Chapter XII: A Vain Pursuit

Michel and Florence, engrossed in each other, though separated by the width of the street, paid no attention to the cab which was moving slowly along in the same direction, it being a very common occurrence to see such vehicles returning to the stable at that time in the morning.

As the two neighbours reached the corner of the Rue de Tournon, they met a crowd of huckster wagons on their way to the market, and the lady in the cab finding her progress thus impeded, and fearing she would lose sight of the person she was following, ordered the driver to open the door, paid him, alighted, and hastened on after Michel. She was half way down the Rue de Tournon, when she noticed, for the first time, a man wrapped in a cloak, walking only a short distance ahead of her. At first this discovery did not disturb her, but subsequently, perceiving by the light of a street lamp that a woman was walking a few yards in advance of this man, and that this woman was pursuing the same route as Michel Renaud, she began to think this very singular, and afterwards her attention was naturally divided between Michel, Madame de Luceval, and the man who was a short distance behind that lady.

Michel and Florence, whose heads were well muffled up as a protection from the cold, had, as yet, no suspicion that they were being followed, and walked briskly on towards the little square at the end of the Rue Dauphine. The man in the cloak, who had been too much absorbed hitherto to take much notice of what was going on around him, now observed for the first time that a woman was following a man on the side of the street opposite to that on which he was following Florence, and great was his surprise when, as this woman passed the lighted windows of a liquor shop, he fancied he recognised in her the same lady whom he had escorted to the corner of the Rue de Rivoli the previous afternoon, and whom he had met months before in one of the mountain passes of Chili.

The woman's tall stature and lithe tread, as well as her mourning garb, corroborated these suspicions, and the fact of this double pursuit, after their interview of the day before, was too extraordinary for the man not to desire to solve this mystery at once, so, without losing sight of Florence, he hastily crossed the street, and, approaching the mysterious lady, said:

"One word, madame, if you please--"

"You, monsieur!" the lady exclaimed, "is it you?"

Both stood for an instant as if petrified.

The man was the first to recover himself.

"Madame, after what has occurred, and for our mutual benefit, we must have a full explanation at once," he exclaimed, hastily.

"I think so, too, monsieur."

"Very well, then, madame. I--"

"Take care! Look out for that wagon!" exclaimed the lady, pointing to a big milk wagon that was tearing down the street, almost grazing the gutter in which the man in the cloak had stopped.

He sprang aside quickly, but, in the meantime, Florence and Michel had reached the square, and disappeared from sight, thanks to the progress they had made during this short colloquy between their pursuers.

The woman, noting Michel's disappearance, exclaimed, in accents of intense dismay:

"I don't see him any longer! I have lost him!"

These words reminded her companion of the pursuit he, too, had momentarily forgotten, and he, too, turned quickly, but could see nothing of Florence.

"Let us hasten on to the square, madame; perhaps we can overtake them. Here, take my arm."

"No, no, monsieur, let us run, let us run," cried the young woman.

So both ran towards the square at the top of their speed, but when they reached it they did not see a living soul in either of the four or five narrow streets that diverged from it. Realising how utterly useless it would be to extend their search further, the two stood for a moment in silence, resting after their run, and again thinking, perhaps, of the singular _rapprochement_ between their destinies.

"Really, madame, it makes me wonder whether I am awake or dreaming," exclaimed the man in the cloak at last.

"What you say is perfectly true, monsieur. I really cannot believe what I see with my own eyes," replied the lady.

"I feel, madame, that what has happened to us to-day is so inexplicable that our mutual reserve should be maintained no longer."

"I agree with you, perfectly, monsieur. Will you give me your arm? I am nearly frozen, and what with the surprise and excitement, I am feeling far from well, but my indisposition will pass off if I walk a little way, I think."

"Which way shall we go, madame?"

"It doesn't matter in the least,--towards the Pont Neuf, perhaps."

As they walked slowly on, the following conversation took place:

"I feel it obligatory upon me to first tell you my name, monsieur," remarked the lady. "It is not a matter of much consequence, perhaps, but you ought to know who I am. I am a widow, and my name is Valentine d'Infreville."

"Good God!" exclaimed the man in the cloak, stopping short in his astonishment. "You Madame d'Infreville?"

"Why do you evince such astonishment, monsieur? My name is not unknown to you."

"After all," remarked the man, recovering from the amazement this announcement had caused, "it is not surprising that I did not recognise you either here or in Chili, madame, for the first time I saw you, four years ago, I could not distinguish your features; besides, the indignation I felt--"

"What do you mean, monsieur? Do you mean that you had seen me before our meeting in Chili?"

"Yes, madame."

"And where?"

"I scarcely dare to remind you."

"In whose house did you meet me, tell me, monsieur?"

"In my wife's house."

"Your wife's?"

"In the house of Madame de Luceval."

"What! You are--?"

"M. de Luceval."

Valentine d'Infreville stood as if petrified in her turn by this allusion which awakened so many painful memories; but, after a moment, she said, in tones of profound sadness:

"You speak the truth, monsieur. The first and only time we met at Madame de Luceval's it must have been as impossible for you to distinguish my features as it was for me to distinguish yours. Overcome with shame, I concealed my face, and, even now," she added, turning away her head as if to escape M. de Luceval's gaze, "I thank Heaven that it is dark."

"Believe me, madame, it is with deep regret that I remind you of a scene that was so distressing to you, and to myself as well, for, influenced by M. d'Infreville, I--"

But Valentine, interrupting him, inquired, with mingled curiosity, uneasiness, and tender interest:

"And Florence; where is she?"

"It was Florence that I was following just now."

"What! That woman was--"

"Madame de Luceval; yes."

"But why were you following her?"

"You are not aware, then--"

"Speak, monsieur, speak!"

"That my wife and I have separated," replied M. de Luceval, smothering a sigh.

"But where does Florence live?"

"On the Rue de Vaugirard."

"Great Heavens! How strange!" exclaimed Valentine, starting violently.

"What is the matter, madame?"

"Florence lives in the Rue de Vaugirard, you say. At what number?"

"Number 59."

"And Michel lives at Number 57!" exclaimed Valentine.

"Michel!" exclaimed M. de Luceval, in his turn. "Michel Renaud?"

"Yes, your cousin. He has a room on the fourth floor, at Number 57. I had just satisfied myself of that fact yesterday when I met you."

"And my wife lives on the same floor in the adjoining house," said M. de Luceval.

Then, feeling Valentine's arm tremble convulsively, he added:

"What is the matter, madame? Are you faint?"

"Pardon me, monsieur,--but it--it is the cold, I think,--that--that makes me feel so strangely. I can scarcely stand,--and my head seems to be going around and around."

"Have a little courage, madame. Let us try to reach that shop there at the corner of the quay."

"I'll try, monsieur," replied Valentine, faintly.

She did manage to drag herself to the store designated, which proved to be a grocery store. There was a woman behind the counter, the wife of the proprietor, and she took Madame d'Infreville into a room back of the store, and gave her every possible attention.

* * * * *

An hour afterwards, when daylight had come, a carriage was sent for, and M. de Luceval took Madame d'Infreville to her home.