Chapter XII: Part IV: XXIV (1)

THE POLISH INTRIGUE

Chérubin did not see Daréna for a week; he fretted and fumed with impatience, fearing that his intrigue with the pretty Pole had fallen through altogether; and, as is always the case, he became immeasurably more enamored of the object of his passion as his fear of not possessing her increased. It was for the purpose of giving him time to reach that climax of passion, that Daréna, who was thoroughly acquainted with the human heart, had allowed several days to elapse without going to see him.

At last Daréna appeared at the hôtel de Grandvilain one morning, hurried and breathless, like a man who had galloped twelve leagues without a halt. He pushed old Jasmin aside and almost knocked him down, when that worthy retainer attempted to tell him that he did not know whether he could see his master, who had not yet risen.

“I don’t care whether he’s up or in bed, he is always visible to me,” replied Daréna imperiously. “Learn, you old donkey of a valet, to know the persons whom your master is always delighted to receive.”

As he spoke, Daréna rushed into the young marquis’s bedroom, leaving Jasmin propped against the wall, muttering in a voice that trembled with wrath:

“Old donkey! he called me an old donkey! He’s an impertinent knave. The Grandvilains, father or son, never called me that. He’s not a donkey, but I have an idea that he’s a much more dangerous animal!”

Daréna reached Chérubin’s bedside and pulled the curtains aside, crying:

“Up, Joconde! up, Lovelace, Richelieu, Rochester! The moment of triumph has arrived at last!--Sapristi! I can fairly say, my dear fellow, that I have made myself ill for you! Ouf! I can do no more!”

And Daréna threw himself on a couch, and mopped his face with his handkerchief.

“But what has become of you during these eight long days that I have not once seen you, and have not known what to think of your silence?” asked Chérubin, looking closely at his friend. “I thought that you had forgotten me.”

“Ah! that is just like a man--a young man! Because things are not done on the instant, you think that you are forgotten. Do I ever forget my friends? Am I not absolutely devoted to you? If you have not heard from me for a week, it is because I had nothing to tell you; but I have been on the lookout, watching and waiting for the moment to act. It has come at last; I have acted, and the fair Globeska is in our power.”

“Is it possible? Oh! do tell me how you did it, my dear Daréna?”

“Parbleu! by my ordinary method: I scattered money about. I know no other way, especially as it always succeeds. Dress, and meanwhile I will tell you how it all came about; but don’t call your valet; you will understand that I can’t talk about it before a witness. I have already compromised myself enough--but damn the odds!”

Chérubin rose and began to dress, saying:

“Go on, I am listening; I shall not lose a word.”

“You know that the pretty Pole lived with her husband in furnished lodgings in the Marais; I succeeded in effecting the delivery of your billet-doux by bribing a lady’s maid and two concierges. The Comtesse de Globeska replied that she was mad over you and asked nothing better than to leave her tyrant. That was all very well, but how were we to abduct the young woman from a man who left her no more than her shadow? It was very difficult. Seven days passed thus; Monsieur de Globeski did not leave his wife for an instant. At last, yesterday, I learned from a concierge, by a further use of money, that the Polish count had decided to leave Paris, and that he was going to take his wife to Norway; of course, if we had had to pursue our conquest to Norway, it would have taken us too far. I instantly formed my resolution, saying to myself: ‘He shall not take her!’

“I learned--still by the lavish use of money--that the post-chaise was to call for our Poles at eight in the evening. I arrived just before the hour; the carriage came and stopped in front of the house, and I went boldly up to the postilion and led him aside.

“‘I adore the woman who is going with you,’ I said. ‘I am going to follow with two friends to a lonely place on the road, one or two leagues from Paris; we shall pretend to attack you, and fire a few shots with pistols loaded with powder only. You will stop; we will open the carriage door and seize the young woman; then you will start off at full speed with the old gentleman, and if he shouts to you to stop, you will pay no attention until you have galloped at least two solid hours.’

“You will understand, my dear Chérubin, that I should not dare to make such a proposition as that to a postilion, without supporting it by convincing arguments. I handed him a thousand-franc note, and he turned his back, saying:

“‘What do you take me for?’

“I added five hundred francs. He remarked that it was a very ticklish business! I added another five hundred. He agreed to everything. That’s the way things are done in Paris. I went off to choose two rascals on whom I could rely, in consideration of five hundred francs, which I gave to each. I also hired a post-chaise. When the Comte de Globeski started off with his wife, we followed; and, about two leagues from here, between Sèvres and Chaville, in a place where nothing grows but melons, we discharged our pistols. The bribed postilion stopped. It was dark, and everything went off as I had arranged. We kidnapped the young woman. The old Pole defended her like a genuine demon; indeed, he inflicted a slight dagger wound on one of our men in the scuffle, which forced me to disburse three hundred francs more. However, we captured the divine Globeska, and I took her to the house I have hired, where she passed the night and is now awaiting you.”

“Oh! what a series of events, my dear Daréna! But great heaven! this stealing a woman from her husband, and by force! Suppose it should be known? Isn’t it a crime?”

“Bah! are you going to have scruples now?--At all events, there was no other way, and then, if worse comes to worst, I am the only one compromised; but my friendship is of the sort that defies danger.”

“And the pretty Pole--where have you taken her?”

“To a little house that stands all by itself near Barrière de la Chopinette; I could find nothing better. And then I considered that to go into the country, at a distance from Paris, would incommode you too much. The house I have hired is in a spot where very few people pass; the outlook is not very cheerful, but what do you care for that? You aren’t going to shut yourself up with a woman, to look out of the windows at people passing, are you? Isn’t one always happy when with the person one loves?”

“Oh, yes! of course; but in what quarter is this Barrière de la Chopinette?”

“In the quarter of La Poudrette, and of lonely promenades, in the direction of Ménilmontant. However, we can go there in a cab. Remember, my dear fellow, that your charmer is waiting for you; I told the concierge of the house to order as toothsome a breakfast as he can procure in that quarter, and some superfine wines. Make haste and finish dressing--put on your best clothes, perfume yourself----”

“Perfume myself? Indeed, I shall not; perfumery makes me sick.”

“As you please, but put on your armor. Lucky Chérubin! you are about to possess one of the loveliest women I have ever seen; and her Polish accent, too, is most fascinating.”

“And she loves me, you say? she has admitted it?”

“Parbleu! how many times must I tell you? In fact, I should say that her conduct was quite sufficient proof of it.”

“She didn’t weep when she was kidnapped?”

“Weep! She danced--she adores dancing, it seems. By the way, I need not tell you that I have nothing left of the funds you advanced me. The postilion and my men to pay--the hire of the post-chaise and the house--and all the people I bribed. In fact, you owe me fifteen hundred francs.”

“Fifteen hundred francs!” exclaimed Chérubin, as he walked to his desk; “it costs a lot to abduct a woman!”

“To whom are you telling that? to me, who have abducted a hundred perhaps, in the course of my life? Indeed it was in that way that I spent a large part of my fortune; but it is a princely pleasure all the same, in which everybody cannot indulge.”

Chérubin handed Daréna the sum that he required, and said:

“I am ready.”

“Very good; send out for a cab; you will understand that we can’t go to your _petite maison_ with your tilbury and your groom. You should never take your servants into the secret of a mysterious intrigue like this; such people are too fond of talking.”

“You are right.--Holà! Jasmin!”

The old servant appeared, still with a long face, and cast an angry glance at Daréna. Chérubin ordered him to send for a cab.

“Will not monsieur take his cabriolet?” queried Jasmin, with an expression of surprise.

“Evidently not!” cried Daréna, laughing at Jasmin’s face; “as your master orders a cab, he doesn’t propose to take his cabriolet. Off with you, old ruin, and make haste, if you possibly can.”

“Old ruin!” muttered Jasmin, as he left the room. “Still another insult--and I must swallow it all! I am very much afraid that this ne’er-do-well will ruin my young master. I should like to know why he makes him take a cab, when he has his own tilbury and cabriolet.”

However, Jasmin did his errand; the cab was summoned. Chérubin went downstairs with Daréna, and they both entered the vehicle, which Jasmin looked after, with a far from pleased expression, as it drove away.

Daréna told the driver where to take them. After quite a long drive they stopped in front of a shabby house outside Barrière de la Chopinette, on the outer boulevards.

“Here we are!” said Daréna, jumping out of the cab.

Chérubin looked at the house, which had but one floor above the ground floor, with two windows on the front.

“This isn’t a very handsome house!” he exclaimed.

“It is very fine inside,” replied Daréna. “The principal thing is that it’s isolated; the devil himself would be in it if the husband should unearth you here! My dear fellow, when you run off with a woman, you must take the greatest precautions. And after all, what do you care about the house? It’s the woman that you come here to see. For my part, I should have been perfectly happy in a shepherd’s hut, with the object of my love.--Send the cab away; I am going to ring.”

Chérubin made haste to pay the cab-driver, who returned to his box and drove away.

Daréna pulled a wire beside the low door that gave admission to the house. A little fellow of some thirteen years, with an impudent expression, whose knavish and insolent bearing harmonized well with a very dirty costume, answered the bell, his cap over his ear, his blouse flapping in the wind, and his hands black with dirt. He bestowed a glance of intelligence on Daréna, who recognized little Bruno, the same urchin of whom Poterne had tried to make a monkey, and who, on his side, had conceived the idea of appropriating the skin which he had used in studying his character. Later Poterne had found Bruno, who had squandered his disguise; the business agent took the liberty of thrashing the boy, then forgave him, and charmed by the happy talents which young Bruno manifested, determined to employ him again when the opportunity should present itself. In the scheme which had been devised to dupe Chérubin, it was necessary to station some intelligent person, who could be trusted, in the house which had been hired. Poterne instantly thought of the urchin, to whom he did not pay much, and who had all the qualities essential to forward their designs.

“Ah! this is the concierge’s son,” said Daréna, glancing at Bruno as they entered the house, and leading Chérubin through a sort of vestibule, toward the staircase. “Where’s your father, my boy? is he away?”

“Yes, monsieur, he had to go to a place ten leagues from here, to see my aunt, who is very sick.”

“And you are keeping the house?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Has the lady who slept here had everything that she wanted?”

“Oh, yes! monsieur; don’t you be afraid; that lady hasn’t wanted for anything. She’s upstairs. By the way, she says that she’s beginning to get tired of being all alone.”

“Patience! monsieur here has come to keep her company.--How about the breakfast; is it ordered?”

“Yes, monsieur; and it will be fine, I tell you. I was the one that went to the restaurant----”

“This little rascal is overflowing with intelligence,” said Daréna, turning to Chérubin, “and I recommend him to you in case you need anything.--Well, my dear friend, here you are with your charmer now, and I will leave you.”

“What! you are going to leave me?” cried Chérubin, almost in an offended tone.

“Why, I don’t see that there is anything more for me to do here; the rest is your business. You are going to breakfast tête-à-tête with a little foreigner, who is mad over you. Would not a third person be in the way?”

“Oh, yes! of course. Well, then, au revoir.”

“Au revoir, my dear marquis, and may love crown you with its sweetest favors!”

Daréna smiled, almost ironically, as he shook hands with Chérubin; then he flashed a glance at Bruno and left the house, closing the door behind him.

Chérubin felt intensely excited when he found himself in that strange house, in a quarter which was entirely unfamiliar to him, with no other company than a boy who stared at him with a sly expression, as he cracked nut after nut which he took from under his blouse.

The vestibule had two doors, both of which were open, disclosing the interior of two rooms, in one of which the only furniture was several rickety tables, and in the other, one table and a wretched cot bed; the windows on the boulevard were supplied with iron bars, but entirely unprovided with curtains.

Chérubin, who had seen this at a glance, reflected that Daréna had not spent much money in furnishing the house. Then he turned to Bruno, who was still breaking nuts, sometimes with his teeth and sometimes with his feet, and humming at intervals a tune of which nothing could be heard save: _tu tu tu tu tu tu r’lu tu_.

“Where is madame la comtesse’s apartment?”

“Whose?” queried the ex-bootblack, looking up with an insolent expression.

“I ask you where the young lady is, who has been in this house since last night?”

The boy thrust his tongue into his cheek,--a street Arab’s trick when he proposes to lie--and answered:

“Oh, yes; the young foreign lady, who was kidnapped, and who slept here--_tu tu tu r’lu tu_--she’s upstairs, on the first floor, in the finest apartment in the house, where she’s sighing and having a stupid time--_tu tu tu r’lu tu!_”

Chérubin asked no further questions; he went upstairs--there was but one flight--and stopped at a door, the key of which was on the outside. His heart beat very fast at the thought that he was about to stand in the presence of the young Pole who had consented so readily to leave her husband and go with him; but he remembered how pretty she was, and he decided to knock.

“Come in,” cried a voice, “the key’s in the door.”

Chérubin recognized Madame de Globeska’s accent; he opened the door and found himself face to face with the young woman.

Chichette Chichemann wore a very simple costume, into which a few odds and ends of lace, flowers and fur had been introduced, in an attempt to set it off; but they produced the contrary effect in the eyes of a good judge. But Chérubin was not as yet an expert in such matters; moreover, a man in love pays no heed to such details. What impressed him at once was Chichette’s pretty face, over which was perched the same velvet toque that she wore at the Cirque; and as he entered the room she greeted him with a pleasant smile, crying:

“Ah! here you are; that’s very lucky! for I was beginning to be awfully bored, all alone here!”

Encouraged by this greeting, Chérubin seated himself beside the young woman, and said to her in a very tender tone:

“Ah! madame, then you will pardon what my excessive love has led me to undertake? You have consented to trust my honor, to fly from him who--from him who--that is, from that gentleman who looked so ugly and who assuredly is not worthy to--to----”

Chérubin had never said so much at one time; he stopped, for he did not know how to finish his sentence. But Chichette gave him no time; she instantly replied:

“Yes, yes! I’ve fled from my tyrant. But let’s talk about something else.”

“She doesn’t want me to talk about her husband!” said Chérubin to himself; “she wants me to talk about something else--my love, no doubt. She is charming.--And so,” he continued aloud, “you do not regret having entrusted to me the care of your happiness, and being here at this moment, far from your native country [_pays_]?”

“My pays? oh, yes, I always regret my little pays! but I hope to see him again some day. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Ah! how kind you are, madame! how lovely you are! If you knew how--I--I--I love you!”

It required a great effort on Chérubin’s part to say that, and he dared not look at the young woman, fearing that she would consider his declaration rather abrupt. But Mademoiselle Chichette, far from seeming offended, began to laugh idiotically, and replied:

“Yes, yes! I know. Ha! ha! It’s nice to love, and you have very fine eyes. Ha! ha! I’d like right well to laugh with you.”

And the so-called Polish countess, who seemed, in truth, much inclined to laugh, and who showed some very pretty teeth, looked at the young man in a meaning fashion, and did not tell him to talk about something else. For a moment Chérubin was tempted to kiss his enslaver, who almost offered him her fresh, pink cheeks; he confined himself to taking a hand, which he laid upon his heart and pressed it hard.

Chichette, tired perhaps of having her hand pressed to Chérubin’s heart, said to him, still laughing:

“How your thingumbob goes tick-tack! It’s like a big clock.”

“Oh! it is emotion, madame; it is pleasure; it is----”

“Aren’t we going to breakfast?” cried Chichette suddenly; “I’m hungry, I can hear my belly crying; it goes _flouc-flouc_!”

These words brought Chérubin back to less romantic thoughts; he ran to the door, opened it, and shouted:

“I say, young one--what about that breakfast?”

“Here it is, monsieur, here it is! Right away, smoking hot!” replied Bruno; “the restaurant man’s just this minute come.”

And a moment later a wine-shop waiter came up the stairs with the young concierge. They laid a table with two covers; they produced a basket filled with bottles, with seals of all colors; they covered the table with freshly opened oysters, and placed several covered dishes on another table. At sight of the oysters the so-called Pole indulged in the most plebeian demonstrations of delight, and began to dance about the room, crying:

“Ah! oysters! I like oysters so much! I’d let myself be hamstrung for some oysters.”

Chérubin was amazed to hear Madame de Globeska express herself in such terms, but he attributed it to her ignorance of the language.

The waiter was too much accustomed to such expressions to be surprised. As for young Bruno, he contented himself with thrusting his tongue into his cheek again and muttering:

“Thanks! that’s a fine sort of talk! This game will get spoiled!”

The breakfast was served. The waiter left the room with the urchin, and they took care to close the door behind them. Mademoiselle Chichette did not wait for Chérubin to escort her to the table; forgetting all the lessons she had had in behaving like a comme il faut person, she ran and took her seat in front of one of the covers, crying:

“Let’s eat! let’s eat! Oysters! ah! that’s good!”

“She seems to be very hungry!” thought Chérubin, as he took his seat at the table. And he made haste to supply the young woman with oysters; but she did not wait for him to select them for her; she put them out of sight with wonderful rapidity, then held out her glass, saying:

“White wine, please; I’m very fond of white wine too.”

Chérubin filled her glass with a white wine from a bottle which had been supplied with a long cork, to give it the appearance of sauterne; but it looked as if it were not drinkable with anything but oysters.

The young man considered that they were very badly served, generally speaking: the plates were the commonest china, the covers had not the ring of silverware, and the linen was very far from being fine. The wine, too, despite its yellow seal, seemed to him decidedly poor; but his conquest thought it delicious; she swallowed oysters, emptied her glass, called for more oysters and held out her glass to be filled, without any perceptible interval. Chérubin could not keep up with her; not until there were no more oysters on the table did Mademoiselle Chichette conclude to make a little pause.

“I will call the little concierge and tell him to take these things away,” said Chérubin.

“No, no, I’ll take ‘em away myself!” replied Chichette; she rose, and with a turn of the hand cleared the table of plates and shells, and brought two of the covered dishes. The young man tried in vain to prevent the lady from performing that task; she would not listen to him, and did not resume her seat until it was all done.

“Mon Dieu! how it distresses me to see you take all this trouble, madame la comtesse!” said Chérubin; “but you seem to have been brought up to household duties. In Poland, young ladies receive a less frivolous education, I see, than in France; and your noble parents did not disdain to teach you these little domestic details. They are dead, doubtless--your noble parents?”

“Yes, yes! Let’s talk about something else! Let’s see what’s in this dish. Ah! how good it smells! It’s rabbit! Oh! I’m so fond of rabbit!”

Chérubin did not fully agree with his inamorata; he did not like rabbit himself, and he found that the breakfast which had been ordered for him did not at all resemble what he ordinarily ate at restaurants in Paris. But his companion was much less particular than he; she helped herself to the rabbit and seemed to enjoy it hugely; she even exclaimed from time to time:

“It’s mighty well fricasseed!”

Chérubin offered her some wine with a different seal. Chichette drank red as well as white, then uncovered another dish, and shouted, leaping up and down in her chair:

“Ah! chowder! Oh! I’m glad of that! I’m so fond of chowder!”

“It seems to me that she’s fond of everything!” thought Chérubin; “she certainly has been very well brought up; she doesn’t play the prude!”

Chichette voted the chowder delicious; she helped herself several times without waiting for Chérubin to offer it; she was particularly enthusiastic over the sauce; finally she began to lick her plate, unwilling apparently to leave the least particle of the sauce which she liked so much.

The young man was thunderstruck when he saw the Comtesse de Globeska put her plate to her mouth and run her tongue over it; but he concluded that custom in Poland permitted such behavior. When Chichette noticed that her companion was watching her, she realized that she had made a blunder, and instantly replaced her plate on the table, saying:

“Oh! that was just a joke! I won’t ever do it again! But let’s see what’s under that other cover.”

Chichette uncovered the last dish, which contained fried fish. She uttered a joyful exclamation:

“Ah! gudgeons! fried gudgeons! Oh! I’m so fond of fried fish!”

“I am delighted, madame, that you find all these things to your taste,” said Chérubin, serving his charmer to gudgeons; “but really you are not hard to suit; to me it seems that our breakfast is not worthy of you. Evidently there are no good restaurants in this quarter.”

“Oh, yes, yes! at La Courtille.”

“At La Courtille! I don’t know that place; did your husband take you there to dinner sometimes?”

“My husband! Oh! let’s talk about something else. I’d like something to drink; gudgeons make you thirsty in a minute.”

Chérubin hastened to supply his guest with a wine decorated with a different seal, which she drank and declared excellent. The young man would have liked to lead the conversation back to his love, but his conquest was so busily engaged in eating and drinking that he dared not divert her from an occupation in which she seemed to take so much pleasure; and then he recalled his breakfast with Madame Célival and said to himself:

“I ate heartily to drive away my bashfulness. Perhaps this pretty Pole is doing the same; but God grant that she doesn’t end as I did!”

When there was no more fish, they passed to the dessert, which was very modest, consisting only of biscuit, cheese and dried fruit. Again Chérubin anathematized the restaurant keeper; but Chichette continued to declare everything excellent; she stuffed herself with figs, raisins, and biscuit; she drank several glasses in succession to wash it all down; and at last she stopped eating and leaned against the back of her chair.

“It’s strange,” she said, “but I’m not a bit hungry now.”

“It would be much stranger if she were!” thought the young man, as he moved away from the table in order to approach his companion.

Having placed his chair close beside Chichette’s, he ventured to take her hand.

“How fortunate I am,” he said in a hesitating tone, “to be--to be with you! What a lucky chance it was that led me to the theatre where you were; for, but for that, I should never have met you; and yet, my friend, the gentleman who was with me that evening says that we were born for each other.--Do you think that, madame?”

Chichette rose hurriedly, saying:

“I am rather full; it’s funny, for I didn’t eat very much.”

She walked several times around the room. Chérubin went to her and said:

“Do you feel ill?”

“Oh, no! it will pass off.”

Chichette sat down again, not on her chair, but on an old couch, covered with spots, the cushions of which looked as if they were stuffed with chips. The girl stretched herself out on it, however.

“I say, this is mighty comfortable,” she said.

Chérubin gazed amorously at her and cried:

“Oh, yes! there certainly was sympathetic attraction in our meeting. My tutor, Monsieur Gérondif, explained it to me once. He took a little piece of agate, rubbed it hard on his coat sleeve, then held it toward a straw, and the straw instantly jumped at the stone and clung to it.--‘Thus the magnet attracts iron,’ said my tutor; ‘thus sympathy draws together two hearts that were made to love and understand each other.’--Ah! madame, I am not a Pole, but I love you as dearly--more dearly, perhaps; for my inexperienced heart feels a craving for love, and if--and if----”

Chérubin paused, because it seemed to him that his words were accompanied by a dull, rumbling sound. That sound came from the couch. He had noticed that his pretty companion closed her eyes while he was speaking, but he supposed that it was from modesty. However, desirous to learn the cause of the noise he heard, he approached the young woman and saw with surprise that she was not only asleep, but was snoring heavily.

The unfortunate lover gazed for some time at his sleeping enslaver; but the snoring became louder with every instant; ere long it was like the breath of a forge bellows, and Chérubin gradually drew away; he felt that his amorous desires were vanishing; for a woman who is snoring like a Swiss inspires infinitely less passion than one whose breathing is soft and light.

Chérubin seated himself on a chair.

“She is asleep,” he said to himself; “she is even snoring. Evidently my remarks did not interest her much, as she went right off to sleep while she was listening to me! It’s very strange! This young woman has such manners and uses such language--If Daréna hadn’t assured me that she was a Polish countess, I should have thought her something very different. The idea of going to sleep while I was talking to her about my love! If that’s the way she is mad over me!--Great heaven! what snoring! Jacquinot used to snore, but not so loud as that. Perhaps I ought to wake her--and kiss her; but she is sleeping so soundly, it would be too bad. And then, I believe that listening to that monotonous noise is putting me to sleep too.”

Chérubin dropped his head on the back of his chair; he closed his eyes, and in a moment, he was in the same condition as Mademoiselle Chichette, except that he did not snore.

Let us leave the young couple asleep, and see what the engineers of this whole intrigue were doing.

On leaving Chérubin, Daréna had gone in search of his friend Poterne, who, still dressed as a Polish count, was waiting for him at a restaurant in Ménilmontant. The two gentlemen sat down to breakfast and discussed their plot.

“It goes as if it were on wheels,” said Daréna. “Chérubin is now with the girl, whom he thinks that I kidnapped for him! I trust that Chichette won’t make any slips of the tongue. But no matter! with that accent of hers, anything will go; and besides, a lover never pays any attention to idioms!”

“Was my little Bruno at his post?”

“Yes; he is supposed to be the concierge’s son. That boy has the look of a famous scamp.”

“He has a lot of intelligence; he’ll go a long way!”

“So I believe.”

“Besides, for the last act of our comedy, it will be better to have nobody there but a boy, who won’t interfere with us at all. And then, too, it will be much more probable that I was able to force my way into the house, if there’s nobody but a boy to guard it; for we must strike the great blow now. A few thousand-franc notes, by the way, are all right; but they’re gone too soon. We have an opportunity to obtain a good round sum and we mustn’t let it slip; it won’t come again.”

“You are perfectly right, Poterne. What we are going to do to-day is not strictly honorable; but, after all, the little fellow is rich; sixty thousand francs won’t ruin him.”

“You don’t want me to ask for more?”

“Oh, no! we mustn’t flay him. It’s understood then--in two hours you will go to the house.”

“Why not earlier?”

“My dear Poterne, how impatient you are! we must give the lovers time to breakfast and to abandon themselves to the joys of love. Deuce take it! everybody must amuse himself, after all; and consider, Poterne, that by leaving them together longer, you will inevitably take them _in flagrante delicto!_ That is much the shrewder way. You are supposed to be the husband; your wife has been spirited away, and you find her in her ravisher’s arms; you bellow and roar and swear that you will kill them both--your wife especially! Chérubin pleads for mercy for her, and you refuse to accord it unless he signs notes of hand for sixty thousand francs.--You have some stamped paper, haven’t you?”

“Oh! I have all that I need. But suppose the young marquis defends himself, suppose he refuses to sign?”

“Nonsense! a mere boy! You must threaten him with prosecution for abducting your wife; you will have your dagger, and you can still insist on killing her; Chérubin is too generous not to try to save her.”

“I agree with you there.”

“In all this, Monsieur Poterne, take good care not to hurt anybody! Your dagger isn’t sharp, I trust?”

“Oh, no! there’s no danger.”

“And when you speak, assume some kind of an accent, so that he won’t recognize you.”

“I will be careful, and I will do a great deal in pantomime.”

Everything being arranged, the gentlemen breakfasted and conversed at great length; ordered a pipe and cigars, and smoked to pass the time away.

More than two hours passed. Poterne replaced his green spectacles on his nose, saying:

“Now I can go and finish up our business.”

He rose; Daréna did the same.

“Yes, it is time; let us go.”

“But I don’t need you,” said Poterne; “besides, you mustn’t go into the house with me, it would be imprudent. If Chérubin should see you, he would call on you to help him.”

“I know all that, you old sharper; but you don’t imagine, I presume, that I am going to let you go off all alone with notes for sixty thousand francs in your pocket? No, my dear fellow, I love you too dearly to lose sight of you. I propose to watch you into the house; I know that it has but one door; I shall keep my eye on that door, and if it should occur to you to run away too fast, I promise you that you will soon be overtaken.”

“Oh! monsieur le comte! you have suspicions that hurt me terribly!”

“Why, no, it’s simply _savoir-vivre_, it’s the way of the world, that’s all! Off we go.”

The two worthies passed the city wall to the outer boulevards, and walked toward Barrière de la Chopinette. When they were within three hundred feet of the house where he had left Chérubin, Daréna stopped and said to his companion:

“Now, go on alone, illustrious Poterne, and manage the business gracefully; remember that the whole thing must be carried through with the courtesy and formality which betray men of breeding.”

Poterne went on to the house and knocked softly at the door, which Bruno opened.

“Are they upstairs?” queried Poterne in a low voice.

“Yes.”

“Have they had their breakfast?”

“It went up more’n two hours ago.”

“And they haven’t called since?”

“Not a call; and they don’t even make any noise--you can’t hear ‘em move.”

“All right.”

Poterne pulled his enormous hat over his eyes, made sure that his spectacles were secure, stuffed bunches of flax into his mouth to fill out his cheeks, and walked toward the stairs. He stole cautiously up, reached the door, saw the key outside, and said to himself:

“How imprudent lovers are! what a childish trick!”

He turned the knob softly, then rushed into the room, shouting:

“Ah! traitor! guilty wife! I have caught you! You must die!”

Poterne expected shrieks of despair, as he had arranged with Chichette; but, hearing nothing at all, he walked farther into the room and was thunderstruck to see the lovers sound asleep at an extremely respectful distance from each other.

“Sapristi!” said Poterne to himself; “and I hoped to catch ‘em in flagrante--as monsieur le comte said. They are amusing themselves by sleeping! If that’s the way the young man makes love! Chichette must have made some stupid blunder. But no matter! I must act; besides, I surprise them together, that’s the main thing; and if they’re asleep, it’s because it suits them to sleep.”

Thereupon Poterne began to rush about the room with shrieks and imprecations. He pulled Chichette’s ear and she awoke; he pinched her arm and she shrieked with him. Chérubin opened his eyes and saw that man, whom he recognized as the Comte de Globeski, storming and blaspheming and drawing from his breast a sort of dagger with which he threatened the young woman. Chérubin realized at once that his charmer’s husband had run them to earth. He trembled and turned pale, and faltered:

“O mon Dieu! we are lost!--Don’t kill her, monsieur, I entreat you! Kill me rather--although I have respected your wife’s honor.”

“Yes, yes, I will have my revenge, _per Diou!_ Bigre! Ah! you think, villain, to steal my wife from me!” screamed Poterne, stamping on the floor. “_Tarteiff sacre mein Herr!_ On the high road--stop my cab--no, my carriage.--Ah! madame, you shall die by my hand--on the honor of a Polish count!”

Chichette did not seem greatly alarmed; she continued to yawn and rub her eyes; Poterne passed her and pinched her with more force; whereupon she gave a loud yell and exclaimed:

“Oh! how stupid that is! I don’t want you to do such things to me!”

Poterne began to roar so that Chérubin might not hear what Chichette said. He brandished his dagger with one hand, while with the other he stuffed the flax back into his mouth, whence it had almost escaped. But Chérubin had lost his head; the presence of that man, whose wife he believed that he had abducted, his outcries, his oaths, and the dagger he was brandishing, terrified the young man beyond words. Poterne, seeing that he was in a condition to submit to whatever terms he might impose, took the notes from his pocket, placed them on the table, found a pen and inkstand and presented them to Chérubin.

“If you wish to save this guilty woman, god dem!” he said, “there is only one way to appease my wrath.”

“Oh! speak, monsieur, command--All you choose.”

“Fill out these notes of hand--here are four of them--make them twenty-five thousand francs each. _Per Diou!_ that is too _poco!_”

“Notes of hand--for a hundred thousand francs?”

“Yes, signor.”

“Oh! you want me to----”

“If you hesitate, sapermann! I will kill this guilty wife of mine, I will kill you, I will kill everyone in the house--fichtre!--and then myself.”

“Oh! no, no, I do not hesitate, monsieur. I will make them for whatever sums you say.”

“Good! then you will make them for thirty thousand francs each.--Come! write and sign--_per Dio!_”

Chérubin seated himself at the table; he took the pen in his trembling hand and cast a sorrowful glance at his conquest, who had thrown herself on the couch, where he believed that she had swooned, whereas she was simply trying to go to sleep again. But Poterne returned to his side, ground his teeth and swore blood-curdling oaths. The young lover at once began to write; he had already filled out the body of one note, and was about to sign it, when they heard a loud noise below; then steps rapidly ascended the stairs, the door was thrown open, and Monfréville appeared, followed by old Jasmin, who uttered a cry of joy at sight of his master.

“Ah! here he is!” he cried; “God be praised! they have not destroyed him!”

Chérubin felt as if he were born again when he saw his friend; he threw himself into his arms, while Monfréville, observing his confusion and bewilderment and pallor, asked him:

“Great God! my dear fellow, what are you doing here, in this house--this den of thieves, to which a little rascal refused to admit me?”

“Ah! my friend, the fact is that--that I have been very guilty!” Chérubin replied in a voice broken by sobs. “I abducted madame--this gentleman’s wife; that is to say, it wasn’t I who did it--Daréna abducted her for me. Monsieur is a Polish count, and he insisted that I should give him my notes for a hundred and twenty thousand francs, or else he would kill his wife! Ah! how glad I am to see you!”

While Chérubin was speaking, Poterne, who was very ill at ease, tried to sidle toward the door; but Jasmin had stationed himself in front of it, after taking pains to lock it.

As he listened to his young friend, Monfréville looked about the room in keen scrutiny. He examined Mademoiselle Chichette and the supposititious outraged husband, who acted as if he wished to crawl under the table. Chérubin had no sooner finished speaking than Monfréville ran up to Poterne, snatched off his hat and spectacles, and raised his cane threateningly.

“This creature a Polish count!” he exclaimed; “why, it’s that vile Poterne, the agent of that contemptible knave Daréna! They plotted together this infamous scheme to extort money from you!--Ah! I am strongly tempted to break my cane over this cur’s shoulders!”

“Poterne!” cried Chérubin; “is it possible? Poterne!”

“Why, yes,” said Jasmin, “it’s the dealer in preserves and dogs and turtles. Ah! my dear master, I suspected that they meant to take you in again; and that that man who called me an old donkey was fixing up some treacherous scheme to catch you.”

When he saw Monfréville’s cane in the air, Poterne fell on his knees.

“Mercy, monsieur,” he faltered, “all this was only a joke--nothing else; it was a comedy!”

“A jest, you villain! But your notes of hand were properly stamped! Oh! we know now what you are capable of, you and your worthy friend, Comte Daréna, who has fallen low enough now to blush at nothing, and in whose eyes all methods of procuring money are all right. We agree not to treat you as you deserve. Go and join your confederate, and tell him that this young man is able now to judge him as he is, and that if he should ever presume to show his face at the hôtel de Grandvilain, the servants will be instructed to turn him out.”

“Yes, indeed, I will undertake to do it!” said Jasmin. “He called me an old ruin too! but an honest ruin is worth more than a sharper in perfect repair.”

Monsieur Poterne did not wait to hear any more; he picked up his hat and spectacles, hastily opened the door, and fled; but he was not so quick that he did not receive the toe of Jasmin’s boot in his posterior; and the old servant said to him at the same time: “There, you thief; take that for your preserves!”

Monfréville walked toward Chichette, who had remained on the couch, without speaking or moving; he could not help smiling at her expression.

“And you, madame la comtesse,” he said, “in what shop do you usually work?”

“I make Italian straw hats on Rue de Grenétat. It wasn’t my fault; they promised me a lot of money if I’d make believe I was monsieur’s wife; and I consented so I could put it by and marry my little pays.”

Mademoiselle Chichette drew her handkerchief and looked as if she were going to weep; but Monfréville reassured her by saying:

“I have nothing against you, my girl; don’t cry, and go back to your Italian straw hats. But believe me, it is much better for one in your trade to dance the cancan than to play the great lady.”

Mademoiselle Chichette blew her nose, made several curtsies, then left the room with a shamefaced air, not venturing to glance at Chérubin.

“And now, my friend,” said Monfréville to the young marquis, “I think that we too may quit this wretched barrack. I believe that there is nothing to detain us here longer.”

“Oh, no! and I am so happy, my dear Monfréville, after having such a terrible fright! I will tell you the whole story; but first tell me how you succeeded in learning that I was here, and how you happened to arrive so opportunely.”

“That’s easily done; do you see that cab at the door?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the same one that brought you here. I called at your house after you left; I found Jasmin very uneasy; he told me that you had gone away in a cab with Daréna, whose frequent visits of late, together with his air of mystery, had aroused my suspicions! I asked Jasmin if he had called the carriage himself, and when he said yes, I asked him to take me to the cabstand. There we waited more than two hours for your cab to return. It appeared at last. I gave the driver twenty francs and told him to take us to the place to which he had taken you; he asked nothing better, and he brought us to this house. Knaves are very shrewd, my dear boy, but luckily there is a concealed power shrewder than they, who defeats the most cunningly devised schemes at the moment when their authors deem themselves most certain of impunity. Some call that power Providence, others chance, fatality, destiny, luck. I don’t know what name to give it, but I bow before it and am only too glad to believe that, if there are people here on earth inclined to do evil, there is a power on high, ever on the watch to prevent or repair it.”

Chérubin pressed Monfréville’s hand affectionately; then they left the house on the outer boulevard, which even little Bruno had abandoned, for they saw no sign of anybody. They entered the cab with Jasmin, upon whom they were almost obliged to use force, because the old fellow insisted on riding behind.

When they reached home, Chérubin told Monfréville how Daréna had managed the affair, and how he had urged him above all things to preserve the most absolute secrecy about it.

“I am not surprised,” said Monfréville, “that he urged you not to mention it to me; he knew that I would not be taken in by the story of a Polish countess who was anxious to be abducted by a young man whom she had seen just once, at the theatre.”

“He said that you set yourself up now as a man of strict virtue, to make people forget your former conduct; he declared that you used to be famous for your love-affairs, your conquests, and that your principles then were much less severe than they are to-day.--Forgive me--I am only repeating what he said.”

Monfréville’s brow had grown dark; his face wore an expression of deep sorrow, and he was silent for some time. At last, fixing his eyes upon Chérubin’s, he said in a melancholy tone:

“It is true, my friend, that in my youth I did many foolish things, and I have some serious faults with which to reproach myself. But I was so cruelly punished that I was cured in good season. That does not prevent me from being indulgent to others, because I am well aware that it is a part of our nature to be subject to passions and weakness, and to be led astray by them sometimes. Some day, Chérubin, I will tell you a story of my young days, which has had an influence on my whole life. You will see that these love-affairs, which we treat so cavalierly at twenty, sometimes have very bitter results.”

“Thus far,” said Chérubin, with a sigh, “I haven’t been lucky in my love-affairs, and my amorous adventures have not afforded me much enjoyment!”

XXV

A GRAND DINNER

After Monsieur de Noirmont expressed in such decided terms his resolution with respect to Louise, Ernestine’s mother said not a word to indicate that she still thought of dismissing the young woman; on the contrary it seemed that, having made up her mind to submit to her husband’s desire, Madame de Noirmont had recovered from her apparent prejudice against Louise. She still treated her with a coldness which sometimes approached severity; but the tone of her voice, sharp and curt at first, often softened so far as to seem almost affectionate. One would have said that she was vanquished by the charm with which the girl’s whole personality was instinct, by her timid obedience, by the eagerness with which she waited on her mistress, so that the latter was sometimes, in spite of herself, drawn on to love her.

Louise did not know that Madame de Noirmont had thought of sending her away. Ernestine and her father alone were aware of the circumstance, and the former, when she learned that her mother’s determination would not be carried out, had concluded that it would be useless to mention it to Louise, that it would grieve her to learn that she was so far from having succeeded in winning her mistress’s favor by her zeal, that that mistress had intended to dismiss her. As for Monsieur de Noirmont, after making his wishes known, he was not the man to mention such domestic matters to anybody on earth.

But a thing that was easily noticed, and that Louise saw, together with all the rest of the household, was that Madame de Noirmont became more depressed and gloomy every day. A smile never appeared on her lips; she avoided society; visits annoyed her and were a burden to her; spending almost all the time in her apartment, she ordered the servants to say that she was out, or not feeling well, so that she might not be disturbed in her solitude; even her daughter’s presence seemed sometimes to oppress and irritate her. The sweet-tempered Ernestine, who had done nothing to forfeit her mother’s affection, was sometimes very much distressed at being treated so coldly by her; when she went to Madame de Noirmont, to kiss her, she would push her away impatiently, or receive with listless indifference the marks of her affection; thereupon the girl would turn away, forcing back the tears which rose to her eyes, but which she would not allow to appear, for fear of angering her mother.

Louise, seeing her young mistress furtively wipe her eyes, would say to her:

“You are unhappy, mademoiselle, and I am very sure that it’s because your mamma hasn’t kissed you for some time past.”

Whereupon Ernestine would reply, with a deep sigh:

“That is true; I don’t know what mamma can have against me; it’s of no use for me to try to think what I can have done to displease her; I can’t remember anything. But for some time she hasn’t called me her dear child or taken me in her arms. It isn’t possible, though, that she doesn’t love me, is it, Louise? It’s her health that makes her like this; her nerves are out of order; she doesn’t complain, but I am perfectly sure that she is sick; besides, anyone can see that she has changed a great deal lately.”

“That is true, mademoiselle, I have noticed it too. Yes, you are right, it’s because madame isn’t well that she is more melancholy and doesn’t caress you so much. But why don’t you send for the doctor?”

“Several times I have said to mamma: ‘You are pale, you must be suffering; you ought to send for Monsieur Derbaut, our doctor;’ but mamma always answers in a provoked tone: ‘Nothing’s the matter with me; it’s useless to have the doctor, I don’t need him.’”

The two girls exchanged their ideas thus, seeking a way to make themselves useful, one to her mother, the other to her mistress; for they both loved Madame de Noirmont, despite the harshness and capriciousness of her temper, which so often made her unjust; Ernestine loved her with all the clinging affection of a child who refuses to see her mother’s faults; Louise with a respectful devotion which would have led her joyfully to undertake the most painful task, if it would have earned her a smile from her mistress.

But Madame de Noirmont seemed carefully to avoid giving Louise any opportunity to wait upon her; only in her husband’s presence, and when it was impossible for her to do otherwise, would she give her an order or two, or take something from her hand. The young lady’s maid, who would gladly have anticipated her mistress’s slightest wish, sometimes followed her with her eyes, in the hope of making herself useful to her; but if Madame de Noirmont caught Louise’s glance fastened upon her, her own expression would become sterner, and she would instantly motion to her to leave the room.

One day, madame was in her room, as usual, holding a book of which she read very little, because her thoughts absorbed her so completely that she could give no attention to anything else. Ernestine was seated at a little distance, embroidering, and from time to time glancing furtively at her mother, in the hope of meeting her eyes and of obtaining from her a smile, which had become a very infrequent favor. Madame de Noirmont turned to her and said, holding out the book:

“Ernestine, bring me the second volume of this; you will find it in the library, on the second shelf at the left.”