 
 wild beast. You would have increased your chances of 
 obtaining your desires very much if you had killed me, 
 is well as two or three poor fellows in the execution of 
 their duty." 
 
 "Will they bring Soleil-Couchant here?" asked Lang- 
 lade, a little more calmly. " Shall I see her without a 
 grating between us?" 
 
 "No; you will see her and speak to her through that 
 grating. It was she herself who has demanded it." 
 
 "Ah! she! Why?" 
 
 " Because she is afraid to be too near you, probably. 
 You can not be surprised at that." 
 
 " Then, if she is afraid, she must feel she has wronged 
 me?" 
 
 " Of course; but that is no reason why she should want 
 to be killed."
 
 204 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Suppose I promise not to kill her? " 
 
 " You caa not answer for yourself, you are too violent. 
 A word, a gesture, is enough to put you in a passion. You 
 even strike those who have said nothing and done nothing 
 to you." 
 
 " Pardon me! " growled the convict. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I pardon you; but the director of the Con- 
 ciergerie may not pardon you for having troubled the 
 usual quiet of the prison, for having committed acts of 
 violence and threatened the jailors." 
 
 "What can he do to me?" 
 
 " He can," replied Vibert adroitly, in order to frighten 
 Langlade, and to appear afterward to make concessions 
 to him, " he can take no further notice of the request I 
 have made to him, and not allow you to see Soleil-Cou- 
 chant, even behind that grating." 
 
 " Oh! " cried Langlade. 
 
 He had not thought for a moment of this sort of pun- 
 ishment, which frightened him more than handcuffs, the 
 strait-jacket and the dark cell. 
 
 " There," said the agent of police, " that is what you 
 have gained by indulging in a fit of passion. It was by 
 your continual violence, moreover, that you alienated 
 Soleil-Couchant's heart. She loved you once." 
 
 " Yes," he said, softly, " she loved me once." 
 
 " Now, she is afraid of you." 
 
 " Listen," said the convict, trying to take Vibert's 
 hand; "if you persuade the director to let me see her, I 
 promise you to put everything back in its place, to beg 
 the jailor's pardon, and to be as calm as I was excited." 
 
 " I am willing to make that bargain, but everything 
 must take place as it was arranged in the first place; you 
 will remain here, and Soleil-Couchant will enter from that 
 side; this is absolute."
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 205 
 
 "Very well; I don't need to be near her. I no longer 
 wish to kill her; my anger is over." 
 
 " Yes, it was vented on me," observed Vibert, " and I 
 am much obliged to you; my knees are all barked and 
 bleeding." 
 
 "Shall I bathe them for you?" asked the convict, 
 meekly. 
 
 " No, thanks ; I have no time to take care of myself. 
 Come, put everything in order here, while I go to the 
 director, and remember in your turn what you have 
 promised." 
 
 Vibert left the room, and found outside the door the 
 turnkeys, who were astonished to see him in such good 
 trim. 
 
 " He is quieted down," he said to them. " If Soleil- 
 Couchant does not provoke him too much, he will be quiet 
 now for the rest of the day. Nervous men are always in 
 one extreme or another: after the tempest, the calm; they 
 do not know how to preserve a just medium. Let him 
 see his mistress, please," he continued, addressing the old 
 jailor, as if nothing had occurred; " this evening he will be 
 taken to another prison, and you will be rid of him. No 
 one has any real cause for complaint, except the table, one 
 of whose legs Langlade broke off, and I, whose knees are 
 hurt, and we shall not complain." 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterward, Soleil-Couchant, con- 
 ducted by one of the jailors, entered the waiting room and 
 prudently seated herself as far as possible from the grating 
 which separated her from her dear Langlade. 
 
 But he, on the contrary, when he saw her, approached 
 the grating, put his face between the bars and contem- 
 plated his mistress. For a moment his expression was 
 harsh and full of hate, then it changed and softened. His 
 eyes became tender. r ihe sort of magnetism which is
 
 206 FEDOEA ! OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 always exercised by the woman one loves produced its 
 effect. The convict had boasted when he swore to kill 
 Soleil-Couchant; he would never have had the courage. 
 One look from his mistress would have arrested his hand, 
 raised to strike. 
 
 He did not say a word, but continued to regard her. 
 She, who had expected reproaches and insults, was com- 
 pletely taken aback; she feared that Langlade was med- 
 itating some dark plot; she cast anxious looks about her 
 with a frightened air, wondering if the grating would not 
 give way and let him through. 
 
 " You are afraid of me, then," said Langlade, gently. 
 
 " Bah ! " responded Soleil-Couchant, " I ought to be ; 
 you have treated me like a brute ever since I knew you." 
 
 " There is no need of being angry with me," he re- 
 plied, sadly. " I was jealous and violent because I loved 
 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, I know that excuse," she exclaimed, harshly. 
 *' When you men have said to a woman, " I love you," 
 you think that is all that is necessary. The more you 
 injure her, the more you make her suffer, the more she 
 ought to rejoice. Y.our insults and your blows are so 
 many proofs of love. Good Heavens! love us a little 
 less, then. We don't want a love which renders existence 
 intolerable." 
 
 " So," he said, still in the same tone, " you were un- 
 happy with me?" 
 
 " Very unhappy; since you ask me, I don't fear to ac- 
 knowledge it." 
 
 " Oh, fear nothing," he said; " behind these bars, I am 
 not very terrible." 
 
 " This is the first time, indeed, that I can speak to you 
 without trembling." 
 
 " Speak, then ; speak your whole mind."
 
 IN THE BITE DE LA PAIX. 207 
 
 Any other woman than Soleil-Couchant would have 
 been moved, perhaps, by so much gentleness. There 
 was, in fact, something touching in the submissive and 
 resigned attitude of this strong, indomitable, tyrannical 
 man. But the qualities of pity and compassion were not 
 very much developed in Soleil-Couchant's heart; one 
 can't have everything. Moreover, as we have said, she 
 had nourished for five years a bitter hatred against this 
 being whom she had constantly tried to free herself from, 
 but without success. She had a thousand injuries, a 
 thousand sufferings, to pay him back. He was at last in 
 her power, and she could revenge herself without fear 
 of the consequences; she was not a woman to deprive 
 herself of such a pleasure. 
 
 She did speak her mind, as Langlade had suggested; 
 she spoke it fully and completely. She did not spare her 
 lover any complaint, any reproach; she threw in his face 
 all her grievances. She gave him back in one hour all 
 the insults she had received during five years. She heaped 
 up outrages upon him as he had upon her. Instead of 
 blows, which she could not give him, she lacerated him 
 with bitter words. It was a complete and furious revolt. 
 The slave threw off her yoke, the prisoner broke her 
 bonds. As a vindictive, red-haired woman, Soleil-Cou- 
 chant was implacable. 
 
 He listened to her without interruption. Finally, when 
 she had finished her tirade, he said only these words: 
 
 "Then you no longer love me?" 
 
 " I have never loved you," she cried. " I feared you, 
 that was all." 
 
 He lowered his head on his breast, and after a moment's 
 silence, said: 
 
 " If I should escape from prison, would you take me 
 back? "
 
 208 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Never! " she exclaimed, emphatically. " Don't hope 
 it ! It is over, entirely over. I don't wish to live as I 
 have lived. I wish to profit by what youth and beauty 
 remain to me; to satisfy my caprices, without fear or 
 trembling. I wish to be free once more ! " 
 
 Each of these words struck Langlade to the heart, but 
 he only answered: 
 
 " There are many things I would like to say to you, 
 but I don't know how to say them." 
 
 " No, you only know how to strike," she said, cruelly. 
 
 " Oh ! I also know how to suffer," he replied. 
 
 The bright color he usually had, had faded from his face 
 and he was very pale; Stephanie glanced at him and re- 
 coiled in fear. But he continued with the same gentle- 
 ness: 
 
 " Then if I should return, as I have already done " 
 
 She interrupted him, exclaiming: 
 
 " You would never discover my retreat." 
 
 " This is the last time, then, that I shall see you?" 
 
 "Yes, the last" 
 
 "In a few days you will be free; I shall remain in 
 prison. You will not ask for permission to come and see 
 me once in awhile?" 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 "It was for you, however, that I committed my crimes; 
 if I had not loved you, I should never have been sent to 
 prison, I should not be here now." 
 
 " You were not obliged to love me! I never asked you 
 to; quite the contrary." 
 
 " And," he continued, still gently, " if, instead of being 
 sent to prison, I should be condemned to death, because 
 of the other you know, the other whom I killed because 
 he was your lover would you come to bid me a last 
 farewell? "
 
 I-ANGLAUE AND SOLIEL-COUCHANT IN PRISON. PAGE 210.
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 209 
 
 " No," she said. 
 
 " Wretch ! " be cried, suddenly, and seizing the grating 
 with both hands, he tried to break the bars. Not being 
 able to succeed, however, he then attempted to pull them 
 out of the sockets with his knees, his feet, his head, his 
 teeth. He uttered savage cries; his eyes were bloodshot 
 and his lips covered with foam. 
 
 Stephanie's first movement, at this sudden explosion of 
 rage, was to draw back to the farther end of the room. 
 But when she saw that Langlade, despite his prodigious 
 strength, was powerless to break a single one of the 
 bars which separated them, she approached the grating 
 again. 
 
 " Ah! how you would like to get at me, wouldn't you? " 
 she said, with a laugh. " How you would kill me without 
 pity! But I am out of your reach, beyond your touch; 
 you can do nothing to me. I am no longer your slave, 
 your dog ! Come! don't tire yourself out for nothing, 
 giant of my heart ! You see you will never succeed ! 
 You know you are beaten ! " 
 
 This cruel bravado and biting sarcasm, instead of exas- 
 perating Langlade the more, restored him to reason. A 
 minute before, cries and inarticulate sounds alone escaped 
 from his parched throat; now he could speak. He ceased 
 to shake the bars of the grating, folded his arms, and 
 with a terrible look at his mistress, exclaimed: 
 
 " What! you dare to insult me! You, who would crouch 
 at my feet and beg for mercy, if this grating were not 
 between us ! And it is you whom I have loved, you who 
 have made me what I am ! It is for such a miserable 
 creature, that I am for the third time in prison, and per- 
 haps will lose my head upon the scaffold ! And yet, this 
 tyrant, of whom you complain and whom you hate, you 
 might have softened by a few kind words and a little lovej
 
 210 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 but you made of him a thief and an assassin ! You might 
 have made of him an honest man; yes, an honest man! 
 What did I need to be happy? To see you, to be near 
 you, to breathe the same air as you ! But you wanted 
 dresses, money, luxury! My wages were not sufficient 
 for you; I stole, to satisfy more quickly your caprices, to 
 prevent you from leaving me, and flying to the arms of 
 another lover! Ah! lovers! You speak of having them!" 
 he continued, becoming furious at the very thought; 
 " take care of them, take care of yourself ! I will kill 
 them as I killed the other! Don't laugh, coward that you 
 are! You think I am powerless, and you brave me; but 
 my turn will come! I shall know how to reach you and 
 to crush your body, as you have crushed my heart! Yes! 
 they may send me to the galleys, I shall escape; place 
 irons on my hands and feet, I shall break them; send me 
 to the scaffold, I shall leap down to join you and to 
 kill you!" 
 
 " Fool ! " said Stephanie, with a shrug of her shoulders. 
 " You speak of breaking your irons and you can not 
 break one of the bars of that grating. Ah! you have 
 deceived me; I thought you were strong, and you are not 
 even that ! " 
 
 This last outrage doubtless gave Langlade superhuman 
 strength and vigor. He seized one of the bars in both 
 hands, gave it a terrible shake, and the bar bent and 
 snapped in two. 
 
 Soleil-Couchant uttered a frightful cry. 
 
 Another effort like that and Langlade could reach her. 
 But human strength has its limits; Langlade, since the 
 morning, had passed through too many trials, had ex- 
 perienced too many cruel emotions; the blood mounted 
 suddenly to his brain, he staggered, dropped his hold on 
 the bar, and fell heavily to the ground.
 
 IN THE EUB DB LA PAIX. 211 
 
 X. 
 
 While this scene was taking place at the Conciergerie 
 Vibert made his way to the Palais de Justice and asked 
 if M. Gourbet would see him. 
 
 Cordier, the little thin man whom our readers perhaps 
 remember as M. Gourbet's clerk, came to inquire what 
 Vibert desired. 
 
 " I would like," said the agent of police, " to speak to 
 M. Gourbet in regard to the assassination in the Rue de 
 la Paix." 
 
 "Ah! you bring us news," said Cordier, rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 "Good news?" 
 
 " You shall see." 
 
 "Wait a few minutes, then. M. Gourbet is engaged 
 with an important matter; when he is at liberty I will tell 
 him that you are here, and I think he will see you." 
 
 " I will wait," said the agent of police. 
 
 The little man glided away, rather than walked, in his 
 usual manner. 
 
 When, half an hour afterward, Vibert was ushered 
 into the magistrate's office, the first words M. Gourbet 
 addressed to him were these: 
 
 " Well, do you bring proofs? Is it Savari? " 
 
 " No, Monsieur," said Vibert, with a sigh, " it is not 
 he." 
 
 " What? You and Madame Vidal were so sure of it." 
 
 " We were mistaken, Monsieur." 
 
 "The last time I saw you, you declared that your 
 conviction grew stronger day by day." 
 
 " That was true; it is different now."
 
 212 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " You came to ask me, I think, if you could borrow 
 the knife with which the murdered man was killed." 
 
 " It was given to me." 
 
 " Did you not intend to use it for a decisive experi- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, I did so." 
 
 " It did not succeed?" 
 
 "Only partially." 
 
 " What do you mean? Explain yourself, please." 
 
 "I mean," said Vibert, "that this experiment for a 
 moment, I confess, upset all my convictions; but since 
 then, after mature reflection, I again believed in Albert 
 Savari's guilt." 
 
 "He showed no emotion at sight of the knife?" 
 
 " No, but that proved nothing. In a moment of anger 
 and excitement, he may have snatched up the first thing 
 at hand; he may have struck Maurice Vidal, thrown away 
 the weapon in horror, and fled. It was possible, then, for 
 the sight of the knife to recall nothing to him and make 
 no impression upon him." 
 
 " But you are too clever not to have found means of 
 mentioning the name of the man killed by that weapon?" 
 
 " Yes, I spoke of Maurice Vidal." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Then he was touched by the fate of that young 
 man, whom he had known; he bewailed his death, and 
 he was bright enough to mingle his tears with those of 
 the widow." 
 
 " You say, he was bright enough?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Then, in your opinion, Albert Savari was playing a 
 part." 
 
 " No, Monsieur, I alluded to something else." 
 
 "You admit that these tears might be natural?"
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 213 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "You think, then, that they were caused by remorse?" 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " All this is more and more vague, you must confess. 
 We are no further advanced than we were three months 
 ago." 
 
 "Pardon me, Monsieur, I bring you the name of 
 Maurice Vidal's murderer." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I know now the assassin you seek for." 
 
 " Really?" cried M. Gourbet. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 "And his name is?" 
 
 " Langlade." 
 
 "Langlade? That name is not unknown to me; is it 
 not that of a convict?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " I have had something to do with that man ; he escaped 
 some time ago from the galleys at Brest; he has been in 
 Paris for three months, and the police have been seeking 
 for him in vain." 
 
 " His hiding-place was discovered yesterday, and I ar- 
 rested him this morning. He is now in the Conciergerie." 
 
 " I congratulate you on his arrest." 
 
 Vibert bowed his acknowledgments. 
 
 "And," continued M. Gourbet, "it is Langlade who 
 assassinated Maurice Vidal? What makes you suppose 
 that?" 
 
 Vibert related to the magistrate the details of the con 
 vict's arrest, and informed him of the avowals obtained 
 from Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 "Yes," said the judge, when Vibert had finished 
 speaking, " we have at last found the assassin, thanks tc 
 your perspicacity."
 
 214 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur," replied Vibert, " don't speak of my 
 perspicacity; on the contrary, it was at fault. It was 
 chance alone which served me." 
 
 " However that may be, you must be delighted at the 
 result obtained." 
 
 "No, Monsieur." 
 
 "Because you suspected Savari and were mistaken? 
 Ah! your pride is wounded." 
 
 " If it were only a matter of my pride, I should escape 
 cheaply," murmured Vibert, without M. Gourbet hearing 
 him. " But it is a more serious matter with me." 
 
 The magistrate turned to his clerk, and said: 
 
 " Monsieur Cordier, give me, please, the report of 
 Albert Savari's examination last October; you must have 
 a copy of it." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," said the thin little man. 
 
 He glided up to a long row of green boxes placed upon 
 shelves; he took one without hesitation, opened it and 
 took out a file which he handed to the magistrate. An 
 automaton could not have executed the movement with 
 more precision. 
 
 After looking over it, M. Gourbet turned to Vibert, and 
 said: 
 
 "Langlade is guilty; there can be no doubt about it. 
 And yet, see how easily justice can be misled. Many of 
 my colleagues, most prudent and most conscientious, 
 would have found in that examination, which I have just 
 read carefully over, ten reasons for committing Savari for 
 trial. I will mention one: that note given to Maurice 
 Vidal and found in the suspected man's apartments. Can 
 you explain that?" 
 
 " Yes," said Vibert, " if Savari paid it, as he maintains." 
 
 " But," said the magistrate, " he could not have paid it, 
 for he never possessed as much as fifty thousand francs."
 
 IN THE KITE DE LA PAIX. 
 
 " Did he not say that he had won it at different German 
 gambling places?" 
 
 "And you believe that?" 
 
 " I believe anything may happen in gambling." 
 " Then you no longer suspect him?" asked M. Gourbet. 
 "Good Heavens! Monsieur, replied Vibert," "I go by 
 the evidence. What reason, moreover, could Langlade 
 have for saying he had murdered a man?" 
 " But he does not give the man's name." 
 " His mistress describes him well enough." 
 "Neither of them is sure of the date of the crime." 
 " They both fix it near enough," replied Vibert. 
 M. Gourbet reflected a moment, and said: 
 "And those words written in the blood of the victim: 
 'The assassin is '? How do you explain them, if Lang- 
 lade committed the crime? Maurice Vidal could not have 
 known this convict." 
 
 " This objection is the most serious," answered Vibert, 
 " but I think I can explain it. Before going to prison, 
 Langfade lived in Paris, and was well known among 
 young men of a certain class. They did not shake hands 
 with him, they were careful not to bow to him, they did 
 not even address a word to him, for he was always horri- 
 bly vulgar; but they noticed him and they asked his 
 name, when he appeared in public with Soleil-Couchant. 
 How could such a couple fail to attract attention? He 
 a sort of giant, and she, a magnificent girl with remark- 
 able colored hair. Langlade was for a time a kind of 
 celebrity, and I remember one evening at the theatre, 
 a gallery boy called out to him: 'Holloa! Langlade, 
 where is your red-head?' It is not astonishing, there- 
 fore, Monsieur," concluded Vibert, " that Maurice Vidal 
 recognized hia murderer, and tried to denounce him to 
 justice."
 
 216 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Yes," answered the judge, "your explanation is a 
 natural one." 
 
 "Moreover," continued Vibert, "it is easy to sum up 
 all this affair in two words. Was there any other person 
 murdered in the Rue de la Paix last October? No, you 
 know it, Monsieur; every one knows there was not. 
 Then Langlade is guilty and Savari is innocent; there is 
 no other way out of it." 
 
 "I don't say the contrary," responded M. Gourbet, 
 " but we have been in the dark so long, that it is allow- 
 able to hesitate still." 
 
 " You will hesitate no more, Monsieur, when you have 
 examined Langlade and his mistress; his mistress espe- 
 cially, for it is possible that Langlade may refuse to answer 
 your questions." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because he is not a very obliging person at any time; 
 you will be convinced of that yourself. Ah! Savari gave 
 you less trouble. I would have liked him to have been 
 proved guilty for your sake, Monsieur, for the sake of the 
 prosecuting attorney, and for mine," he added, in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 " Well," said the magistrate, rising to show Vibert that 
 it was time for him to retire; "you will not be consoled, 
 apparently, for your mistake in regard to Savari." 
 
 " I acknowledge it, Monsieur, I shall never be consoled; 
 it will be the sorrow of my life." 
 
 With these words he bowed and left the room.
 
 THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 217 
 
 XL 
 
 What has become of Fedora Vidal and Albert Savari, 
 since the exigencies of our narrative compelled us to lose 
 sight of them? 
 
 The day after the dinner at the Cafe Anglais, Savari 
 repaired, about three o'clock in the afternoon, to the Rue 
 de Grammont. 
 
 "Madame is ill," said Marietta; "she can not receive 
 Monsieur." 
 
 After having in vain implored to be admitted, Savari 
 hastened to the Hotel des Princes. He wished at least to 
 talk of Fedora, since he could not see her. But the Count 
 de Rubini, up to this time so communicative and gracious, 
 had suddenly become ceremonious, cold and reserved. 
 Instead of replying, as usual, with long,rambling speeches 
 to the slightest questions, he spoke only in monosyllables 
 and said not a word when questioned in regard to his 
 cousin's indisposition. 
 
 We, who know Vibert's state of mind at that moment, 
 will not be astonished at the sudden change in his man- 
 ners; but Savari, who was not in the secret, as we are, of 
 his old comrade's suffering, was both astonished and 
 alarmed. He sought for the reason of the Count's con- 
 duct and he imagined he had found it. "The fifteen 
 days he gave me to pay my debt in," he thought, " has long 
 since elapsed; he thinks, doubtless, that I have taken it 
 too easily; the coldness he shows to me is an indirect 
 reproach and a hint to pay up." As soon as this idea 
 came to him, Savari had only one thought; to pay as soon 
 as possible the Count de Rubini, who might use his in- 
 fluence to keep him away from Madame Vidal. 
 
 However, he did not have the fourteen thousand franca
 
 218 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 due, and he knew no one among his acquaintances 
 who would be disposed to lend them to him. Two 
 months before, he would not have hesitated; he would 
 have gambled. Gambling had always been for him a sort 
 of profession; in fact, his only profession. " I have need 
 of a hundred francs," he would say to himself, " and I 
 haven't them; where shall I play this evening? " But to- 
 day, he hesitated. It was not his last loss which intimi- 
 dated him; he thought, on the contrary, that his luck had 
 returned. But he had undergone, unconsciously, a sort of 
 gradual transformation. Since he had fallen in love with 
 Fedora, life appeared to him under a new aspect; he 
 looked at certain things from a more serious point of 
 view, he was more severe with himself, he was beginning 
 to understand the meaning of the words honor and deli- 
 cacy, of which hitherto he had only had a vague idea. 
 He thought that it was a sad thing to obtain always by 
 gambling what work alone should give. 
 
 It is certain that if, in his present state of mind, he had 
 discovered any honest means of making fourteen thou- 
 sand francs in a short time, he would not have hesitated 
 to avail himself of it. Unfortunately, such means are 
 rare. Savari, after some further hesitation and with great 
 repugnance, let us say to his credit, was compelled on a 
 certain evening to go to Pelagic d'Ermont's. 
 
 " She never needs to .be urged," he thought, " to get up 
 a game. Perhaps, even, there is one going on now at her 
 house. I have twenty-five louis, I have not played for a 
 long time, and I am unfortunate in love: excellent rea- 
 sons for having rare good luck." 
 
 While reasoning in this manner he rang at Pelagie's 
 door. 
 
 Madame d'Ermont herself opened it for him. 
 
 "Ah! there you are," she said, holding out her hand
 
 IN THE KTTE BE LA PAIX. 219 
 
 and drawing him into the salon. " It is kind of you to 
 come and see me. You are not like the others; you do 
 not abandon your friends when they are in adversity." 
 
 "Are you in adversity? Why?" 
 
 "What ! you don't know what has happened to me?" 
 exclaimed Pelagie. 
 
 " I have no idea; I have seen none of the gang for a 
 long time." 
 
 "Haven't you read the papers?" 
 
 " The papers! What could they have told me in regard 
 to you?" 
 
 " That the police made a descent upon my house last 
 week," responded P6lagie. 
 
 "Ah! pooh!" 
 
 " It is true, just as I tell you." 
 
 " But for what reason ? Have you been coining false 
 money?" 
 
 " I have allowed people to gamble here." 
 
 "The devil! And the police came down on you?" 
 
 "Right in the middle of a splendid game of baccarat; 
 there were more than ten thousand francs in gold and 
 bank notes upon the table." 
 
 " It was well timed, then," said Savari, " no one had 
 yet pocketed the money," 
 
 "Unfortunately, no; so they seized it." 
 
 " That was unkind." 
 
 "If they had only been content with seizing the 
 money!" exclaimed Madame d'Ermont. "But they 
 forced, in the first place, all the persons in the room to 
 give their name and occupation." 
 
 " As for their occupation," observed Savari, " that could 
 not have taken long." 
 
 " I advise you not to be sarcastic. Do you know they 
 seized my furniture, too?"
 
 220 FEDORA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Savari, glancing about the room, "1 
 thought you had some new furniture." 
 
 " It is some I was obliged to hire yesterday." 
 
 "Had they the right to seize your furniture?" inquired 
 Savari. 
 
 "Good Heavens! yes; the code is precise in that re- 
 spect," responded P^lagie, sighing. " My lawyer read 
 me the article which concerns me, article 410 of the 
 penal code. I know it almost by heart: ' All the funds 
 which are exposed for gambling shall be confiscated, as 
 well as the furniture and effects contained in the rooms.'" 
 
 " Really," said Savari, trying to appear afflicted, " the 
 law does not respect the most sacred things." 
 
 " And yet, if that were all," continued Madame d'Er- 
 mont. 
 
 "What, that is not all?" 
 
 " There is another paragraph; I know it still better," she 
 said, heaving another profound sigh. " 'Any person who 
 keeps a gambling house shall be punished by imprison- 
 ment of at least two and not more than six months, and 
 shall be liable to a fine of from one hundred to six thou- 
 sand francs!'" 
 
 " But you did not keep a gambling house," remarked 
 Savari. 
 
 " One is considered to keep a gambling house, my law- 
 yer tells me, when gambling goes on there regularly." 
 
 " For the purpose of making money. You did not do 
 that." 
 
 " They consider the kitty you organized for me in that 
 light. It is a flagrant injustice. Wasn't it natural that 
 each of you should contribute to my expenses?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " The candles were dear, and you used a great number. " 
 
 "Five or six francs' worth each evening," said Savari,
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 221 
 
 "and the kitty brought you in at least three or four 
 hundred francs. My dear friend, I pity your lot." 
 
 " So, my dear Albert," said Madame d'Ermont, " I 
 shall have the pleasure of appearing in the police court 
 within a week. I am not in jail now, because some of 
 my influential friends have gone bail for me. But I 
 shall be sentenced, and perhaps to the full penalty of the 
 law. That is my position, what do you think of it?" 
 
 "It is very hard." 
 
 " It is frightful," said Pelagic, with her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. 
 
 Savari did not consider it necessary to notice her tears, 
 but said: 
 
 "How did the police happen to visit you? Some one 
 must have betrayed you." 
 
 "Certainly; but I don't know who the traitor is." 
 
 "You received only intimate friends?" 
 
 " Lately, no stranger has been present, except that 
 Italian you met here, you know." 
 
 " Count deRubini?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, it was not he; he would never have dreamed of 
 denouncing you; he won too much money here. Such 
 ideas only come to players who have lost and wish to be 
 revenged. Besides, I am very well acquainted with the 
 Count de Rubini now. He is a queer fellow, but a 
 thorough gentleman." 
 
 " Then," said Pelagie, " one of those ladies must have 
 done it." 
 
 " Probably your kitty excited some feminine jealousy 
 and caused an anonymous letter to be sent to the police. 
 That is most likely the case; unless," he added, smiling, 
 " some agent of police glided in among us." 
 
 After having sympathized some time longer with
 
 222 FEDORA : OE, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Pelagic d'Ermont, Savari took his leave. As she could 
 not afford him an opportunity to play, he took no further 
 interest in her. 
 
 Savari's twenty-five louis remained untouched. He 
 knew no other house like that of Pelagie's; and, besides, 
 when the police make a descent on one of those houses, 
 others of the same sort take care to remain hermetically 
 closed for a long time. 
 
 As for departing for Homburg or Baden, to try his 
 fortune there, Savari never once thought of it. He had 
 not the courage to place two or three hundred leagues 
 between himself and Fedora. Then, too, his twenty-five 
 louis would have barely sufficed for the journey. Resigned, 
 since he could not do otherwise, to remain the Count's 
 debtor, he thought he ought, however, to speak of his 
 debt and excuse himself for not having paid it. But 
 Vibert, more and more morose, refused to see him. 
 
 Savari was now in despair; he did not know what to do. 
 The only two persons with whom he had passed his life 
 for two months suddenly failed him, without his knowing 
 the reasons why they held aloof from him. Fedora had 
 seen fit to close her door to him the day after he had 
 declared his love to her. And yet she had listened to 
 him in silence, she had almost encouraged him to speak; 
 if Vibert had not entered so inopportunely, she would 
 perhaps have answered him. And now she separated 
 herself from him suddenly, without any explanation, at 
 the very moment he was beginning to hope. 
 
 Like a soul in torment, he wandered about the streets 
 of Paris, passing most frequently through the Rue de 
 Grammont. One day, when, as usual, he raised his eyes 
 to Madame Vidal's windows, he saw her standing at one 
 of them. Then he lost his head, all his former rashness 
 returned to him. He ran across the street, up two flights
 
 ITT THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 223 
 
 of stairs, and, pushing by Marietta, who tried to detain 
 him, he entered the salon and found himself in Fedora's 
 presence. 
 
 It was now the day after Langlade's arrest and Vibert's 
 visit to the examining magistrate. 
 
 XII. 
 
 When she perceived Savari, Madame Vidal rose quickly 
 to reproach him, doubtless, for forcing his way in, despite 
 her orders. But he did not give her time to speak; 
 seizing her hands before she could prevent him, he poured 
 forth his love in the most passionate words. 
 
 " I live only in you and for you," he cried. " Were it 
 not for you, I should kill myself; existence has become 
 odious to me. My life is a failure, I am a useless being, 
 vicious, corrupt; I hate myself. Have pity upon me, you 
 can reform me; a look from you would make me better; 
 a kind word, a smile, a little encouragement, and I 
 acquire all the virtues I have not. A week has passed 
 without my seeing you, but it is a century, Madame, a 
 century! If you knew all that I have suffered during 
 that time! Just before I perceived you at the window, 
 my strength and courage were all gone. I think I was 
 about to take some desperate step. Yes, it is so difficult 
 to live when one is unhappy, so easy to kill one's self ! I 
 am very pale, am I not? You ought to have pity on me! 
 But you are not listening to me; your thoughts are far 
 away while I am telling you of my sorrow, opening to 
 you my entire heart. Listen to me, Madame, listen to 
 me! It is serious, I assure you! What reason could I 
 have for deceiving you? I swear to you it is serious; I
 
 224 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 suffer, I suffer terribly. A man who suffers, as I do, at 
 least deserves pity!" 
 
 He stopped, choked with emotion. 
 
 Fedora was astounded at this language, entirely new 
 to her. Her husband had spoken to her the language of 
 love ; but this of passion, she heard for the first time. 
 
 Savari continued: 
 
 "If you had resolved to hold aloof from me so soon, 
 why did you ever receive me? Why were you so kind 
 to me? Did not you see that I was gradually falling 
 in love with you? Did not you read in my eyes my 
 love? Ah! a woman is never deceived in such cases. 
 She does not need a man to throw himself at her feet 
 and exclaim, 'I love you,' to feel that she is loved. 
 You knew that my heart was no longer my own; I 
 had given it to you, and you had tacitly accepted it. 
 Don't deny it; you accepted it, I say, and you have 
 no right, out of caprice, to torture me like this. What 
 evil have I done to you? What fault have I committed 
 toward you? None! Therefore, I can say to you: Either 
 you are wrong in your treatment of me to-day, or you 
 were wrong in the past." 
 
 " 1 was wrong," she murmured, gently. 
 
 She was sincere and true at that moment. Convinced 
 of Savari's guilt, obeying Vibert's influence, believing 
 that she was fulfilling a sacred duty, she had consented to 
 play a part unworthy of her, and at which her direct, hon- 
 est and loyal nature revolted. Little by little she had 
 grown blind to the dangers and the odious side of her 
 undertaking; impassioned in all she did, she had become 
 imbued with the spirit of her role. But for some time 
 past, her convictions had been shaken ; she was com- 
 mencing to doubt Savari's guilt. She said to herself, that 
 if he were not guilty, the part she was playing was &
 
 AUJHi JiUJL Dili LA PAIX.' 225 
 
 wicked one. He had every right to accuse her, and re- 
 proach her for his sufferings. Perhaps, she ought even 
 to atone to him for the wrong she had done him. 
 
 While Fedora was occupied with these thoughts, Savari, 
 on his side, reflected. The man who is really in love is 
 never very clever with the woman he loves. His usual 
 intelligence and finesse no longer serve him. He commits, 
 most awkwardly, unpardonable faults, and he does not 
 know how to take advantage of the mistakes of his adver- 
 sary. Savari, who was renowned for his skill in gallantry, 
 did not keep up his reputation as far as Fedora went. 
 However, a man in love has moments when he sees 
 clearly; suddenly the clouds, which obscure his vision, 
 disperse, and he sees matters as they are. He says: " This 
 is the moment to strike," and he becomes skillful for a 
 moment, until the sky darkens again. 
 
 " I was wrong," Fedora had said. She was touched. 
 Savari's eloquence had produced an impression upon her 
 mind, if not upon her heart. It was a very little advan- 
 tage obtained, but it was necessary to be contented with 
 it and to profit by it as soon as possible. It was above 
 all important that, after Fedora had confessed so much, 
 she should have no reason for withdrawing. Savari 
 must not alarm her by too much precipitation. 
 
 Therefore, calmer and more master of himself after the 
 advantage he thought he had obtained, he no longer spoke 
 the language of passion, for fear of frightening Fedora. 
 He sat down beside her and tried to persuade her that 
 she ought not to close her door to him, that she ought to 
 receive him from time to time, and try to cure him little 
 by little of the malady from which he suffered. 
 
 " Be kind to me," he said to her; " treat me like a sick 
 man, like a convalescent, and I shall regain my health." 
 This was the only language which could have any influ- 
 
 15
 
 226 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 ence with a woman like Fedora, and under any other 
 circumstances she would certainly have been persuaded. 
 But she was in an exceptional position. She was no 
 longer sufficiently convinced of Savari's guilt to con- 
 tinue to play the role she had accepted; she would 
 not push her enterprise further; she refused all com- 
 plicity with Vibert and canceled the sort of engage- 
 ment she had tacitly contracted with the examining 
 magistrate and the law. But, at the same time, she 
 was not sure enough of Savari's innocence to sign the 
 compact he proposed to her. As long as the shadow 
 of a suspicion rested upon him she must exclude him 
 from all intimacy. No reasoning, no prayers of Savari 
 could move her. Her heart would be insensible to any 
 efforts on his part. The present and the future were not 
 her own, so long as the shadows which enveloped the 
 past were not dissipated. 
 
 She took courage, and advancing toward Savari, said : 
 " If you love me, as you affirm, if you respect your love, 
 if you respect me, leave me, Monsieur, I implore you, 
 and do not attempt to see me again." 
 
 " Oh! " he cried in despair, " is that all you can find to 
 answer me?" 
 
 " Believe me, I can not answer you otherwise." 
 " But you are breaking my heart! " 
 " Alas! " she said, sadly, " that is not my fault." 
 " At least," he replied, his voice trembling with emotion, 
 "tell me the reason of so much coldness and harshness." 
 " No, I can not tell you! Indeed, it is impossible! " 
 " Ah ! this is too much suffering ! " cried Savari, throw- 
 ing himself into an arm-chair, and burying his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 At this moment Marietta entered the salon, and going 
 up to Madame Vidal, whispered to her:
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PALX. 227 
 
 " Some one wants to see you." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " A person I don't know. He says his business is im- 
 portant." 
 
 Fedora rose, and without looking at Savari, who did 
 not raise his head, she followed Marietta into the hall. 
 She found there one of the messengers of the Palais de 
 Justice. 
 
 " Madame," said the man, " M. Gourbet ordered me to 
 deliver this letter into your own hands." 
 
 " Give it to me," she replied. 
 
 She took the letter, and while Marietta showed the 
 messenger out, she re-entered the salon, approached a 
 window, and read as follows: 
 
 MADAME : It is my duty to inform you as quickly as 
 possible that we have at last discovered your husband's 
 assassin. He is a man named Langlade, an escaped con- 
 vict. "We have against him overwhelming proofs, which 
 allow no possible doubt of his guilt. Besides, he has con- 
 fessed. All the suspicions we had against Monsieur 
 Albert Savari must disappear. The sort of surveillance 
 to which he has been subjected will cease from to-day. 
 I sympathized deeply with you in your great sorrow, 
 Madame, and I am happy to say to you at last that your 
 husband's death will soon be avenged. Believe, Madame, 
 in the assurance of my deepest respect and devotion.. 
 (Signed) GOUEBET. 
 
 She read this letter through twice, to be sure that she 
 was not mistaken, then she went to the fire-place, threw 
 the letter into the fire, and advanced toward Savari. 
 
 Ho had raised his head, and was regarding her with a 
 look of surprise. 
 
 When she was quite near him, she said, softly:
 
 228 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " I have made you suffer much; forgive me, and ask no 
 explanation of my past conduct. I have wronged you, 
 and I will repair the injury I have done." 
 
 Scarcely had she said these words, when she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A large coupe, emblazoned with a coat of arms, and 
 drawn by two strong Norman horses, stopped, one morn- 
 ing, before the door of the Hotel des Princes. A foot- 
 man, seated beside the coachman, leaped down from the 
 box, and hastened to take the orders of the person within 
 the carriage. 
 
 " Find out from the people of the Hotel," said this per- 
 son, " if the Count de Rubini is still stopping here, and if 
 he is at home now." 
 
 The footman executed this order promptly, and returned 
 to say that the Count was living in the hotel, and that he 
 had not been seen to go out. 
 
 " Then open the door and help me out," said the occu- 
 pant of the carriage. " Do you know the number of his 
 room?" he added, as he crossed the court. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, it is number 4, on the 
 second floor." 
 
 "On the second floor? The devil! That is a little 
 high for me this morning. I have a touch of my con- 
 founded gout. Well! are we there at last? " 
 
 " There is the door, Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 "Open it, then, instead of keeping me waiting in a 
 draught. Do you think I am comfortable, after such an 
 ascent? Now, you can go; I will come down alone." 
 
 Vibert was stirring the fire when the door opened.
 
 IN THE RTTE DE LA PAIX. 229 
 
 He turned his head, uttered a cry of surprise, rose hastily, 
 and ran to meet his visitor, exclaiming: 
 
 "What! Monsieur le Marquis! you have come to see 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, I have! What is there so astonishing in that? 
 Don't you call yourself the Count de Rubini? Be less 
 stupid, and give me a chair; your stairs are hard to 
 climb!" 
 
 The Marquis de X , whom we only know till now 
 
 through his correspondence with Vibert, bore his sixty- 
 five years lightly. His face was a most intelligent one, 
 with thin lips and whiskers in the English fashion. He 
 had been a member of the guards, and his figure was 
 erect. He was dressed in a fashion peculiar to himself; 
 his vest was very long and buttoned up to the chin; his 
 black coat was of a peculiar shape, and his trousers were 
 very wide, narrowing at the bottom, like the trousers of 
 hussars. 
 
 M. de X was, from 1835 to 1848, the spoiled child 
 
 of the Chamber of Peers. His sallies and epigrams, 
 which were repeated from mouth to mouth in all the 
 salons of Paris, are still remembered. He was the only 
 peer of France who was in the least degree popular. His 
 speeches were learned by heart, and only the reports of 
 the sessions in which the witty Marquis spoke were read. 
 He spoke often, to the great delight of his colleagues, and 
 even those who disagreed with his opinions listened to 
 him with pleasure. Suddenly, when least expected, he 
 would rise, and, plunging his hands into his pockets, would 
 begin a discourse. 
 
 " But, Monsieur de X ," the president would re- 
 mark, " why do you take the floor when it does not belong 
 to you?" 
 
 " Monsieur," the Marquis would reply, in his incisive
 
 230 FEDORA ! OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 voice, "permit me to say that if it belonged to me, I 
 should not be obliged to take it." 
 
 " Monsieur de X , allow me to observe that you are 
 
 not in order. You have been speaking for an hour of 
 England; England has nothing to do with the question 
 before us." 
 
 " Monsieur," the Marquis would reply, with the utmost 
 calmness, " my love for the English is not overwhelming, 
 as you know. If I speak of them, it is because they put 
 their noses into every question." 
 
 " But not into this one." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, since I have found 
 means to attach them to it." 
 
 Despite all interruptions, he would continue to dis- 
 course for an hour in the most interesting and pictur- 
 esque fashion, connecting all questions with England, 
 and developing in a charming fashion entirely novel 
 theories. 
 
 When the Marquis de X was comfortably installed 
 
 in his arm-chair, he said to Vibert: 
 
 " So, you imagined you could cut short my daily letter, 
 my continued story, so to speak, without my rebelling and 
 coming to demand the rest of it from you? For a month, 
 according to our agreement, you sent me every morning 
 in time for my breakfast, my eight columns; you told me 
 the smallest details of that affair of the Rue de la Paix; 
 you made known to me all the actions and speeches of 
 that beautiful Fedora Vidal and that fascinating rascal 
 called Savari. You tell me that the next day will come a 
 description of the great dagger scene at the Cafe Anglais. 
 This promises to be exciting, when slap! bang! there is 
 no more letter, no more story, nothing! The romance 
 was stopped at the most interesting point, and you have 
 insulted your constant reader."
 
 IN THE HUE DE LA PAIX. 231 
 
 " Ah! if you knew, Monsieur le Marquis," began Vibert, 
 sadly. 
 
 " Morbleu ! if I knew, I should ask you nothing. Tell 
 me, what has become of your characters? I love them 
 all! Your Fedora does not speak much, all credit to her, 
 but she has nerve. Your Savari is a fine product of the 
 corrupt society which surrounds us; that knave interests 
 me. Give me news of them both! " 
 
 "I don't know what to tell you, Monsieur le Marquis; I 
 have not seen the persons of whom you speak for a week 
 past." 
 
 " You are deceiving me! " cried the Marquis. *' What 
 has become of your duty?" 
 
 " My duty consisted in seeking out a criminal. I have 
 done so and I have found him." 
 
 "Ah! he is caught, the rascal! That is rather quick 
 work." 
 
 " You think, probably, Monsieur le Marquis, that I refer 
 to Savari?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " You are mistaken. Savari is not the guilty party." 
 
 Then Vibert related to the Marquis all that we know in 
 regard to Langlade and Soleil-Couchant. This story, 
 instead of interesting the peer of France, seemed to put 
 him in a very bad humor. 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty ending! " he said, when Vibert 
 had ceased speaking." "The assassin is simply a convict; 
 it is stale, flat and unprofitable. You deserve to have my 
 confidence withdrawn from you. What! Here was a 
 magnificent affair, which promised to be a little original; 
 a pretty woman, a handsome man, love looming up on the 
 horizon ; something picturesque, in fact. And this charm- 
 ing romance has the most commonplace denouement! 
 Savari and Fedora return to their uninteresting every-day
 
 232 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 life; there is only one more vulgar criminal in prison. 
 It is most commonplace. How I recognize my age 
 under all this. We are indeed under the ' reign of the 
 umbrella.' " 
 
 Then, addressing Vibert directly: 
 
 " But," he continued, " if all is ended, your assassin in 
 jail and your Savari as white as snow, why do you continue 
 to deport yourself as the Count de Rubini, live in this 
 fashionable hotel and dress better than I? Have you in- 
 herited a fortune or discovered real ancestors?" 
 
 "Indeed, Monsieur le Marquis," said Vibert, a little 
 embarrassed, " I want to wear out my clothes and finish 
 my month at the hotel." 
 
 " Indeed, my friend? Do you think I credit such non- 
 sense? You! wear out your fine clothes! You would 
 a thousand times rather sell them to some second-hand 
 dealer. You! finish out a month in apartments which 
 cost a fabulous sum? Pooh! In the first place rooms are 
 let here by the day; then the proprietors of the hotel, I 
 would bet my head, want nothing better than to see you 
 depart. I know you; you don't lend yourself easily to 
 extravagance. Ten fellows of your stamp would ruin an 
 establishment like this! My dear Vibert, you have other 
 reasons for remaining in this house, and I will tell them to 
 you, if you wish it." 
 
 " But, Monsieur le Marquis " 
 
 "You don't wish it; you think I have already seen 
 through you, you who are so cunning, too." 
 
 " I am never cunning with you, Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 " And you are right, my boy," said the Marquis, ap- 
 proaching Vibert and taking him by the ear. "Come," 
 he continued, in an almost paternal tone, " tell me your 
 troubles, it will relieve you. Whom should you tell them 
 to, if not to me ? You have no relations or friends. You
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 233 
 
 lead a solitary life, and if you have any sorrow, you must 
 suffer more than any one else." 
 
 " Yes," said the agent of police, with a sigh. 
 
 "You see, I have guessed rightly. Come, I am going 
 to give you an example of frankness. It was not alone 
 a sentiment of curiosity which impelled me to come here; 
 it was also a desire to try and console your suffering. 
 Have I not seen from your letters, the gradual growth 
 of your trouble? Did I not understand why, so frank 
 hitherto, you kept silence now? You know well that I 
 have a deep interest in you ; I like your wit, your 
 bravery, your piquant originality. You are not like 
 every one else in the world. Under the old regime they 
 would have made of you a Louvois, a Richelieu or a 
 Mazarin. In our days, to turn your talents to account, 
 you enter the police service, and you are right; it is per- 
 haps a less stupid profession than the others. I have no 
 foolish prejudices; I have only convictions. Come, now 
 you speak, or I shall never stop. I am a little garrulous 
 this morning; there has been no session for two days." 
 
 " What can I say to you, Monsieur le Marquis, except 
 that I am profoundly touched " 
 
 " Enough! don't let us have anything about gratitude. 
 You have simply to tell me why you remain in this hotel, 
 or rather I will tell you. You continue to call yourself 
 the Count de Rubini, to dress elegantly and to live here 
 because it seems to you that by returning to the Rue de 
 1'Arbre-Sec and becoming Vibert again, you place a still 
 deeper gulf between you and her. Have I guessed the 
 truth?" 
 
 "Yes," responded Vibert, simply. 
 
 "You love her,then?" 
 
 " Love her! " suddenly cried Vibert, " I love her with 
 all the strength of a virgin heart, of an imagination re-
 
 234 FEDORA I OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 strained till now, of a temperament which has suddenly 
 awakened to life. I have not used up my heart; I have 
 not worn it on my sleeve, opened it to every comer, and 
 dragged it through the mire. None of the women 1 had 
 hitherto met could make it beat; they passed, and I 
 turned away my head. She ! she appeared and I under- 
 went a sudden metamorphosis; my blood throbbed through 
 my veins. And my passion is all the stronger for coming 
 so late. Yes, at thirty-six I commenced to live and I 
 have at last all a man's passions. But I must stifle them! 
 She who has inspired them can not understand nor ex- 
 cuse them. Ah! if you knew what torture it is to think: 
 ' Here at last is the woman I have waited for; she is there, 
 near me, I see her and I can not touch her! ' She is, 
 however, a woman like the others, more beautiful and 
 better than the others, but fashioned in their image, a 
 woman in every acceptation of the word, ready to fall 
 in love. She is not a marble statue ; she is a veritable 
 woman. But I ! I am not a man like the others, I 
 am a sort of superior monkey. The dames of ancient 
 Rome, who used to bathe before their slaves, would have 
 treated me with the same unceremoniousness! There is 
 no torture like mine! Tantalus himself, whom we are 
 accustomed to pity, was the happiest of men in compari- 
 son with me. He was hungry and thirsty; so am I. He 
 wished to taste the apples which hung above his head, 
 and the fruit retreated when he stretched out his hand. 
 I wish to taste of love, and loves flies me, when I call it, 
 when I cry out: Come! you have conquered me ! " 
 
 Vibert experienced a sort of bitter pleasure in thus 
 laying bare his wounds, in saying: " There is the place I 
 suffer, there is the place I bleed! " 
 
 He exaggerated his infirmities, he made himself out 
 smaller, uglier and more deformed than he really was.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 235 
 
 Did he hope that the Marquis would rise and deny the 
 ugliness of which he complained? Or did he wish rather 
 to persuade himself that there was an impassable barrier 
 between Madame Vidal and himself; that it was useless 
 to struggle and suffer longer? 
 
 The Marquis listened to him attentively. He felt him- 
 self grow young again in the presence of this man who 
 was more impassioned than one is, in our days, at twenty 
 years. He who lived in an official, straight-laced world, 
 cold by temperament and calculation, was glad to have at 
 his side an ardent, passionate being. And then, more- 
 over, Vibert was not indifferent to him; some old memory, 
 some mysterious bond attached perhaps the great lord, the 
 millionaire, the peer of France, to the little employe of 
 the Prefecture. The Marquis suffered to see his protege 
 suffer; he longed to comfort him. 
 
 "I am not," he said to him, "a man to give advice, a 
 preacher and an old fogy, as my age would seem to indi- 
 cate. I will not tell you that you must conquer your 
 passions and forbid your heart to beat; I know well that 
 you want nothing better. I will not give you hopes, 
 which would be dangerous and which I have no faith in. 
 It is almost impossible for Madame Vidal to love you, not 
 because of your imperfections, which you are pleased to 
 exaggerate, but because of your situation toward her. 
 She is not accustomed to look upon you as a rnan ; you 
 have been in her eyes a means, an agent, a machine. If 
 it were only a question of physical formation, I should 
 bid you hope. Women are better than we are. While 
 we have but one thought is she beautiful? they often 
 seek for our moral qualities and fall in love with the 
 mind rather than the appearance. We arc always more 
 or less material; they are very often spiritual. But a 
 woman like the one in question does not compound with
 
 236 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 certain defects. She may fall in love with a criminal, if 
 her imagination is ardent and depraved, but she does not 
 fall in love with an unfortunate who is of inferior station 
 to her own and who practices a profession more or less 
 looked down upon." 
 
 The Marquis had for the moment forgotten his gout; 
 he rose, took Vibert's arm, and forcing him to walk up 
 and down the room with him, he continued as follows: 
 
 " You see, I speak to you frankly, almost rudely, as it 
 is my duty to do. But I can give you some consolation. 
 What is it that causes the most suffering in love? To 
 think: This woman whom I ardently long for belongs 
 to another; I can not make her love me, and she adores 
 him. There is nothing like this in your case. Madame 
 Vidal is entirely faithful to her husband's memory, and 
 her heart is proof against all attacks." 
 
 Vibert stopped suddenly, dropped the arm upon which 
 the Marquis was leaning, and exclaimed, abruptly: 
 
 " You are determined to make me speak, are you 
 not?" 
 
 "I?" said the Marquis, greatly astonished. 
 
 " You have said to yourself: Place your finger upon 
 that wound, and he will show it to you as he has shown 
 the others." 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing, my friend. What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean the thing which has made me suffer the most 
 cruelly, Monsieur. I thought that you had guessed it. 
 Pardon me, I was mistaken." 
 
 " I forgive you; but try to explain yourself. Tell me 
 the whole story. All your griefs are mine." 
 
 "Monsieur le Marquis," cried Vibert, " I am jealous, 
 furiously jealous." 
 
 "And of whom?"
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PALX. 287 
 
 " Of Savari." 
 
 *' Of Savari! She loves him? " 
 
 "She will love him!" 
 
 " It is impossible! What makes you think so?" 
 
 "Everything, Monsieur, everything. Ah! you don't 
 know this Savari. He is tall, handsome, elegant, distin- 
 guished. He talks well. He is bright and clever. I 
 know all his qualities; Monsieur le Marquis;! have, so to 
 speak, ferreted them out, and I tell you that such a man 
 always succeeds in pleasing, when he desires to." 
 
 " But she must hate this man; was he not in her eyes 
 her husband's murderer? " 
 
 " He is no longer so." 
 
 " One does not pass thus from hatred to love." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Monsieur le Marquis, and you 
 know it even better than I. Hatred may very easily 
 change into love. There is even a proverb in that con- 
 nection, which I will spare you. Ah! if Savari had been 
 indifferent to her, you would be right. A woman does 
 not fall in love with a man whom she has for a long time 
 known and been indifferent to. I have no chance, as 
 you very justly remarked. But he has every chance. 
 Remember, she has wronged him enormously; she has 
 suspected him unjustly of an infamous action; she will 
 want to repair the injury she has done him, and one 
 never knows to what length a woman will go when she 
 has once taken it into her head that she must make 
 amends for an injury." 
 
 " Agreed! " replied the Marquis, " but, my dear fellow, 
 you forget that Madame Vidal is an honest woman, that 
 she loved her husband, and will remain long faithful to 
 his memory." 
 
 "There you are in error, Monsieur le Marquis; Madame 
 Vidal did not love her husband."
 
 238 FEDOBA I OB, THE TBAGEDY 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " There can be no doubt of what I have discovered. 
 Am I not an observer by profession and by temperament? 
 She lived at Genoa, in the midst of her family, when 
 Maurice Vidal arrived there, saw her, and proposed for 
 her hand. She consented to marry him, because he was 
 a good match, because she would live in Paris, which is 
 the dream of all foreigners, and, finally, because the first 
 man who pays attention to a young girl has strong chances 
 of pleasing her. She took for love what was at first a 
 feeling of curiosity, and afterward became an honest 
 attachment. As for real love, her husband, like all hus- 
 bands, did not dream of inspiring it. Maurice Vidal was 
 of a rather methodical and cold nature; he understood a 
 calm, honest affection, but of a fiery passion he knew 
 nothing. He demanded of his wife only what he could 
 give her himself: fidelity, attachment and tenderness." 
 
 " How do you explain, then," asked the Marquis, 
 "Madame Vidal's violent despair at the death of her 
 husband, and the excitement you have so often noticed 
 in her?" 
 
 " I have not pretended, Monsieur le Marquis, that 
 Madame Vidal was not of an ardent temperament, but 
 she was obliged to keep herself under restraint; so she 
 found a vent for the excitement she craved in avenging 
 Maurice Vidal's death. To-day, as the murderer is dis- 
 covered, her passionate nature must find something else, 
 and Savari is at hand." 
 
 After a moment's silence, the Marquis said: 
 
 " What do you intend to do now? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Vibert; " suffer, I suppose." 
 
 " Do you intend to continue to live here? " 
 
 " As long as my money holds out." 
 
 " Shall you try to see Madame Vidal again?"
 
 IN THE BTJE DE LA PAIX. 239 
 
 " See her, oh, yes! Speak to her, no; what would be 
 the use? She has no longer need of my services." 
 
 " I don't understand you. How can you see her and 
 not speak to her? Do you mean that you will watch for 
 her on the street, that you " 
 
 " No," said Vibert, interrupting the Marquis, " I shall 
 go to her house." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I can see her without her seeing me, without her 
 having any idea of my presence near her. The day I 
 hired the apartments for her, I arranged a hiding place 
 for myself. Yes, I have a little peep-hole in the Rue de 
 Grammont, like the one Esmeralda's lover had at Notre- 
 Dame." 
 
 " You think of everything." 
 
 " I thought of overhearing Savari's confession. I think 
 now " 
 
 " Go on," said the Marquis, kindly. 
 
 " Of witnessing their love," finished Vibert. " Is not 
 that my destiny? Can I live on my own account? Must 
 I not always live the life of others?" 
 
 "What! you will have the strength to " 
 
 " Yes. Listen. Madame Vidal's salon communicates 
 directly on one side with the hall. But on the other, 
 near the fire-place and opposite the sofa where she gen- 
 erally sits, is a glass door. This door is bolted both 
 inside and outside. I pass before the concierge, who 
 thinks I am going to visit Madame Vidal and makes no 
 remark. Instead of ascending the grand staircase, I go 
 up by the back stairs. I open a door of which I possess 
 the key, enter a corridor and I am face to face with the 
 glass door. Then I crouch down in a corner, apply 
 my eye to a little opening I made, and I see without 
 being seen, I hear without being heard, for I hold my
 
 240 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 breath and press my hand against my heart to still its 
 beating." 
 
 " But, unhappy boy, this is madness." 
 
 " It is wisdom. By the very force of suffering I shall 
 perhaps wear out my sorrow." 
 
 " Give up these senseless projects," said the Marquis. 
 "The mission confided to you is fulfilled, thanks to your 
 intelligence; Maurice Vidal's assassin is discovered. You 
 have nothing more to do with this affair; the courts now 
 have charge of it. Take up your former occupation, 
 return to the Rue de 1'Arbre-Sec, and to your office in the 
 Rue Saint Honore, which you should never have quitted." 
 
 " I could not return again to my office and work," said 
 Vibert; " my thoughts would be elsewhere." 
 
 " Do you prefer to leave Paris, France, and travel 
 abroad? I don't know what to do with my income; it 
 embarrasses me. I certainly don't want to pile up money 
 for my scamp of a nephew to inherit. Travel, and I will 
 give you an income proportionate to your needs." 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur le Marquis, how good you are!" said 
 Vibert. 
 
 " No, I am not good. I am fond of you, that is all, 
 you imbecile! Well, do you accept?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur le Marquis. I shall have strength 
 enough to suffer; I should never have the courage to go 
 away from her." 
 
 " Go to the devil, then ! " cried the Marquis, taking his 
 hat. 
 
 "That is good advice; I will follow it," said Vibert, 
 accompanying his friend respectfully to his carriage.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 241 
 
 XIV. 
 
 If it would have been natural, as the Marquis de 
 
 X had observed, for Vibert to leave the Hotel des 
 
 Princes, it would have been still more natural for Fedora 
 Vidal to return to her apartments in the Rue de la Paix. 
 Had she not gone to live in the Rue de Grammont for the 
 sole purpose of receiving Savari there and of hiding from 
 him her past? Why so much mystery now? Why not 
 resume her real name and return to a house full of mem- 
 ories dear to her heart? 
 
 " You were arrested," she should have said to Savari, 
 "and suspected of a crime. I did not know you; I sus- 
 pected you also; I undertook to play a part to obtain 
 proof of your guilt. To-day your innocence is established; 
 I ask your pardon for my odious suspicions, and I become 
 again Fedora Vidal." 
 
 But she did not dare to say these words for fear of put- 
 ting Savari in too false and too painful a position toward 
 herself. She feared also perhaps having to blush before 
 him for all her past falsehoods. 
 
 Yet she would say to herself: " This can not last; he 
 must know who I am. I can not continue to play this 
 eternal travesty, and to act like an adventuress. I have 
 a name, an honorable name. I ought to resume it. I 
 will speak, I must speak." 
 
 But she did not speak and she continued to be false, in 
 order not to avow her falsehood. 
 
 They had taken up again their former life, only Vibert 
 no longer came to trouble their tete-a-te'tes. This sudden 
 disappearance caused Savari some surprise; he asked 
 Fedora the reason of it, but she was embarrassed and gave 
 him no satisfactory answer. Savari naturally thought 
 
 ie
 
 242 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 that the Count, in whom he had noticed a certain jeal- 
 ousy, was angry with his cousin, because of her intimacy 
 with himself. 
 
 Every day, about two o'clock in the afternoon, Savari 
 came to Fedora's, and did not leave till dinner time. 
 Seated by her side upon the sofa in the salon, he spoke of 
 his early life, his struggles and his trials. He tried to 
 teach her to know him and to judge him more justly than 
 others had done. 
 
 " I am blamed," he said to her, " for living from hand 
 to mouth, for not having made for myself a position in 
 the world, for having no settled income, for being useless 
 to everybody and principally to myself. And it is just. 
 If I had to begin my life over again, I should make it a 
 very different one. But should not also the obstacles 
 without number I have encountered at every turn be 
 taken into account? 
 
 " I entered life without a protector, without family, with- 
 out friends, with a few thousand francs for my whole 
 patrimony. I should have worked. But was I brought up 
 with any of the habits of work? No. My mother scarcely 
 paid any attention to me. She thought only of her own 
 pleasure. I do not reproach her; she loved me in her way. 
 But, in certain positions, one should not bring children into 
 the world. If you knew what a spectacle was constantly 
 before my eyes, what a strange existence I led! what 
 irregularity there was in our way of living! One day we 
 were rich, the next day poor. We gave a magnificent 
 ball; all the newspapers reported it; all Paris struggled 
 for invitations. We danced till morning; every one 
 went away delighted; and when there was no one left in 
 the salons, my mother gathered together her jewels and 
 dresses and sent them to the pawnbroker's to raise the 
 money to pay the florist and confectioner who would not
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 243 
 
 give credit. How many times I have breakfasted like a 
 prince, and supped off a crust! What gay carelessness 
 there was in the midst of all this disorder! How little 
 we cared for either wealth or poverty. And the creditors! 
 Ah! when they did not threaten to make a seizure, 
 what little thought we gave them. They could never 
 find us; they entered by one door, and we went out 
 laughing at the other. We took no notice of their 
 bills; we only troubled ourselves about them when 
 they came with voluminous documents, a sheriff and 
 two clerks. Ah! if some one had taken me aside 
 and said to me: 'Beware, my boy, don't follow the 
 example before you; you must not live that way. 
 Some day, perhaps, you will not be held to account 
 for your mother's past, but don't be too much like her; 
 make a name for yourself by your own work.' But with- 
 out advice, left to myself, I lived as I had always seen 
 those about me live, and I lived badly, till the day I met 
 you. I understood then how evil I was, when I expe- 
 rienced real love for the first time." 
 
 "Do you work now?" asked Fedora, kindly. 
 
 "Not yet; but I am seeking for something to do." 
 
 "How do you live? I have the right to question you, 
 since I am your confidant." 
 
 "Oh!" he replied, "I don't need much now. I no 
 longer care for money. I don't desire now to show my- 
 self in the Bois from three to five, at Tortoni's about six, 
 and at the opera in the evening. I awake and my first 
 thought is: ' At what time shall I see her to-day? ' Then 
 dress, and take a modest breakfast. I walk on the bou- 
 levards until I can come here. I remain with you till 
 you send me away, and I think of you all the rest of the 
 time." 
 
 Then she tried to speak seriously to him, like a friend,
 
 244 FEDORA : OE, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 a sister. She said to him that he must think of his future 
 and struggle against a love which she could not share. 
 
 " I like you," she acknowledged, " I can not hide that 
 from you. I think, indeed, that you are not wholly 
 responsible for the errors for which you have been so 
 severely judged; you are better than your reputation. 
 I thank you for having so frankly told me of your past, 
 of which otherwise I should have known nothing. I 
 esteem you all the more for it. But only esteem and 
 friendship can exist between us; love must be banished 
 from your thoughts. Let us have for each a true and 
 sincere affection. Like you, I am almost alone in the 
 world; be to me a friend, and respect the tears which I 
 still shed." 
 
 He would promise all she wished, or rather all she 
 thought she wished. He would vow to be content 
 with what she offered him and never to speak to her again 
 of love, and a moment afterward he would forget his 
 promise. 
 
 So their lives rolled by, until an accident came and 
 effected a certain change. 
 
 Since her husband's death, Fedora Vidal had fallen 
 into the habit of reading the newspapers. She wanted 
 to know all that was said in regard to the crime of the 
 Rue de la Paix. 
 
 One morning she suddenly dropped the paper from her 
 hands, and exclaiming, "This is infamous!" she called 
 Marietta. 
 
 " Read that," she said, " read what these French jour- 
 nalists have the impudence to write." 
 
 As she spoke, she pointed out an article which had 
 reference to Langlade's approaching trial. It related the 
 particulars of the crime, ar.d then went on to say: 
 
 " Langlade lived for some years with a woman nick'
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 245 
 
 named Soleil-Couchant, with whom he was madly in 
 love. He met Maurice Vidal at her house, followed him, 
 and killed him in a fit of jealousy." 
 
 Fedora, pale with indignation, snatched the journal 
 from Marietta's hand, when the latter had read it, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "In our country, the man who dared to write such a 
 slander would be horsewhipped or shot! What! to pretend 
 that my husband was the lover of a woman like that? that 
 he was with her the very evening before my return? I 
 will give the lie to that article. It wounds me in what I 
 hold most dear! Come, help me to dress, Marietta; I 
 am going to the newspaper office." 
 
 The editor, whom Madame Vidal saw an hour afterward 
 and questioned, without giving her name, assured her 
 that he had his information directly from a person em- 
 ployed at the Palais de Justice, and who was too well 
 informed to be mistaken. 
 
 Fedora went immediately to the Palais de Justice and 
 saw M. Gourbet. 
 
 " Madame," said he to her, when she had explained what 
 brought her, "the article which afflicts you, and justly, 
 emanated neither from my colleagues nor myself; we are 
 not in the habit of giving details to the newspapers, and 
 we often, on the contrary, have to deplore certain in- 
 discreet statements made by them. But the indiscretion 
 is committed; I am very sorry, and I pity you sincerely." 
 
 "What! pity me, Monsieur! I am not to be pitied. 
 That article causes me no sorrow, since it is a lie. It 
 simply excites my indignation." 
 
 M. Gourbet was silent. 
 
 " You do not angwer me," she said. " Is it possible 
 that you believe the story that paper relates?" 
 
 "Madame," said the judge, after a moment's reflection,
 
 246 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "if the truth could always remain hidden from you, be 
 lieve me, I should not answer your question. Unfortu^ 
 nately Langlade's trial will take place before long, you 
 will be a witness, and the smallest details of the affair 
 will be revealed to you. It is better then to acknowledge 
 all to you to-day: the article of which you complain was 
 true in every respect." 
 
 " What, Monsieur," cried Fedora, " my husband went 
 during my absence to that creature's house? " 
 
 " He had only left there a few minutes before he was 
 killed." 
 
 " It is impossible ! " 
 
 " It is only too true." 
 
 "You can prove what you say?" 
 
 " Alas, yes, Madame; it is I, you know, who have 
 charge of this affair." 
 
 For three days Fedora refused to receive Savari. 
 
 However, she did not shut herself up at home; she 
 went out several times. She went first to Saint-Roch 
 Church, where, since her husband's death, she had been 
 in the habit of burning a candle at the Virgin's shrine 
 every morning. But this time, instead of remaining to 
 pray as formerly, she gave orders to have a candle burned 
 every day, without her being obliged to be there, and paid 
 a month in advance. 
 
 She then went with Marietta to the Rue de la Paix, 
 packed up the articles which belonged to her and sent 
 them to the Rue de Grammont; then she told the con- 
 cierge to sell, the furniture and let the apartment. 
 
 Finally, she went to the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise. 
 Ordinarily, before this, she had stopped at a florist's and 
 bought a bunch of roses and Parma violets. These were 
 Maurice's favorite flowers, and she had placed every day 
 upon his grave a bouquet like those he had once given
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 247 
 
 her. This time she simply placed on her husband's grave 
 a wreath of immortelles. 
 
 After three days, Savari, pale and alarmed, was at last 
 admitted. 
 
 " Why have you banished me from your presence? " he 
 cried. "Why?" 
 
 She interrupted him, saying: 
 
 " Don't complain. It would be unjust. You have no 
 need to complain, I assure you! " 
 
 XV. 
 
 One day when Vibert was crossing one of the corridors 
 of the Prefecture of Police, where he was obliged to go 
 from time to time to report himself, he met the chief of 
 police. 
 
 " Well," said the latter, stopping him, " you got us into 
 a nice mess." 
 
 " What do you mean?" asked Vibert. 
 
 " We nearly lost Langlade." 
 
 " Did he try to escape? " 
 
 " He has been at the point of death." 
 
 " Then it is a pity he didn't die, poor devil! " 
 
 " For himself, perhaps, but not for us. It would surely 
 have been said that we killed him or allowed him to die. 
 All Paris counts upon an interesting trial, and a Parisian 
 is not agreeable when deprived of his excitement and 
 pleasure. Fortunately, Langlade is now well." 
 
 " What was the matter with him ? " 
 
 " A sort of brain fever, brought on by the interview 
 with his mistress, which you insisted upon." 
 
 "This is the reason his trial has been delayed?"
 
 248 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 "Certainly; we are most anxious to be rid of him as 
 soon as possible. He is not an agreeable prisoner to have ; 
 he has to be watched all the time." 
 
 "Is he still violent?" 
 
 " No, he is very calm now, very much broken down. 
 But we can not trust him, and we keep constantly upon 
 our guard." 
 
 "Where has he been transferred to?" asked the agent 
 of police. 
 
 " Nowhere. He is at the Conciergerie still; "we prefer 
 to have him under our own eyes. By the way, since you 
 are here, you ought to go and see him." 
 
 "I! Why?" 
 
 "You have shown that you have a certain influence 
 over him, and you can perhaps persuade him to answer 
 the questions of the examining magistrate." 
 
 " He won't answer! I foresaw that." 
 
 " It has been impossible to wrest even a word from 
 him, much less a confession," responded the chief of 
 police. 
 
 " He has spoken once; that is sufficient." 
 
 " It would be better if he would speak now. It would 
 be a misfortune if he should persist in his absolute silence 
 before the jury." 
 
 "Oh!" said Vibert, "there is not the slightest doubt 
 about that. He will persist, if he has made up his mind 
 to it. When an idea enters a brain of his calibre, it is 
 not easily removed." 
 
 " I think you can remove it. Will you try? " 
 
 " I see no reason why I shouldn't; I only say that it is 
 useless." 
 
 " Come with me; I will take you to him." 
 
 Langlade, when Vibert entered his cell, was lying upon 
 the bed, with his face toward the wall. He probably
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 249 
 
 thought it was some jailor, for he did not trouble himself 
 to look round. Vibert walked up to him, and touching 
 him on the shoulder, said: 
 
 " Well, old man, you have been sick, they tell me." 
 
 Langlade turned and rose to his feet; his pale face 
 flushed and his haggard eyes brightened. 
 
 "Is it you?" he said. "Well, I am very glad to see 
 you. How is your knee? " 
 
 " Oh! don't speak of that; that is all well long ago. I 
 hadn't your luck; I didn't have brain fever. During 
 your illness, at least, you were able to forget." 
 
 " Yes," said Langlade, sadly, " but I am better now." 
 
 " Do you still think of that creature who has made you 
 suffer so cruelly?" 
 
 "Yes, all the time." 
 
 " Is it possible that you love her still ? " 
 
 4 ' Yes," replied Langlade, unhesitatingly. " That as- 
 tonishes you, no doubt," he added, after a moment. 
 
 "Me!" said Vibert. "What! I astonished at your 
 stupidity? Bah! I am as bad as you; I think I could 
 even give you points. I astonished at your persistency 
 in loving one who does not love you! That is always the 
 case, my good fellow. You adore Soleil-Couchant because 
 she treats you in the most outrageous fashion. If she 
 were very kind, very good, very sweet, if she came to see 
 you every morning and brought you a little bunch of 
 violets, you would soon grow tired of her. Reflect, my 
 friend: if we loved always and were always loved, we 
 should be too happy; life would consist of one eternal kiss." 
 
 "Have you seen her?" asked Langlade, who had 
 waited impatiently to ask this question, while Vibert was 
 delivering his wise aphorisms. 
 
 " No," replied the agent of police, " I have not laid 
 eyes on her."
 
 250 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Where is she now?" 
 
 " I have not the slightest idea." 
 
 " I tried to question the jailors about her," said Lang- 
 lade, " but they wouldn't answer me." 
 
 " That ought not to surprise you. Jailors are not gen- 
 erally very communicative. Besides, you have been 
 somewhat silent yourself." 
 
 " Yes," said Langlade. " They wanted to make me 
 talk, but I don't like that. Perhaps you came here for 
 that purpose, too? " 
 
 " I should not be sorry to induce you to answer the 
 magistrate's questions. He is a good fellow and won't 
 anger you." 
 
 " He annoys me." 
 
 " He is only doing his duty. You annoy him much 
 more by refusing to talk with him." 
 
 " What do you wish me to say to him? He asks me a 
 lot of things that I don't understand. He wants details 
 of the way in which I killed the gentleman of the Rue 
 de la Paix. I prefer not to speak of that, and so have 
 kept silent." 
 
 " You have at least conferred with your lawyer? " 
 
 " My lawyer? I refused to see him when he came here." 
 
 "How can he defend you, then?" 
 
 " I don't want him to defend me! " exclaimed Langlade. 
 "I want to be let alone. They will condemn me, what- 
 ever I say or do." 
 
 "I don't know," replied Vibert, "there is a chance 
 for you." 
 
 " What? I thought you told me once my business was 
 settled." 
 
 " I may have been mistaken," remarked the agent of 
 police. " Your case is a bad one, certainly, considering 
 your antecedents; but a skillful lawyer might make it
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 251 
 
 appear that there was no premeditation on your part, that 
 you only obeyed an impulse of fury and jealousy, which 
 made you temporarily insane. Then, there are juries in 
 France who do not believe in the death penalty, and 
 always find extenuating circumstances." 
 
 " I don't want their extenuating circumstances! " cried 
 Langlade ; " if I can't live with Soleil-Couchant I prefer 
 to die!" 
 
 " As you please. You have determined not to defend 
 yourself; so be it. It is as much a suicide as any other. 
 Well, good-bye. Do you want anything? Would you 
 like some tobacco? " 
 
 " No, I don't smoke." 
 
 "Ah! naturally! You have no faults, you have only 
 vices." 
 
 " You can do me a great service, though," said Lang- 
 lade, as Vibert rapped on the door to summon the jailor. 
 
 " I know what you are going to ask me," replied the 
 agent of police, turning. " You would like news of Soleil- 
 Couchant? I will inquire about her." 
 
 "Ah! don't trust to what you hear. Go and see her." 
 
 " Very well. I will do so." 
 
 "You will speak to her of me?" 
 
 " All the time." 
 
 "And if she should say anything good of me?" 
 
 "I will come and tell you of it. Good-bye! " 
 
 "Good-bye!" said Langlade, as the door closed. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Vibert, after leaving Langlade, went to report to the 
 chief of police the result of his visit. 
 
 " As I told you," he said, " I could not persuade him to
 
 252 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 speak. He probably will not even answer the questions 
 put to him by the president of the court of assizes." 
 
 Vibert might have added: 
 
 " There is, it is true, an infallible means of breaking up 
 his obstinate silence; to say to him: ' I have seen Soleil- 
 Couchant and she is sorry for the way in which she be- 
 haved. She has learned to love you since she has been 
 separated from you. She begs you to pardon her and to 
 defend yourself, in the hope that you may simply be sent 
 to the galleys, from whence you can escape, as usual, and 
 join her.' " 
 
 Langlade would certainly have credited these words. 
 We believe so easily what can make us happy. We are, 
 above all, so credulous in love, and when we suffer, so dis- 
 posed to suffer no more. But Vibert would not employ 
 such means. He had had time to judge Soleil-Couchant, 
 and he knew she was not a woman to change her mind. 
 Far from desiring Langlade's deliverance, she hoped with 
 all her soul that he would be condemned to death, which 
 would deliver her from him forever. 
 
 " Why," he thought, " should I attach that unhappy 
 man to life? If he is condemned, he will suffer much 
 more cruelly. If he is sent to the galleys and escapes, 
 Soleil-Couchant will torture him to death by degrees." 
 
 However, Vibert desired to keep the promise made to 
 Langlade, and asked what had become of Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 " She was set at liberty two weeks ago," answered the 
 chief of police. 
 
 "Ah! you have let her go?" 
 
 "Yes; she was arrested for a simple misdemeanor, and 
 we remitted the penalty incurred in consideration of her 
 having given up her lover. As for the assassination, it is 
 evident that she could not have been Langlade's accom- 
 plice. She will appear in court simply as a witness. It
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 253 
 
 was useless to support her at the expense of the State; we 
 have more interesting pensioners." 
 
 " Do you know what has become of her since she was 
 set at liberty?" asked Vibert. 
 
 "Certainly; we have not entirely lost sight of her, and 
 if you wish to call upon her," said the chief of police, 
 consulting a register, " she is now living in the Rue des 
 Trois Freres, corner of the Rue Saint Lazare." 
 
 "In furnished apartments?" asked Vibert. 
 
 "By no means; she has furniture of her own; she is 
 too pretty not to get on." 
 
 In fact, as the chief of police had said, Soleil-Couchant 
 had found, since her departure from the prison, an oppor- 
 tunity to be well settled, and she had seized it with both 
 hands. This time her furniture was bought and paid for 
 on the spot; it was not at all like that which Langlade 
 had once graciously offered to his mistress, at the expense 
 of a householder in the suburbs of Paris. 
 
 Soleil-Couchant's gift was due to the generosity of a 
 young Englishman. This is how it happened: The door 
 of the Conciergerie had scarcely been opened to her, and 
 she was casting about her that bewildered look which 
 every prisoner wears when set at liberty, when she was 
 accosted by a most picturesque young man. He had 
 extraordinarily long legs, faded light hair, little blinking 
 eyes and a freckled face. His long, thin body was clothed 
 in the latest and most dandified fashion. 
 
 "Ah! Miss," he exclaimed, with a pronounced British 
 accent, " they did not deceive me, you are very beauti- 
 ful." 
 
 Soleil-Couchant looked at him, burst out laughing, and 
 said 
 
 " Well, if I am very beautiful, you are very ugly." 
 
 " All right," said the Englishman, " but I am Lord
 
 254 FEDOEA I OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 B 's son, and I have an income of five thousand 
 
 pounds sterling." 
 
 "How much is that in French money?" asked Soleil- 
 Couchant, becoming suddenly interested in the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " More than a hundred thousand francs a year." 
 
 "Indeed! Well, you are not so ugly after all. What 
 can I do for your lordship ? " 
 
 " I have heard of you, of your adventures and of your 
 hair. You are all the rage just now in Paris, and I pro- 
 pose that you come and live with me." 
 
 " So suddenly? Aren't you afraid? To live with you, 
 young man, has been the dream of my life; I have 
 dreamt of you before knowing you; I loved you before 
 hearing the sound of your enchanting voice." 
 
 " Then nothing easier than to arrange it," said the Eng- 
 lishman, quietly, without noticing Soleil-Couchant's rail- 
 lery and with the confidence which the possession of a 
 large fortune gives. 
 
 "Nothing is easier, indeed," replied Soleil-Couchant. 
 " But in the first place how did you know I was coming 
 out of that establishment to-day?" pointing to the walls 
 of the Conciergerie. 
 
 "Oh! I have friends everywhere. Will you enter my 
 carriage? We can talk more at our ease there." 
 
 " Is that your coupe over there? " 
 
 " It is yours, if you will accept it." 
 
 "I accept everything," said Soleil-Couchant; "you'll 
 soon find that out." 
 
 It is easy to foresee the end of a conversation begun in 
 this manner. The Englishman was as generous as he was 
 ugly. She accepted the propositions made to her, and in 
 a week she had an elegantly furnished apartment, mag- 
 nificent dresses, and dined off eight courses.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 255 
 
 In Paris it is not rare to see such sudden changes in the 
 existence of a pretty girl. Fortune sometimes showers 
 favors upon them, until the hospital claims them. The 
 Tarpeian Rock looms up beside the Capitol, especially for 
 this sort of women. 
 
 Vibert, in accordance with his promise to Langlade, 
 presented himself at Soleil-Couchant's house. 
 
 She recognized him at once, turned pale, and exclaimed: 
 
 "What have I done now? Have you come to arrest 
 me?" 
 
 " Have no fear," said the agent of police, " I simply 
 desired to congratulate you on your splendor. It is very 
 pretty here." 
 
 "Really? you have not come to arrest me? : ' 
 
 " I come as a friend." 
 
 " Then kiss me," she said, throwing her arms about his 
 neck. 
 
 She had never been prettier. Luxury agreed with her 
 marvelously. She was in morning toilet. Her hair, which 
 since her departure from prison she had been able to con- 
 fide to the care of a skillful hairdresser, was more silky 
 and brilliant than ever. Her dress fitted her beautiful 
 figure to perfection. 
 
 Vibert was for a moment affected, let us confess it to his 
 shame; but he immediately recovered, told Soleil-Cou- 
 chant to keep quiet, and making her sit down some dis- 
 tance from him, said, looking around the room: 
 
 " So all this belongs to you?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear; my little Englishman gave it to me. 
 I have the receipted bills." 
 
 " You are in the power of an Englishman, then? " 
 
 " I am not so stupid. The Englishman is in my power. 
 If you knew how I manage him! You see, I have been 
 beaten all my lifej now it is I who beat."
 
 256 . FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " That is only just," said Vibert. 
 
 "You see that pretty whip with a coral handle?" con- 
 tinued Soleil-Couehant; " he gave it to me yesterday, and 
 I told him beforehand the use I was going to make of 
 it." 
 
 "You intend to " said Vibert, finishing his sentence 
 with a gesture. 
 
 "Certainly; I intend from time to time to take exercise 
 at the expense of his shoulders. He likes it, too, and he 
 laughs like a fool. He says to his friends: * That little 
 French girl adores me, she beats me like mad! " 
 
 " You did not take so good-humoredly the little correc- 
 tions Langlade used to administer to you," observed 
 Vibert. 
 
 " Oh ! don't speak to me of that blockhead," said 
 Soleil-Couchant; "I can't even think of him without a 
 shudder. Isn't he ever going to be tried?" 
 
 " Tender woman's heart! " thought the agent of police. 
 " And it is for such charming beings most often that we 
 labor and suffer." 
 
 " I think," he said aloud, " that his trial will take place 
 in a fortnight." 
 
 "That is along way off," said Soleil-Couchant, pettishly. 
 " I shall not be really at ease until he is sentenced. I 
 dreamt last night that he took my Englishman by one 
 foot, turned him upside down, and threw him out of my 
 window. It was funny, but it would seriously compro- 
 mise my future. I have a house, but I have no income." 
 
 " You will have one," said Vibert. " I have no fears in 
 regard to you." 
 
 " Nor I either; I should be pretty comfortable if that 
 frightful giant had not appropriated five years of my 
 life." 
 
 " You don't want to see him, then? "
 
 IN THE ETJE DE LA PAIX. 257 
 
 "See him! Good Heavens!" she exclaimed, turning 
 pale. " Have you promised him that again ? That 
 would be outrageous; do with me what you like, but not 
 that ! " 
 
 " Be calm, my dear friend. Langlade would be glad to 
 see you; but we will not force you to visit him." 
 
 " Thank Heaven for that ! " 
 
 " I have simply promised to give him news of you." 
 
 " Tell him that I am remarkably well, that I am growing 
 fat and rosy, that I amuse myself all the time and I have 
 for a lover the dearest little Englishman, who makes me 
 the happiest of women; there! If he is not content, he 
 never loved me. Promise me that you will repeat that to 
 him." 
 
 "No," said Vibert, becoming serious; "it would be too 
 painful for the poor devil." 
 
 " Ah ! you pity him ! " said Soleil-Couchant. " It is very 
 clear you have not lived five years with him. I am not 
 good, I confess; I am not excessively tender-hearted 
 
 "Evidently!" remarked Vibert. 
 
 " But I am not so wicked as you seem to think. When 
 one treats me well I treat them well." 
 
 "Humph!" said the agent of police. 
 
 "Do you want to be very kind to me?" continued 
 Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Don't speak any more of my giant." 
 
 "Very well; good-bye!" 
 
 "What! you are going?" 
 
 " The Englishman must not find me here," said Vibert, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Oh! it would not embarrass me much," she replied, 
 laughing outright. "I would like to hear him say a 
 word. You forget my whip. Besides, it is perfectly un- 
 
 17
 
 258 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 derstood between him and me that I am to enjoy the 
 fullest liberty." 
 
 " In all things? " asked Vibert. 
 
 " In all things. Do you think that I am going to amuse 
 myself by being faithful to a man? I have got rid of that. 
 I would prove it to you, if you were not so cold to me.'* 
 
 "What! Haven't you got over that? You had better; 
 it is hopeless." 
 
 She sat down opposite to him, and said: 
 
 " You don't think me pretty, then ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, charmingly pretty." 
 
 " Then I don't understand you." 
 
 " I understand myself still less," he replied. 
 
 "Are you in love with another woman?" she asked. 
 
 " Don't speak of that ! " said Vibert, abruptly. 
 
 " That response is an avowal." 
 
 " Take it for what you like." 
 
 " Well, if some day you are too unhappy because of 
 this woman, come to see me. Hearts are caught on the 
 rebound, says the proverb." 
 
 " That depends on where they bound from," said Vibert. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 One evening, an elegantly dressed man, still young 
 and of distinguished manners and appearance, after having 
 promenaded for some time up and down the Boulevard 
 des Italiens, consulted his watch for the tenth time within 
 an hour, entered the Passage de 1'Opera, bought a rose 
 and a sprig of white lilac, crossed the boulevards, took 
 the Rue de Grammont, ran hastily up three flights of 
 stairs and entered a salon, where the most charming of 
 women welcomed him with a smile.
 
 IN THE KTJE DE LA PAIX. 259 
 
 A few minutes after, another man, small, thin and 
 sickly, slipped sadly into the house and went up the back 
 staircase, stopping on every step to see if any one was 
 coming down to meet him or coming up behind him. 
 
 When he reached the third story he opened a door 
 softly, passed through, and closed it noiselessly behind 
 him; he advanced step by step, on tiptoe, through a little 
 dark corridor, and stepped before another door, through 
 the upper panel of which, made of thick glass, glimmered a 
 feeble light. Then he knelt on the ground and sought 
 for the most luminous point in the glass; he was not slow 
 in finding it, and, placing his eye to it, seemed to be 
 gazing eagerly at something within. 
 
 A great wood fire, which leaped joyously up the chim- 
 ney, and a lamp placed on the table, lighted the salon. 
 
 Savari occupied the sofa opposite the glass door. Fedora 
 was seated by his side. 
 
 She was still in deep mourning. Yet a careful con- 
 sideration of certain details of her toilette showed that 
 her mourning was less severe than formerly. Her dress, 
 instead of being closed at the throat, was a trifle open. 
 A black lace scarf covered her shoulders. Her beautiful 
 black hair was coquettishly arranged. A spray of lilac 
 was artistically arranged in her hair, on the left side 
 of the head. A rose was placed in her bosom. Certain 
 slight changes were also noticeable in Fedora's expression 
 and manners. Her eyes were less keen, less bright, but 
 more tender and melting. There was a certain animation 
 in her face, a rosy flush in her cheeks. 
 
 "Ought I to believe you blindly?" she was saying in 
 answer to some remark of Savari's; "can I trust your 
 vows? Men do not consider promises made to us binding. 
 Are we not made to be deceived? Oh! don't interrupt 
 me, I know what I am saying, I have witnessed more than
 
 260 FEDOEA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 one treachery. A man marries a young, pure, honest, 
 confiding girl. She does not demand of him an account 
 of his past; but she wishes the present to belong to her, 
 to her alone. She exacts a fidelity equal to her own; a 
 love devoted, absolute, like her own. In her innocence, 
 her ingenuous faith, she does not think that it can be 
 otherwise. No doubt, no suspicion enters her mind. 
 Would she dream of deceiving the one she loves? Never! 
 Does even the thought of flirting with another man enter 
 her head for a moment? No, it is impossible! And 
 while she keeps herself thus faithful and pure, even in 
 thought, the man in whom she has every trust, to whom 
 she has given herself entirely without restriction, meets 
 by chance a more or less fascinating woman, looks at her, 
 follows her, and shamelessly betrays in her arms the faith 
 sworn to another " 
 
 " To another whom he did not love," said Savari. 
 " Why did he lie, then? Why did he say he loved her? * 
 " He believed it himself, perhaps. Certain men live in 
 such a calm and tranquil manner, and are, by tempera- 
 ment and nature, so free from passion, that they sometimes 
 deceive themselves as to the state of their heart. Because 
 it beats a little more quickly and their thoughts turn with 
 pleasure toward some particular person, they imagine they 
 are in love, and cry it out from the housetops. Fools! " 
 continued Savari, with spirit. " Have you the right to 
 speak so, to profane to such an extent a sentiment which 
 you know nothing of ? The milk-and-water love which you 
 feel resembles the other, the true love, as this fire before 
 us resembles the sun! You were not made to appreciate 
 love! You would never know its infinite happiness, its 
 sorrows without number, its superhuman joys, its intoler- 
 able sufferings, which make one live here on earth both 
 in heaven and in hell! "
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 261 
 
 Savari's countenance was wonderfully animated as he 
 spoke thus; his face flushed, his eyes flashed. There was 
 an irresistible fascination in his voice. 
 
 Fedora could not help admiring his manly beauty, to 
 which a certain almost feminine delicacy lent an additional 
 charm. She did not perceive that while speaking, and 
 without noticing it himself, Savari had drawn nearer to 
 her and had taken one of her hands in his. The flame 
 of the fire illumined the scene with fitful gleams. The 
 lamp threw a soft light. The rose and spray of lilac 
 which Fedora wore perfumed the air. 
 
 From the other side of the glass door, Vibert, still 
 silent and crouching down, looked, listened and suffered. 
 He also admired Savari. He would have liked to kill 
 him, but he was forced to recognize his beauty and elo- 
 quence. 
 
 Savari continued: 
 
 " Yes, the man who deceives the woman whom he says 
 he loves, does not love that woman. If he loved her, he 
 would have no look, no thought except for her. The most 
 beautiful women ever made by the Creator might throng 
 about him, enfold him in their arms, put their perfumed 
 lips to his, and they would not even tempt him. The 
 world would begin and end for him with that one woman. 
 Near her he would forget the past, the future, the daily 
 stings, the troubles of life, the sufferings of wounded 
 pride, all mortifications and sorrows. Remorse, even 
 remorse, that they say is so implacable, could not stab 
 him; he would cast it aside to think of her he loves! Ah! 
 do not be astonished at hearing me speak thus. In my 
 early life, so badly passed, I never had any idea that I 
 should speak in this way. But I am changed since I saw 
 you; I understand now the most exalted, the truest, the 
 best love. I love you with all the strength of my being!
 
 262 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 I love you passionately, madly! Have pity upon me! It 
 kills me to see you and not to dare to press you to my 
 heart. Near you I am as timid as a child, and yet my 
 blood boils, my head is on fire. Have mercy, be kind, 
 decide my fate! Shall I die, or shall I hope?" 
 
 "Hope!" cried Fedora, suddenly. And with that 
 Italian impetuosity and ardor, which we know she pos- 
 sessed, she threw herself into his arms, and their lips met 
 in a passionate kiss. 
 
 At the same time from the other side of the door came 
 a cry. Fedora and Savari did not hear it. To the cry 
 succeeded the sound of a door violently shut. 
 
 Vibert had fled. 
 
 He reached the street, and hesitated what to do. Then, 
 suddenly, palpitating and pallid, he crossed the Boule- 
 vards, followed the Rue Taitbout and reached the Rue des 
 Trois Freres. 
 
 He stopped before a certain house, rang feverishly, 
 rushed past the concierge and dashed up the stairs. 
 
 It was then eleven o'clock; Soleil-Couchant had 
 dismissed her Englishman, whose chatter made her 
 nervous. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried, perceiving Vibert, " you, at such an 
 hour! " 
 
 " You have offered me your love," he answered, shortly, 
 " I accept it." 
 
 " I have only one word to say: you are welcome! " 
 
 Then, with extreme abruptness, he drew her toward 
 him, and looked into her eyes. 
 
 "No! no!" he cried, suddenly repulsing her. "It is 
 not her look; it is not she. I can not! Farewell! " 
 
 " There was no need of coming," said Soleil-Couchant, 
 watching him depart. " I must confess," she added, with 
 a sigh, " he is a very queer fellow."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 263 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The trial of the strange affair, known at the Palais de 
 Justice as " The Tragedy of the Rue de la Paix," was 
 finally begun before the Seine court of assizes in the 
 last part of February, 1848. 
 
 Despite the political excitement which had existed for 
 some days in Paris, a large crowd assembled early in the 
 morning before the doors of the Court-house. 
 
 At half past nine, those holding tickets, among whom 
 were many ladies, were admitted to the court and seated 
 behind the benches reserved for the witnesses. The 
 general public were allowed, a short time after, to enter 
 the place allotted to them. 
 
 Upon a long table were placed a large knife and a red 
 memorandum book, opened at the page on which Maurice 
 Vidal had traced a few words with his blood. 
 
 A dozen or so witnesses had been subpoenaed; but there 
 were no witnesses for the defense, as the prisoner had 
 refused to mention any to his counsel. 
 
 The court opened proceedings at a quarter past ten. 
 The paneling of the jury had taken place in an ante- 
 room. 
 
 Contrary to the reports which had been circulated, 
 Langlade was not handcuffed nor did he wear a strait- 
 jacket. The president of the court had considered such 
 a measure useless; besides, it is only employed as a last 
 resort, for the prisoner, except under very exceptional cir- 
 cumstances, should have every liberty of movement before 
 his judges. 
 
 Two gendarmes entered with Langlade, and sat down 
 on either side of him. 
 
 He did not appear to be conscious of his surroundings;
 
 264 FEDOKA : OK, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 he was very much broken down, and tried to avoid the 
 gaze of the crowd. 
 
 A certain disappointment was manifested in the audi- 
 ence. They had expected to see quite a different man 
 and had hoped for scenes of violence at the very begin- 
 ning. It was whispered about that the prisoner was not 
 up to his reputation, and that he was intimidated by the 
 formality and dignity of the court. 
 
 The gendarmes, who had been ordered not to take 
 their eyes off the prisoner for a single moment, wondered 
 if they had not received useless instructions and whether 
 they might not relax their vigilance. 
 
 " Prisoner, rise," said the president. 
 
 Langlade did not stir. 
 
 "Gendarmes," continued the president, " aid the prisoner 
 to rise." 
 
 The gendarmes took Langlade by each arm, and raised 
 him to his feet. 
 
 He looked at them with an astonished but tranquil air, 
 understood doubtless what was wanted of him, and turned 
 toward the court. 
 
 " What is your name? " asked the president. 
 
 " Hector Langlade," replied the prisoner. 
 
 "Your age?" 
 
 " Thirty-six." 
 
 "You were born in the department of Vaucluse?" 
 
 " Yes, near Avignon." 
 
 " You have been twice convicted ; your first sentence 
 was five years, and your second twenty years with hard 
 labor." 
 
 " That is possible." 
 
 *' You escaped twice from the galleys of Toulon and 
 Brest? " 
 
 Yes."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 265 
 
 " "When you were arrested last, you lived at No. 22 Rue 
 Croix des Petits Champs? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The indictment against you will now be read," said 
 the president. 
 
 The prisoner sank back in his seat, threw his head 
 backward, and half closed his eyes. 
 
 The clerk read the indictment. 
 
 We will pass over in silence this document, since our 
 readers already know Langlade's life and the charge 
 against him. 
 
 When the reading was ended, the names of the wit- 
 nesses were called. 
 
 At the name of Stephanie Cornu, alias Soleil-Couchant, 
 Langlade opened his eyes, turned pale, but did not move 
 his head. 
 
 The witnesses retired to the room reserved for them ; 
 the president turned to the examination of the prisoner, 
 and asked him again to rise. 
 
 " What for? " demanded Langlade. 
 
 " To answer the questions I am about to put to you." 
 
 " It is useless, then," said Langlade, " for I am not ' 
 going to reply." 
 
 There was a slight murmur in the crowd, at once re- 
 pressed by the president; they were commencing to under- 
 stand that the prisoner was not, perhaps, so peaceable as 
 he looked. 
 
 " Prisoner," said the president, very kindly, "it is my 
 duty to tell you that you will injure your case in the 
 minds of the jury, if you persist in such an action." 
 
 " I have confessed my crime," said Langlade. " What 
 more do you want? " 
 
 " We wish to know from yourself, without having to 
 depend exclusively upon witnesses, the way in which the
 
 266 FEDORA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 crime was committed. I repeat to you, you can not ac- 
 quire the indulgence of the jury and the court unless you 
 conform to the practice of the court." 
 
 " I don't ask any one's indulgence," said Langlade, 
 without raising his voice. " Send me as quickly as pos- 
 sible to the scaffold, that is all that I want." 
 
 The attorney appointed by the court to defend the 
 prisoner leaned toward him and tried to persuade him to 
 listen to reason, but without avail. 
 
 The president, after having waited patiently for the 
 colloquy to end, decided that, as the accused refused to 
 answer and as the court had no means of compelling him 
 to do so, they would proceed to the examination of the 
 witnesses. 
 
 The first witness called to the stand was Madame Vidal. 
 
 The greatest interest was manifested in the court room. 
 The president begged the witness to conquer her natural 
 emotion and to answer the questions he was unfortunately 
 obliged to put to her. 
 
 Fedora Vidal related her arrival in Paris, the difficulty 
 she experienced in entering her apartment and the state 
 in which she found it. She answered many other ques- 
 tions with more calmness than might have been antici- 
 pated. 
 
 When her examination, which the president made as 
 short as possible, was over, Madame Vidal asked if she 
 would be obliged to remain in court until the end. 
 
 The president, after consulting the jury and the counsel 
 for the prisoner, authorized Fedora to retire. 
 
 She bowed with dignity and left the court room. 
 
 The second witness heard was the concierge of No. 6 
 Rue de la Paix. His testimony was the same he had 
 formerly given to the examining magistrate. We will 
 not repeat it.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 267 
 
 The counsel for the defense asked the jury to remark 
 that the witness had seen no one go up to Maurice Vidal's 
 apartment on the 19th of October. 
 
 " If Langlade had entered the house," added the attor- 
 ney, "he must have been perceived; his imposing stature 
 would have betrayed him." 
 
 This question was discussed by the prosecuting attor- 
 ney and the counsel for the defense. 
 
 Langlade, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly 
 manifested great impatience, and exclaimed: 
 
 " What is the use of all this? 1 tell you it was I who 
 did it. Finish it up!" 
 
 " Prisoner," said the president, firmly, " you have re- 
 fused to speak and answer us, and I can not permit you 
 to interrupt the proceedings now. Your lawyer is defend- 
 ing you as well as he can; his task is no easy one as it is; 
 do not render it impossible." 
 
 The prosecuting attorney tried in his turn to explain to 
 the prisoner that his confession was not sufficient for the 
 court. He concluded by saying: 
 
 " When a criminal, horrified at his misdeeds, abandons 
 his cause, the law, which is always protecting, still under- 
 takes his defense! " 
 
 This display Of oratory made no impression upon 
 Langlade, who contented himself this time with a shrug 
 of the shoulders. 
 
 To the preceding witness succeeded several lodgers in 
 No. 6 Rue de la Paix. Their testimony went to show 
 that there had been no particular disturbance or noise 
 during the night of October 19th. 
 
 A man named Jacquet, the concierge of the house in 
 the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, in which Stephanie Cornu 
 lived, declared that he saw a young man go up to her 
 apartments, one evening in the month of October. He
 
 268 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 could not fix the date exactly. The description h& 
 gave of this individual was very like Maurice Vidal's 
 appearance. 
 
 The counsel for the defense, however, directed attention 
 to the fact that, according to the witness' testimony, the 
 individual in question was below the average height. 
 The people who knew Maurice Vidal, on the contrary, 
 all agreed that, without being tall, he had never been 
 considered a short man. 
 
 " What led you to suppose," asked the president of the 
 witness, " that the person of whom you speak went up to 
 Stephanie Cornu's apartment?" 
 
 " I saw him talking with her, the evening before, in 
 the doorway." 
 
 " Then he did not ask you on what floor your lodger 
 lived?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur; she had probably told him herself." 
 
 " Was the girl Stephanie Cornu in the habit of receiv- 
 ing strange gentlemen?" 
 
 "No; I had never before seen anyone with her except 
 Monsieur," indicating Langlade. 
 
 " And when the prisoner arrived shortly after, did he 
 speak to you?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur; he asked me if Mademoiselle was at 
 home. I was afraid there would be a row, and I an- 
 swered that she was out." 
 
 " And yet he went up?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; he would not trust me." 
 
 "And did you see him go out again?" 
 
 " About half an hour afterward ; he was a few steps 
 behind the other person. I thought they knew each 
 other." 
 
 " Did the prisoner appear agitated? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, but I did not think anything of that.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 
 
 He often quarreled with my lodger; as a rule, when he 
 left her, he was in a state of great excitement." 
 
 " Have you ever had to suffer, personally, from his 
 violence?" 
 
 " Oh! very often, Monsieur; he threatened once to throw 
 me out of the window." 
 
 At this declaration, there was much laughter in the 
 place reserved for the public. 
 
 "I declare, for the last time," exclaimed the president, 
 "that I will rigorously repress all demonstrations, of 
 whatever nature they may be." 
 
 Quiet being again restored, the president said to the 
 witness: 
 
 "Then, in your opinion, the prisoner was extremely 
 violent?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, but he was not a bad fellow, after all. 
 When his anger was over he would ask my pardon, and 
 would always slip into my hand forty or fifty sous." 
 
 For fear of fatiguing our readers, we will pass over 
 certain important testimony, with the details of which 
 they are already acquainted, such as that of the commis- 
 sary of police of the Tuileries, of the physician and of 
 Vibert, and come at once to the examination of Soleil- 
 Couchant. This witness will tell us nothing we do not 
 already know, but she changed in a startling manner the 
 attitude of the accused, and prepared the way for the 
 singular incident which terminated the trial in a most 
 unexpected manner. 
 
 As might have been expected of such a creature, 
 Soleil-Couchant had arrayed herself for the occasion in 
 her richest and most striking toilette. When her name 
 was called, she advanced without hesitation, smiling at all 
 those whose eye she caught. 
 
 The prisoner, still in the same position, did not turn
 
 270 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 his head. He did not open his half-closed eyes. It seemed 
 as if he was as indifferent to the new witness as to the 
 others. 
 
 But an experienced physiognomist would have noticed 
 certain significant signs; Langlade's brow was set in a 
 frown, his lips were pale, and his fingers drummed ner- 
 vously on the rail before him. 
 
 " Do you know the prisoner?" asked the president of 
 Soleil-Couchant, after the usual preliminaries. 
 
 "Oh! yes, Monsieur, very well. Altogether too well." 
 she added, with a smile. 
 
 " You can spare us any superfluous remarks," said the 
 president. "'Very well' was enough. You would do 
 well also to try to be more serious. Do not forget that 
 you are before a court of justice, and that you have 
 already yourself appeared here in the dock. Now, tell 
 us all that you know in regard to the unfortunate man 
 you attracted by your coquetries. When you have fin- 
 ished, I will ask you various questions. You can begin." 
 
 Soleil-Couchant, turning sometimes to the court, some- 
 times to the jury, and sometimes to Langlade in a word, 
 to use a theatrical expression, posing for the gallery 
 repeated all that we have already heard her say to Vibert. 
 Her flowery language, the coarseness of certain expres- 
 sions, and the manner in which she heaped insult upon 
 her former lover, caused many times murmurs in the 
 court room, which the president, although sharing the 
 general indignation, was obliged to repress. 
 
 Langlade alone, doubtless habituated to Soleil-Cou- 
 chant's reproaches and complaints, showed no anger 
 whatever. He seemed, on the contrary, to take pleasure 
 in the very sound of her voice. He had gradually, 
 despite himself, turned toward her and fixed his eyes upon 
 her. There was no hatred, nor contempt, nor anger in his
 
 IN THE RUE DB LA PAIX. 271 
 
 look. In it were to be read rather sadness, regret and 
 admiration. 
 
 After having answered all the questions addressed to 
 her by the president, and received a severe and just admo- 
 nition, Stephanie Cornu returned to her place. She smiled 
 as graciously as ever upon the court, the jury, the lawyers 
 and the public, and did not appear to be in the least 
 conscious of the bad impression she had produced. 
 
 The president examined two more witnesses, and then 
 announced an adjournment for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 The gendarmes retired with their prisoner, and a gen- 
 eral hum of conversation began. 
 
 Soleil-Couchant tried to converse with her neighbors; 
 but, through a feeling of shame, even the men drew away 
 from her. It was useless for her to throw her most fascinat- 
 ing glances at the young barristers, for these gentlemen 
 drew their gowns about them, pulled their wigs over their 
 eyes, and were, for the time being, invulnerable. Her 
 isolation was beginning to weigh upon her, when all at 
 once she perceived hej 1 young Englishman, who had taken 
 advantage of the recess and a dearly-bought permission 
 to slip into the court room. She beckoned him to her 
 immediately, made him sit down by her side, and entered 
 into a lively and animated conversation with him. The 
 Englishman was overwhelmed with delight, and grinned 
 from ear to ear. 
 
 A bell rang and the crier announced the entrance of 
 the court and the end of the recess. 
 
 The prisoner's first look, on his re-entrance, was for 
 Soleil-Couchant. He perceived at the same time the 
 young man with whom she was chatting, more and more 
 familiarly. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney rose, and commenced his 
 speech for the prosecution, in these words:
 
 272 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury: In undertaking my present 
 task, I can not prevent a certain feeling of sadness, for I 
 must demand of you a verdict, the consequences of which 
 will be terrible. But I must silence my scruples and 
 remember that I am only the servant of society outraged 
 by a heinous crime, and the avenger of a murdered man ! 
 My task is difficult, I know, but I will try to fulfill it to the 
 best of my ability. In the first place, gentlemen, you 
 must know all about this man who is before you in the 
 dock and whom you are called upon to judge." 
 
 The prosecuting attorney then took Langlade from his 
 birth, followed his life step by step, and showed, in the 
 most eloquent manner, that he had always been the slave 
 of the most execrable passions, and that he had never 
 respected either civil or moral laws. He described at 
 length, with fiery indignation and with the harshest criti- 
 cism of the prisoner, his long liaison with the girl called 
 Soleil-Couchant, the principal cause of his crimes and his 
 ruin. Finally, he grouped together the different facts 
 which established in an irrefutable manner Langlade's 
 guilt. He ended by declaring that the prisoner was wor- 
 thy of no consideration, and he hoped that the jury, faith- 
 ful to its duty, would silence its scruples, and remember- 
 ing the victim, punish the murderer. 
 
 During the speech, Langlade showed by certain ges- 
 tures his impatience and irritation. Those who noticed 
 his emotion attributed it to the resentment the prisoner 
 must feel at being so abused by the prosecuting attorney; 
 but skillful observers would have found other reasons for 
 the exasperation he seemed to feel. 
 
 The counsel for the defense now arose. Like his oppo- 
 nent, he went back to the prisoner's youth, but he took 
 pains to show that this youth, deprived of all good coun- 
 sel, sad and desolate, was a plea in favor of his client.
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 273 
 
 " My learned brother," he exclaimed, " has been pleased 
 to paint this man as a prey to the most execrable passions, 
 as given up to all vices. But I seek for these vices and 
 I do not find them; the man I am defending is not & 
 gambler, he is not a drunkard, he is not a libertine. No, 
 he is not a libertine, for one passion alone has dominated 
 his life, that which he felt for the woman whose utter 
 depravity and fatal beauty you have been able to remark. 
 If he had never met that woman, he would have been, 
 perhaps, an honest laborer; and if that woman, instead of 
 being a wretch, had shown any decent kindness to the 
 man who loved her, Langlade would not be here! But 
 do you not see, gentlemen of the jury, in my client's per- 
 sistent refusal to defend himself, the horrible suffering 
 he has undergone, the profound disgust he feels for life, 
 the discouragement which has taken complete possession of 
 him? The prosecuting attorney calls this remorse; but I 
 believe that it is love hopeless, despairing love! And 
 my conscience, gentlemen, orders me to defend this 
 unfortunate, unhappy being, who repulses me and does 
 not wish to be defended. He says he is guilty. Well! I 
 say that he simply wishes to die, and I maintain that to 
 condemn him would be lending help to a suicide. You 
 can not do it; you have no right to do it! " 
 
 These eloquent words appeared to produce a profound 
 impression. 
 
 Langlade made a gesture, as if to say: 
 
 " He is a good fellow to give himself so much trouble." 
 
 Then he turned toward Soleil-Couchant, who, more and 
 more coquettish, was darting affectionate glances at her 
 young Englishman. 
 
 The attorney now reviewed with great simplicity and 
 incontestable talent, the different details, which, in bi 
 opinion, were not sufficiently clear. He endearored, eipec- 
 
 18
 
 274 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 iallj, to prove that Maurice Vidal, in spite of the prosecut- 
 ing attorney, could not have known Langlade, and, if he 
 did not, he would not have thought of writing his mur- 
 derer's name. He recalled also that the man murdered bv 
 
 * 
 
 Langlade was, according to the story of Stephanie Cornu, 
 and that of the concierge of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augus- 
 tin, a man with a florid complexion, while, from the testi- 
 mony of all who had known him, Maurice Vidal wai pro- 
 verbially pale. 
 
 " There is in this affair," continued the lawyer, " some- 
 thing strange and mysterious, which, gentlemen of the jury, 
 should make you hesitate. A crime has been committed, 
 a man confesses his guilt, and certain circumstances 
 are against him, I confess. Well! despite that confes- 
 sion, despite these circumstances, I should hesitate, gen- 
 tlemen, upon my honor. Or, rather, no, I should not hesi- 
 tate, I should acquit this man! I would prefer to allow 
 a criminal to go unpunished, rather than have to deplore 
 all my life the death of an innocent man! I can not for- 
 get those words of one of our greatest orators: 'When 
 God does not give to men complete proof of a crime, it is 
 a sign that he does not wish to make them the judges 
 of it, but reserves the decision for His Supreme Tribu- 
 nal!'" 
 
 When every one thought this eloquent plea was ended, 
 and a sort of a murmur of approbation ran through the 
 assembly, the counsel for the defense, to quote the news- 
 papers of the day, produced one of the most startling and 
 dramatic effects imaginable. 
 
 He turned suddenly to the prisoner, seized his hands, 
 and adjured him to declare that he was not guilty. A 
 shudder of excitement ran through the crowd. Every- 
 one held his breath. Langlade alone seemed unmoved 
 by the efforts of his counsel to save him. His eyes were
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 276 
 
 fixed steadily upon Soleil-Couchant. Suddenly he 
 thought he saw the Englishman put his arm around the 
 waist of his mistress and that she was almost leaning her 
 head on the shoulder of her new lover. 
 
 He could not bear such a sight; terrible thoughts of 
 vengeance flashed through his brain, and snatching his 
 hands violently away from the clasp of his lawyer, he cried: 
 
 " Well, no! I am not guilty! " 
 
 There was the greatest excitement in the court room. 
 Two or three persons rose to their feet. 
 
 But the first words of the president restored quiet. 
 
 " You are a little late," he said to the prisoner, " in 
 declaring to us your innocence. You have refused hitherto 
 to answer our questions, and it looks as if you had held 
 back simply to produce an effect. We beg the gentlemen 
 of the jury, therefore, to be on their guard. If you are 
 innocent, why didn't you say so sooner? " 
 
 "Because," exclaimed Langlade, "I thought I was 
 guilty!" 
 
 " You thought you were guilty! " cried the president, in 
 astonishment. " You believed you had murdered a man, 
 when you had not?" 
 
 " Yes, I did kill a man, but I did not kill your Maurice 
 Vidal." 
 
 "What was the name of the man you killed?" 
 
 " I don't know, but it was not that." 
 
 " What has made you think so?" 
 
 "What this gentleman has said," replied Langlade, 
 pointing to the counsel for the defense. " He spoke for 
 an hour of the blood which flowed from the wound, the 
 knife with which the man was struck, of a study, a bed- 
 room and a lot of things which can not be true, since I 
 struck the fellow with my fist yes, with my fist, and I 
 struck him in a doorway, and not in a room."
 
 276 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " We beg the gentlemen of the jury to remark the im- 
 probability of this story," said the president. 
 
 " The improbability! " cried the prisoner. " What rea- 
 son could I have for saying that I killed one man rather 
 than another? I shall be condemned, all the same! " 
 
 "Yes, but you may hope to postpone your sentence." 
 
 " If I had wished to do that, I should have spoken in 
 the beginning. You are a fool! " 
 
 Without deigning to notice Langlade's disrespect, the 
 president asked him why he defended himself at this late 
 hour. 
 
 " That is my secret," said Langlade, with a stealthy 
 look of hatred at Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 " Was it in the Rue de la Paix that you killed the man 
 of whom you speak? " 
 
 " Yes, I don't know the number, but it was in the Rue 
 de la Paix." 
 
 " What time was it? " 
 
 " About six o'clock in the erening." 
 
 " And in October? " 
 
 " Yes, the last part of October." 
 
 " Well, you have pronounced your own sentence. No 
 man except Maurice Vidal was murdered in the Rue de 
 la Paix in October, or in September or November." 
 
 At this moment a member of the jury rose and asked 
 the president if he might make a remark. 
 
 " Certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 " It is my duty to call the attention of the court," pro- 
 ceeded the member of the jury, " to a fact which has 
 escaped its memory, or which it never knew, perhaps. 
 Last October, a few days before the murder in the Rue 
 de la Paix, one of my friends was found dead in a door- 
 way of that street. There was no trace found of a wound 
 upon him which could allow of any suspicion of a crime,
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 277 
 
 and it was supposed, that, being exceptionally full-blooded, 
 he had been struck with apoplexy. I must add that on 
 the left temple was a large black mark. I was the first 
 to think and say that when my friend fell, his head must 
 have struck the pavement. I now think that the prisoner's 
 heavy fist made the mark and caused death." 
 
 These words, spoken by a man who appeared respect- 
 able, and whose position on the jury gave him great 
 importance, produced a great effect. 
 
 Every one whispered to his neighbor. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney consulted with the president. 
 
 Several of the jurymen questioned their colleague who 
 had spoken. 
 
 Langlade, without losing sight of Soleil-Couchant, spoke 
 with his lawyer. 
 
 The proceedings, without being regularly suspended, 
 were interrupted. 
 
 Little by little quiet was restored, and the prosecuting 
 attorney spoke as follows: 
 
 " Gentlemen of the court: In view of what has occurred 
 and of the opinion which a member of the jury has ex- 
 pressed in regard to the case before us, we think it best 
 to postpone the matter to another session." 
 
 The court retired to deliberate. 
 
 Shortly after, the magistrates returned to the bench, 
 and the president said: 
 
 " The court, after deliberation, agrees with the prose- 
 cuting attorney, and postpones the trial to another ses- 
 sion. Gendarmes, remove the prisoner." 
 
 The assembly rose and left the court room in the 
 greatest excitement.
 
 278 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The day after the trial, about ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, Vibert went to the Rue de Gramraont. This time, 
 instead of taking every precaution not to be seen by 
 the servants of the house, he passed in full sight of the 
 concierge and mounted the grand staircase. 
 
 His face wore an anxious expression, his pallor was 
 extreme, his whole person bore the impress of deep 
 trouble ; he had aged many years in three months. But 
 he seemed to be possessed by a new idea. His mouth, 
 usually serious, wore a smile; his expression was more 
 animated than usual; there was something about him at 
 once sad, malevolent and satisfied. He appeared to 
 suffer still, but to be near the end of his sufferings. The 
 horizon was still cloudy, but less dubious. He was walk- 
 ing toward an abyss, perhaps, but he saw the abyss and 
 he knew the road which led to it. He might have been 
 compared to the soldier who, after a long skirmishing 
 campaign, can at last fight in the open field. He sees a 
 long line of enemies before him, he knows that he will 
 perish, but he will enjoy for a moment the bitter pleasure 
 of seeing his enemy, of rushing against him and of strik- 
 ing him mortally, perhaps, before falling under his blows. 
 
 When he reached the floor on which Fedora lived, 
 Vibert rang without hesitating. 
 
 " I would like to see your mistress," he said to Marietta, 
 who looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 " Enter the salon, Monsieur, and I will tell Madame; 
 she is dressing." 
 
 Alone in the salon where he had not set foot for so 
 long, he was strangely moved. Every object recalled some 
 memory. At that window, she had one day suddenly
 
 IN THE KUE DE LA PAIX. 279 
 
 seized his hands, exclaiming: " You will be devoted to me, 
 will you not? You will aid me to avenge him? " Another 
 time, near that door, forgetting that beneath the agent of 
 police was a man, and that such familiarity might be dan- 
 gerous, she had, in one of those moments of despair when 
 decorum disappears, rested her hand on Vibert's shoulder 
 and wept against his heart. Here she smiled upon him, 
 there she thanked him for his good advice. 
 
 Yes, it was in this room that his love had gradually in- 
 creased, and had become a formidable and unconquerable 
 passion. If Fedora had entered at that moment, perhaps 
 Vibert would have given up the design he had nourished 
 since the day before, and which was the reason of his 
 bitter smile. He would have pardoned Fedora for what 
 she had made him suffer, in consideration of the fleeting 
 moments of happiness she had given him. But, all at 
 once, the glance of the agent of police fell upon the sofa 
 where Madame Vidal usually sat beside Savari. The last 
 scene which he had witnessed, and which had taken away 
 his reason for a moment, returned to his mind. He forgot 
 the good and recalled only the evil, and he swore to be as 
 merciless toward others as they had been merciless toward 
 him. 
 
 Madame Vidal entered the salon, and without inviting 
 Vibert to be seated, said to him: 
 
 " I did not expect to see you again." 
 
 This frigid welcome did not astonish the agent of po- 
 lice; he was too intelligent not to have expected it. He 
 knew that Fedora must hate him for having once sus- 
 pected of a crime the man she now loved. She had 
 formed these suspicions at the same time as himself and 
 had shared them with him ; but this was a reason for all 
 the more detesting the accomplice whom she did not ac- 
 knowledge to-day and before whom she was ashamed.
 
 280 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 " Madame," replied Vibert, dryly, to Fedora's welcome, 
 " I have suddenly ceased to see you, because my business 
 with you was ended. Chance made me discover your 
 husband's murderer; I could arrest him and deliver him 
 to the authorities without aid from any one, and your 
 help, which was so necessary and so valuable to me, 
 when Monsieur Savari was in question, had become 
 useless to me." 
 
 Each of these words, intentionally emphasized by Vi- 
 bert, stabbed Fedora to the heart; she answered, harshly: 
 
 "Well, since my help is no longer needed, why ' 
 
 "Why," said he, finishing Fedora's sentence, " have I 
 the boldness to present myself before you to-day? For 
 a very simple reason, and you shall know it, Madame, if 
 you will allow me to sit down a moment." 
 
 She made no reply, but, comprehending the implied 
 rebuke, she took a chair, so that Vibert might follow her 
 example. 
 
 " You were present at the trial yesterday," said Vibert, 
 who had determined to commence the battle. 
 
 " A part of the time," replied Fedora; " the president 
 permitted me to retire after giving my evidence." 
 
 " Then you do not know, Madame, how it ended?" 
 
 "I do not; and if you have come to tell me, it is need- 
 less. I shall know soon enough, and besides, the result 
 can easily be guessed. When we were working to dis- 
 cover my husband's murderer, you found me brave and 
 strong; to-day the murderer is arrested, he will be pun- 
 ished for his crime, he belongs to justice, and I have no 
 longer any interest in him." 
 
 "Very well, Madame, I will not tell you the result, 
 since you think you know it. I will only ask your per- 
 mission to speak of certain things that took place after 
 your departure. In the first place," continued Vibert,
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIZ. 281 
 
 very slowly, " it was established beyond a doubt that 
 your husband had never set foot in the house of the 
 woman called Soleil-Couchant." 
 
 "Ah! " exclaimed Fedora, turning pale. 
 
 The first blow which the agent of police dealt her was 
 a terrible one. If, some weeks before, any one had said 
 to Madame Vidal, " your husband has been outrageously 
 slandered; he was always faithful to you, and did not 
 even know the name of the woman whose lover he was 
 believed to be," she would have felt the greatest joy. 
 
 But now her husband's faithlessness was her only 
 excuse for having yielded to another love, and this excuse 
 failed her. For a moment, as this thought assailed her, 
 she felt the deepest remorse; then she became a little 
 calmer, arid she said to Vibert: 
 
 "How could the magistrates have been so mistaken? 
 What other sentiment than jealousy could have led Lang- 
 lade to kill my husband? " 
 
 " He did not kill him," answered Vibert. 
 
 "He did not kill him! What do you say? Didn't he 
 confess his crime? " 
 
 " Yes, but it was an error ; he did kill a man, but he did 
 not know his name, and he thought he had killed your 
 husband. Here, Madame, read the Law Journal, and 
 you will see the end of this curious trial, at which you 
 did not think it best to remain." 
 
 Fedora took with a trembling hand the paper Vibert 
 offered her. She was far from divining what Vibert was 
 driving at, but she felt instinctively that she was threatened 
 by some grave misfortune. After reading the report, she 
 remained buried in reflection and the paper slipped from 
 her hands. Vibert picked it up, folded it, and placed it 
 carefully in his pocket. 
 
 " So we have got to begin over again," he said.
 
 282 FEDORA : OR, THE TRA.GEDY 
 
 Fedora raised her head quickly. 
 
 " Begin what over again?" she asked. 
 
 " Why," replied Vibert, quietly, " the murderer is not 
 discovered, and yet there must be a murderer. We must, 
 therefore, begin our search again." 
 
 " That is the law's business," she said, briefly; " I have 
 nothing to do with it." 
 
 " How quickly you are discouraged, Madame." 
 
 She gave him a haughty look, and answered: 
 
 " You will be kind enough, Monsieur, to spare me your 
 observations." 
 
 " Good Heavens! Madame," he replied, "if I deplore 
 your seeming discouragement, it is because it will prove a 
 stumbling block in our way." 
 
 " What do you mean by that?" 
 
 " I hoped, certainly, that you would consent to aid me, 
 as formerly, in my efforts. I have awkwardly stumbled 
 upon a false trail, I confess; but I shall return to the first, 
 which is assuredly the true one." 
 
 " The first? " she said, turning very pale, as she under- 
 stood his drift. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, the first. Since Langlade is not the 
 guilty party, I have more reason that ever for suspecting 
 Savari." 
 
 " Monsieur! " 
 
 "Madame!" 
 
 " You have no right to suspect the one you speak of." 
 
 " I had the right once," replied Vibert, cruelly; " why, 
 pray, not now?" 
 
 " You have no right!" she cried, indignantly. "He is 
 an honest man. I have learned to know him and esteem 
 him. Do not insult him longer by your suspicions." 
 
 " Madame," replied Vibert, in his turn exasperated at 
 seeing her so energetically defend Savari, and forgetting
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 283 
 
 all restraint, " since I have entered this salon, you have 
 taken pleasure in recalling to me that I am not a man, 
 but simply an agent of police. Well! the agent of 
 police recognizes only his duty; he has been told to seek 
 out a criminal, and he intends to do so, without troubling 
 himself as to the interest a woman may take in this crim- 
 inal or the love she feels for him." 
 
 She started up from her chair, stretched out her arm 
 toward the door, and said only this word: 
 
 "Go!" 
 
 As pale as she, and suffering quite as much, Vibert 
 lowered his eyes and obeyed. 
 
 When he had reached the door, she thought she was 
 rid of him, and throwing herself into an arm-chair, she 
 cried: 
 
 " Where am I? What sort of a country is this, where 
 they come to one's house to assassinate men and insult 
 women?" 
 
 She was sublime in her indignation. Her beautiful 
 black hair, which she had scarcely taken time to roll 
 hastily up to receive the agent of police, became un- 
 fastened and fell on her trembling shoulders. Her bosom 
 heaved beneath the lace of her dress. Anger flushed her 
 cheeks; her parted lips disclosed her pearly teeth. 
 
 Vibert, who had stopped to contemplate her, had never 
 seen her so beautiful. He could not contain himself, and, 
 losing his head, he rushed to Fedora's side, took her head 
 in his hands, before she could prevent him, and pressed 
 his lips to hers. 
 
 It was perhaps the first kiss he had ever given to any 
 woman. 
 
 She shuddered at this hateful contact, then disengaging 
 herself by a rapid movement, she struck Vibert full in 
 the face, and fled from the room.
 
 284 FEDOEA : OE, THE TEAGEDY 
 
 XX. 
 
 Of all the documents which have passed through our 
 hands and which have served us to tell this story, there 
 only remains a very small number of unfinished notes. 
 We have reached the fifth act of our drama. The moment 
 for lingering over details has passed, and we must hurry 
 on to the conclusion. 
 
 It seemed as if the affair of the Rue de la Paix pro- 
 gressed in the same fashion as the events of which Paris 
 was the theatre in 1848. In the Rue de Grammont, inci- 
 dent succeeded incident, as at the Tuileries ministry 
 succeeded ministry. 
 
 In the former place an extraordinary scene was followed 
 by one more dramatic still. In the latter, Mole replaced 
 Guizot, Thiers and Odilon Barret replaced Mole; a first 
 concession led to another; to the Reform succeeded the 
 Regency; to the Regency, the Republic. 
 
 This correlation need not astonish us. The greater 
 always draws the less into its orbit. The agitation of the 
 masses is communicated to individuals; the fever which 
 rages in the streets mounts into the houses. 
 
 After Vibert's departure, when Fedora had somewhat 
 recovered from her indignation, she reflected for a 
 moment, formed a sudden determination, and sat down 
 to her desk. 
 
 " Do not come to see me during the day," she wrote to 
 Savari, " but come this evening at exactly seven o'clock ; 
 I have a great plan to communicate to you." 
 
 She folded and directed it, and called Marietta. 
 
 " Send this letter at once to its address," she said, "and 
 return to me."
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 285 
 
 When Marietta had executed this order, Madame Vidal 
 said to her: 
 
 "We depart to-morrow for Italy; prepare our luggage. 
 Now aid me to dress; I am going out." 
 
 A few moments afterward she entered a carriage, went 
 to her notary's, with whom she arranged various matters 
 of business, entered St. Roch Church, where she remained 
 for a long time in prayer, and then proceeded to the 
 cemetery of Pere-Lachaise. She knelt before a tomb 
 and appeared to implore pardon. 
 
 It was with great difficulty that she could accomplish 
 these different pilgrimages. It was now Wednesday, 
 February twenty-third, and Paris was in a complete state 
 of insurrection. Entire regiments, in battle array, defiled 
 upon the boulevards, strong patrols marched about the 
 streets; the artillery, hastily brought from Vincennes, 
 was placed in position on the quays and at the gates of 
 St. Denis and St. Martin. Here, the troops of the line 
 fraternized with the people. There, the national guards 
 tried to intervene between the municipal authorities and 
 the rioters. Gamins ran about the streets crying: " Long 
 live the Reform!" Workingmen planted a flag upon a 
 barricade; students sang the Marseillaise. Death cries 
 were uttered near Saint-Merri. At the Saint Martin 
 barracks, at the Arts-et-Metiers, in the Rue Bourg-l'Abbe", 
 there was a constant fusillade. 
 
 And above these rumors, cries and explosions resounded 
 the solemn voice of the tocsin. 
 
 No accident happened to Fedora; she traversed a great 
 part of Paris without annoyance. Moreover, a man, whom 
 she did not notice, followed her all the time arid watched 
 over her. He even slipped into her house and went up 
 the servants' staircase, while she went up the grand 
 stairway.
 
 286 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 It was nearly seven o'clock when she returned home 
 and found Marietta uneasily awaiting her. Savari arrived 
 not long after. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked her. " What is the great plan 
 you spoke of in your letter? Does the riot frighten you, 
 and do you wish to leave Paris? " 
 
 " Exactly," she replied. " I do not wish to remain 
 longer exposed to all the dangers to be met with here; I 
 depart to-morrow." 
 
 " We will depart together," said Savari. 
 
 "You will follow me?" 
 
 " Can you ask me such a question? " he exclaimed, kiss- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 She looked at him fixedly, read in his eyes all the love 
 he felt for her, and said to him: 
 
 " Sit down, I have something serious to say to you." 
 
 " Speak," replied Savari, taking his place beside her on 
 the sofa in the salon. 
 
 " I have committed a great fault, a greater fault than I 
 thought. I have deplored it bitterly; but I do not wish 
 to hold you responsible for it, and we will never speak of 
 it again. I trust to your love, and I am certain you will 
 try to make me forget the past." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Savari, " my whole existence belongs 
 to you." 
 
 " I do not doubt it," she replied. " What would be- 
 come of me without you? I have even," she added, sadly, 
 " lost the right of remembering." 
 
 "Do not look back; believe and hope. You speak of 
 departing for Italy. I desire nothing better. In that 
 beautiful, sunny land, near you, with your heart beating 
 against mine, I shall acquire the qualities I lack, and I 
 shall efface entirely from my life my bad years, my errors 
 and my faults."
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 287 
 
 "And I shall be proud of you," she exclaimed, with 
 enthusiasm, for little by little Savari had communicated 
 his ardor to her and made her forget the emotions of the 
 day. 
 
 " Where shall we go?" he asked. "To Italy, to your 
 family?" 
 
 "Yes; I shall be happy to have you meet my mother." 
 
 " How will you introduce me as a friend?" 
 
 " No; to my family, you shall be the man whose name 
 I shall bear when my mourning is at an end." 
 
 "You consent?" he cried. 
 
 "Certainly," she replied, quietly. "You can marry 
 me in all security," she added, with a charming smil.e; 
 " my family is an honorable one, and there is nothing in 
 my past with which I can be reproached." 
 
 "Ah!" said Savari, "would that I could say as 
 much! " 
 
 At this moment Fedora's salon was suddenly illumin- 
 ated. A band of men bearing torches passed down the 
 Rue de Grammont to reach the boulevards. They were 
 preceded and followed by an immense crowd, singing the 
 Marseillaise. Drums and fifes accompanied the voices. 
 They were celebrating the victory gained that day by the 
 people over royalty. The demanded reforms had been 
 granted and the ministry changed. The barricades were 
 deserted, the troops returned to the barracks, all were in 
 high good humor and prepared illuminations on all sides, 
 without suspecting that an hour afterward they would be 
 fighting desperately on the Boulevard des Capucines. 
 
 Whatever opinion one may hold, nothing electrifies one 
 like songs, music, lights and cheers. They communicate 
 enthusiasm to the calmest, give courage to the timid, and 
 rouse the most phlegmatic. 
 
 Savari, already strongly moved by the conversation
 
 288 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 which had taken place, was in a high state of excitement, 
 when, after a glance through the window, he retu r ned to 
 his place near Fedora. He was in one of those states 
 when the wisest forget prudence, obey their impulses and 
 see life under a new aspect. What an instant before 
 would have appeared impossible, monstrous, now seems 
 natural and simple; strange fancies take possession of one 
 at such times, and extraordinary boldness; anything 
 seems allowable. 
 
 For a long time back, Savari had thought of imparting 
 an important secret to Fedora. An enormous weight 
 was crushing him down, a terrible thought torturing him, 
 and a frightful sorrow poisoned his happiest moments. 
 It seemed to him that if he could confess his secret to 
 some one, open his heart to a friend, he would suffer less. 
 If above all, Fedora, in whom he had absolute confidence, 
 would listen to him, and after having heard him, would 
 think him worthy of absolution, he would be saved. But, 
 although ready to speak, he had hitherto remained silent. 
 But now he took a determined resolution. She had 
 spoken to him of her life; he must speak to her of his. 
 There must be no secrets between them ; they loved each 
 other too well. Before allowing her to bear his name, 
 honor demanded that he should tell what might soil that 
 name. Who would be indulgent, if not Fedora? Who, 
 better than she, could dry his tears, console and comfort 
 him with gentle words? 
 
 The cries and songs still mounted up from the street, 
 and the torches threw their flickering light into the room. 
 He leaned toward her and said: 
 
 " A secret oppresses me. May I confide it to you? " 
 
 " Certainly," she answered, simply. 
 
 " But it is causing me terrible remorse, remorse whieh is 
 tearing at my heart 1 "
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 289 
 
 " Remorse ! " repeated Fedora, raising her head. 
 
 "Listen," he continued, in extraordinary excitement, 
 " suppose some one should suddenly say to you that the 
 man you love, the man to whom you have given your life, 
 whose name you have consented to bear, had been guilty 
 of a wicked action, had perhaps committed a crime " 
 
 " Ah! " she cried, " I would not believe it! " 
 
 "But if it were true? If, in a moment of anger and 
 madness, he had stabbed a man ? " 
 
 She turned pale and recoiled. 
 
 " And if," continued Savari, " by a terrible fatality, the 
 man had died of the wound inflicted?" 
 
 " Be silent! be silent! " she cried, instinctively. 
 
 " No, I have commenced and I must finish. This secret 
 stifles me. You must condemn rne or absolve me! " 
 
 She tried again to force him to cease, but he did not 
 heed her. He had risen, and, feverish and agitated, he 
 was striding up and down the apartment. 
 
 *' Listen," he exclaimed, "and learn to know me! Or- 
 dinarily calm and tranquil, there are times when I am 
 excitable, violent, and when I have no control over my- 
 self. Sometimes certain wines make me lose my head. 
 I had dined at a restaurant on the boulevards; I was 
 worried and anxious, and I allowed myself to drink more 
 than usual. After dinner, I went to the house of a young 
 man with whom I had had some serious business difficul- 
 ties. I owed him a large sum, I could not pay it, and I 
 wished to tell him so. I found him alone in his rooms; 
 he had just come in and was about to retire. He re- 
 ceived me harshly. I explained to him my painful situa- 
 tion and asked him not to prosecute me! I said to him: 
 * You will ruin me, you will take away the little credit 
 remaining to me on the Bourse and which enables me to 
 live.' He replied that that was no affair of his. I im- 
 
 19
 
 290 FEDOEA : OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 plored him, yes, I implored him; I descended to implore 
 him. He was insensible to my prayers. Then, at the 
 height of exasperation, I exclaimed: 'You will be the 
 cause of a tragedy, then; rather than be humiliated, I 
 will kill myself ! ' ' You,' he answered, in a mocking tone, 
 'you kill yourself ? Pooh! See, here is a pretty little 
 dagger: take it, I will give it to you, so sure am I that 
 you will not make a bad use of it.' Mechanically I took 
 the knife; but the blood mounted to my head, the heavy 
 wines I had drunk made me lose my reason. I no longer 
 besought my creditor, I reproached him with his harshness. 
 'My harshness!' he cried. 'Wait! here is your note; 
 take it, I give it back to you ; I don't wish to have anything 
 more to do with you. But I shall have the right to say 
 everywhere that you are a thief ! ' A thief ! I ! I threw 
 myself upon him, he struck me in the face. Then, insane 
 with anger, I struck him, in my turn, with the knife he 
 had placed in my hands. He uttered a cry and fell; I 
 threw the knife away and fled in horror. Ah! I swear 
 to you, this is the way it happened! " 
 
 Savari paused, took breath, and continued, still walk- 
 ing up and down, and without looking at Fedora: " I 
 thought I had inflicted a slight wound! I had killed 
 him ! A few days after, I was arrested ! At first, I 
 meant to confess all. No jury would have convicted me. 
 I was unfortunate, but I was not a criminal! I had 
 caused the death of this man, but I had not intended to 
 do BO! Suddenly, I remembered the note he had given 
 me, which I would not take and which he had forced into 
 the pocket of my overcoat. It must be there stilj, it 
 would be found, and if I confessed, I was lost. I should 
 then appear only as a vulgar assassin, it would look as if 
 I had killed him to be rid of my debt. Then I resolved 
 to defend myself, to employ all my intelligence to deceive
 
 THE DENOUEMENT. "l AM THE WIDOW OF MAURICE VIDAL." PAGE 291.
 
 IN THE EUE DE LA PAIX. 291 
 
 justice and to save my neck. If life becomes burden- 
 some to me, I thought, if the memory of my crime renders 
 my existence insupportable, there will always be time 
 enough for me to kill myself. I can choose my method 
 of death, and without mounting the scaffold, I can satisfy 
 justice with my own hand! They believed in my inno- 
 cence, set me at liberty, and at the moment when, in 
 despair, I should perhaps have put an end to my life, I 
 suddenly clung to it with all my strength, for I met you 
 and loved you! Speak, now!" he added, advancing to- 
 ward Fedora, but without daring to look at her yet; 
 "speak, you know my crime; will you absolve me?" 
 
 With her head buried in her hands, she made no 
 response. 
 
 This silence terrified him; he seized her hands gently 
 and raised her head, but only to recoil with a cry of alarm. 
 Her face was livid. Two great tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Oh ! " he cried, " I am more guilty then than I 
 thought. You refuse to pardon me?" 
 
 She rose slowly to her feet, and said, with a voice stifled 
 with emotion: 
 
 " I am the widow of Maurice Vidal ! " 
 
 XXI. 
 
 After a few minutes, Savari, pale as death and incapa- 
 ble even of thinking, mechanically quitted the room 
 where Fedora had left him alone. 
 
 He opened the door and descended the stairs, holding 
 on to the banisters, for his trembling limbs refused to 
 support him.
 
 292 FEDORA: OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 When he reached the street, he turned in the direc- 
 tion of the boulevards. He felt his way along the walls 
 like a drunken man, and staggered at every step. 
 
 Those terrible words, " I am Maurice Vidal's widow," 
 rang continually in his ears. He saw them written before 
 him in letters red as blood. 
 
 Each of the letters composing those words were enor- 
 mously high and seemed to bar his passage. One of them 
 suddenly changed its aspect, assumed a human form 
 and rose up before him. He thought he perceived dis- 
 tinctly Maurice Vidal, who seemed to motion him back. 
 
 At the corner of the boulevard and the Rue de Gram- 
 mont, a strange sight dazzled his eyes: A long garland 
 of lights ran from house to house. An immense crowd 
 filled the whole place; they waved flags and transparen- 
 cies, laughed and sang. Joy was depicted on every face. 
 
 He did not understand what was taking place. 
 
 Leaning against the closed shutters of a liquor saloon, 
 he regarded with a dazed look the moving crowd. 
 
 They pushed and jostled him, but he did not perceive 
 it. Suddenly, a thin, pale little man seized him by the 
 arm, and said to him: 
 
 " Albert Savari, in the name of the law, I arrest you! " 
 
 Savari, without making any movement or gesture, 
 without attempting to disengage his arm, lowered his 
 eyes to the speaker, recognized him, and answered, sadly: 
 
 " I am in no mood for jesting." 
 
 "But I am not jesting," said the pale little man. "I 
 arrest you as the murderer of Maurice Vidal." 
 
 Nothing could astonish Savari now; he did not even 
 start, but simply said: 
 
 " Who are you, then, Monsieur? " 
 
 "I aui an agent of police and my name is Vibert." 
 
 " Ahl I understand," said Savari, gradually recovering
 
 IN THE BtJE DE LA PALX. 
 
 his reason; "you are no more the Count de Rubini than 
 she is your cousin." 
 
 " Exactly," replied the agent of police. " Will you 
 follow me without my being obliged to have recourse to 
 violence?" 
 
 "One moment," said Savari; " why do you say that I 
 am the murderer of Maurice Vidal? " 
 
 " Because you have confessed it." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 " To his widow." 
 
 " Ah! " cried Savari, " she has denounced me already! " 
 
 No words can render the tone in which he uttered 
 these words. It was not a reproach, nor a complaint; it 
 was the cry of a broken heart. Any other agent of 
 police would have been touched. But an unfortunate 
 rival could not be, and Vibert did not undeceive Savari. 
 
 "Come!" said the agent of police. 
 
 " Lead the way," replied Savari. 
 
 What mattered the prison and the scaffold to him 
 now? 
 
 At this moment a long column of people descended 
 the boulevards. Much more numerous than those which 
 had been marching about Paris during the evening, it 
 was composed of students, members of the national 
 guard, men in blouses, women and children. It came 
 from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and was making its 
 way tumultuously toward the Madelaine, singing patriotic 
 songs and waving torches, tri-colored lanterns and red 
 flags. 
 
 Vibert and Savari, too agitated to notice what was 
 taking place about them, had not observed the approach 
 of this column. They suddenly found themselves jostled, 
 surrounded and separated. Vibert, who struggled and 
 resisted, was soon hustled away to the rear ranks of the
 
 294 FEDORA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 crowd. Savari, on the contrary, made no opposition, 
 remained in the front, and allowed himself to be carried 
 along by the tumultuous flow of human beings. Soon 
 the mass of people, increasing at every step, came in 
 front of the regiment of soldiers, which was guarding 
 the office of the minister of foreign affairs. The com- 
 mander ordered his troops, numbering two hundred men, 
 to form a hollow square. The front of the column, 
 pushed from behind, could not stop. The soldiers 
 lowered their bayonets to the charge. 
 
 A cry of " We are betrayed! " rose from all sides. 
 
 Some one, no one knew who, fired a pistol 
 
 The soldiers thinking themselves attacked, immediately 
 brought their guns to their shoulders, and fired. Sixty 
 men fell ; more than thirty of them killed outright. Blood 
 flowed in streams 
 
 When the first moment of fright and stupefaction was 
 over, they began to think of- the wounded, and bore them 
 into the neighboring houses and drug stores. The dead 
 bodies were piled on a wagon drawn by a white horse, 
 and, accompanied by torch-bearers, the funeral procession 
 moved through Paris, amidst cries a thousand times 
 repeated, of "Vengeance! vengeance! The people have 
 been murdered! " 
 
 Savari, who was in the front of the column, was mor- 
 tally wounded. 
 
 Carried into a doorway near by, he signed to the peo- 
 ple about him that he wished to speak, and some one 
 bent down to hear. 
 
 " Carry me to the Rue de Grammont," he murmured, 
 " I wish to see her once more before I die." 
 
 Two men of the people, two of those men who devote 
 themselves to all unfortunates and are moved by all en- 
 treaties, improvised a litter, placed the wounded man
 
 IN THE RUE BE LA PAIX. 295 
 
 upon it and set out in the direction indicated. A child 
 followed them, holding in his hands a torch, -which threw 
 its light upon Savari's bleeding breast and his handsome 
 face already touched with the death pallor. The crowd 
 made way for them, the women weeping and the men 
 shouting, " To arms! " It was about midnight; the rat- 
 tle of the drums was heard in the distance; all the 
 churches sounded the tocsin. 
 
 The men who bore Savari, and the child who followed 
 them with his torch, advanced slowly. 
 
 When they arrived before a certain house in the Rue 
 de Grammont, the wounded man motioned them to stop. 
 
 They entered, ascended to the third floor and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 But no one answered. The apartment was now de- 
 serted. 
 
 Fedora, overwhelmed with horror at the revelation made 
 to her, had fled with Marietta half an hour before. 
 
 Savari would not allow them to carry him home, and 
 after a few moments of agony, he expired at the door of 
 the woman he loved, murmuring her name. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 When the deep voice of riot growls in Paris, the agita- 
 tion which reigns in the streets easily scales the highest 
 walls and penetrates the prisons. The jailors relax their 
 watchfulness; they are anxious for news from without, 
 and they fear for their own safety. The soldiers, who, if 
 need be, might lend them aid, are often obliged to aban- 
 don their posts in the prison and go to the barracks. 
 The prisoners are agitated, violent, ready to seize upon
 
 296 FEDOKA : OR, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 any opportunity to break down the doors, scale the walls 
 and massacre those who attempt to prevent them. 
 
 Without, the people are fighting for Liberty in gen- 
 eral; within, the prisoner is ready to fight for his own 
 liberty. 
 
 Thursday, the twenty-fourth of February, when the 
 riot was at its height, Langlade threw himself upon a 
 jailor who had the imprudence to enter alone into his 
 cell, gagged him, took off his uniform, dressed himself in 
 it, and taking possession of his bunch of keys, walked 
 quietly out of the prison. They were still fighting upon 
 the quays, and the jailors and policemen of all kinds were 
 too much excited to notice his audacious escape. 
 
 He took part in the riot, fighting now with the people, 
 and now with the troops. It made no difference to him. 
 He had no political opinions. He entered the Tuileries, 
 plundered the palace, drank the king's wines, and half 
 intoxicated, besmeared with blood and dirt, with his pistol 
 in his hand and his sabre slung to his side by a heavy red 
 cord, he betook himself to Soleil-Couchant to finish his 
 evening. Without troubling himself to ring, ke kicked 
 open the door of his former mistress, entered the salon, 
 heard the sound of voices in the next room, and advanced 
 in that direction. 
 
 Soleil-Couchant was lying on the sofa, and her young 
 Englishman, stretched out in an arm-chair, was smoking a 
 cigarette. The former, when she perceived Langlade, 
 screamed with fear. It was indeed enough to terrify her. 
 
 The Englishman exclaimed: 
 
 " Damn it! who are you?" 
 
 Langlade's only answer was to take him by the arm, 
 lead him through the salon and throw him out into the 
 hall. He then bolted the outer door of the apartment, 
 and returned to the inner room.
 
 LANGLADE THROWING SOLIE.T.-COUCHANT OUT OF THE WINDOW. I'.UiK ~'JS. 
 U
 
 IN THE RUE DE LA PAIX. 297 
 
 "What do you want with me?" asked Soleil-Couchant, 
 who was too terrified to dream of attempting to escape. 
 
 " You shall know soon enough ! " responded Langlade. 
 
 " Are you going to kill me ? " she cried. 
 
 "No, not yet," he answered. "Go to bed. Don't 
 worry yourself about me." 
 
 ******* 
 
 The next morning, about seven o'clock, Langlade, who 
 had not slept, opened the shutters. 
 
 The pale light of a winter's morning penetrated the 
 apartment. Soleil-Couchant, worn out, was asleep. Lang- 
 lade leaned over her, and contemplated her for a long 
 time. 
 
 Then he awoke her. 
 
 " Oh, let me sleep," said Soleil-Couchant, rubbing her 
 eyes. 
 
 "No," he said, "you will sleep a sounder sleep 
 presently." 
 
 These words thoroughly roused her. She rose up in 
 bed, and cried: 
 
 " What are you going to do to me? " 
 
 " Keep my oath and kill you! " 
 
 "Oh! have mercy! have mercy! "she cried, trying to 
 wind her arms about him. 
 
 " No, no mercy! " said Langlade, repulsing her. 
 
 " But you are free now, we can fly and live together." 
 
 " No, I no longer wish it. You do not love me." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do love you! " 
 
 "Be silent! You lie! " 
 
 " I love you, I tell you, I swear it! " 
 
 " A woman does not give up the man she loves, drag 
 him into court, betray him! No! prepare to die!" 
 
 "No, no! Mercy! mercy!" 
 
 " If you believe in God, say your prayers. When that
 
 298 FEDORA: OB, THE TRAGEDY 
 
 clock, which your Englishman gave you, strikes seven, 
 you will have ceased to live." 
 
 She leaped from her bed, she threw herself at Langlade's 
 feet, clung to him, wept and prayed. But he was inex- 
 orable, and only said to her: 
 
 "Remember the scene in the prison! " 
 
 Seven o'clock struck. He threw open the window 
 wide, and seized Soleil-Couchant. 
 
 With one hand he pinioned her arms to prevent her 
 from clinging to him, raised her, bore her to the window, 
 and threw her out into space. 
 
 Then he leaned out, marked the place where she had 
 fallen upon the pavement, leaped upon the window sill 
 and flung himself down after her. 
 
 He breathed still when he reached the ground. 
 
 Then the spectators of this terrible scene saw him drag 
 himself painfully upon his hands and knees to the body 
 of his dead mistress. * 
 
 When he breathed his last sigh, he still held her 
 strained to his mangled breast. 
 
 ******* 
 
 There is at Genoa a charitable institution which bears 
 a charming name: Albergo dei Poveri. Mark: hotel, and 
 not hospital ; which signifies that to become an inmate, it 
 is not absolutely necessary to be ill or injured. 
 
 To have the right to enter this house of charity, one 
 has only to be too old, too young or too feeble to work. 
 Old people are kept there till they die, young children 
 till they grow up, and feeble persons till they have 
 recovered their strength by the tenderest care. The Al- 
 bergo dei Poveri has more than two thousand inmates. 
 The sisters of charity are not French alone, they are of 
 all nations. 
 
 Fedora Vidal retired to the refuge of which we speak,
 
 IN THE EtTE BE LA T?AIX. 299 
 
 and she is still there. She has made herself renowned 
 for her unfailing zeal, devotion and tenderness. 
 
 Marietta has never left her, and aids her in her noble 
 
 work. 
 
 ******* 
 
 A madman died some years ago in Dr. Blanche's pri- 
 vate asylum. He was the richest patient of the house; 
 
 he had inherited from the Marquis de X , formerly 
 
 peer of France, an income of one hundred thousand 
 francs a year. 
 
 He was ordinarily quiet and gentle, and had only one 
 mania, which was to constantly listen at doors. He would 
 glide through all the corridors, crouch down in a corner 
 near a door, and peep through the keyhole, or apply his 
 ear to it. 
 
 There were, however, times during the year, when his 
 insanity would take a more dangerous character; it was 
 then necessary to use a strait-jacket. But these crises 
 were always announced beforehand in a queer way: he 
 would complain that his lips were on fire; he would ask 
 for water to cool them, and, every once in a while, would 
 pass his hand over his mouth, like a person trying to efface 
 the traces of a kiss. 
 
 THE END.
 
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