UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES W ^/^^ TT ta86 *WW W^W, fj .tnl \^A^^, ,-,./'-- 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. OmVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below Form L-B 20m-l,'42(8310) ^0 ? PQ 2193 B418D7E **"%