THE RENDEZVOUS.
Determined at all risks to warn Madame d'Harville of the danger she was
incurring, Rodolph had quitted the winter garden without waiting to hear
the remainder of the conversation between Sarah and her brother, thus
remaining ignorant of their designs against Fleur-de-Marie, and of the
extreme peril which threatened the poor girl. But, spite of his earnest
desire to apprise the marquise of the plot laid against her peace and
honour, he was unable to carry his design into execution, for Madame
d'Harville, unable to bear up longer after the trying events of the
evening, had abandoned her original intention of visiting the
entertainment given by Madame de Nerval and gone direct home.
This contretemps ruined his hopes. Nearly the whole of the company
present at the ambassadress's ball had been invited to that of Madame de
Nerval's, and Rodolph drove rapidly thither, taking with him M. de
Graün, to whom he gave instructions to look for Madame d'Harville among
the guests, and to acquaint her that the prince, having something of the
utmost consequence to communicate to her without the least delay, would
walk onwards to the Hôtel d'Harville, and await her return home, when he
would say a few words at the carriage-door while her servants were
attending to the opening of the entrance-gates.
After much time spent in fruitless endeavours to find Madame d'Harville,
De Graün was compelled to return with the account of his ill success.
This failure made Rodolph despair of being able, now, to save the
marquise from impending ruin; his first thought had been to warn her of
the treachery intended, and so prevent the statement of Sarah, which he
had no means of keeping from the hands of M. d'Harville, from obtaining
the slightest credence. Alas! it was now too late. The infamous epistle
dictated by the Countess Macgregor had reached the Marquis d'Harville
shortly after midnight on the night in question.
* * * * *
It was morning; and M. d'Harville continued slowly to pace his
sleeping-apartment, the bed of which gave no indication of having been
used during the night, though the silken counterpane hung in fragments,
evidently proving that some powerful and devastating storm had possessed
the mind of its owner.
The chamber in question was furnished with elegant simplicity, its only
ornaments consisting of a stand of modern arms and a range of shelves
furnished with a well-chosen collection of books. Yet a sudden frenzy,
or the hand of ungovernable rage, had reduced the quiet elegance which
ordinarily reigned to a scene of frantic disorder. Chairs, tables,
broken and overset; the carpet strewed with fragments of the crystal
lamp kept burning through the night; the wax-lights and gilded
chandelier which had contained them, lying around, gave manifest
evidence of a fearful scene.
M. d'Harville was about thirty years of age, with a fine, manly
countenance, whose usual expression was mild and prepossessing, but now
contracted, haggard, and livid. He had not changed his dress since the
preceding evening; his throat was bare, his waistcoat thrown open, and
on the torn and rumpled cambric of his shirt-front were drops of blood.
His rich, dark hair, which generally fell in curls around his face, now
hung in tangled wildness over his pale countenance. Wholly buried in
the misery of his own thoughts, with folded arms, drooping head, and
fixed, bloodshot eyes, M. d'Harville continued to pace his chamber;
then, stopping opposite his fireplace, in which, spite of the almost
unendurable severity of the frost of the past night, the fire had been
allowed to expire, he took from the marble mantelpiece the following
brief note, which he continued to read over and over with the most eager
attention by the wan, pale light of the cold glimmer of an early winter
morning:
"To-morrow, at one o'clock, your wife has appointed to meet
her favoured lover. Go to the Rue du Temple, No. 17, and you
will obtain every requisite confirmation of this intelligence.
"FROM ONE WHO PITIES YOU."
Whilst reading these words, perused, with such deep anguish and sickness
of heart, so many times through the long midnight hours, the blue, cold
lips of M. d'Harville appeared convulsively to spell each syllable of
this fatal _billet_.
At this moment the chamber door opened and a servant entered; the man
who now made his appearance was old, even gray-headed, but the
expression of his countenance was frank and honest. The noise of the man
entering disturbed not the marquis from his bitter contemplations; he
merely turned his head without altering his position, but still grasped
the letter in his clenched hands.
"What do you want?" inquired he, sternly, of the servant.
The man, instead of answering, continued to gaze with an air of painful
surprise at the disordered state of the room; then, regarding his master
more attentively, exclaimed:
"Blood on your clothes! My lord, my lord! How is this? You have hurt
yourself,--and all alone, too; why, my lord, did you not summon me, as
of old, when these attacks came on?"
"Begone!"
"I entreat your lordship's pardon, but your fire is out,--the cold is
intense,--indeed, I must remind your lordship that after your
late--your--"
"Will you be silent? Leave me I say!"
"Pray do not be angry, my lord," replied the trembling valet; "but, if
your lordship pleases to recollect, you appointed M. Doublet to be here
to-day at half past ten, and he is now waiting with the notary."
"Quite proper," said the marquis, with a bitter smile; "when a man is
rich he ought, he should look carefully to his affairs. Fortune is a
fine thing,--a very fine thing; or would be if it could but purchase
happiness." Then, resuming a cold and collected manner, he added:
"Show M. Doublet into my study."
"I have done so, my lord marquis."
"Then give me my clothes,--quick, I am in haste; I shall be going out
shortly. I--"
"But if your lordship would only--"
"Do as I desire you, Joseph," said M. d'Harville, in a more gentle tone;
then added, "Is your lady stirring yet?"
"I have not yet heard her ladyship's bell, my lord marquis."
"Let me know when she rings."
"I will, my lord."
"Heaven and earth, man, how slow you are!" exclaimed M. d'Harville,
whose raging thoughts almost chafed him into madness; "summon Philip to
assist you; you will keep me all day."
"My lord, please to allow me to set matters a little straight first,"
replied Joseph, sorrowfully; "I would much rather no one but myself
witnessed the state of your chamber, or they would wonder, and talk
about it, because they could not understand what had taken place during
the night, my lord."
"And if they were to find out, it would be a most shocking
affair,--would it not?" asked M. d'Harville, in a tone of gloomy irony.
"Thank God, my lord, not a soul in the house has the least suspicion of
it!"
"No one suspects it," repeated M. d'Harville, despondingly; "no
one,--that's well, for her at least; well, let us hope to keep the
secret."
And, while Joseph was occupying himself in repairing the havoc in his
master's apartment, D'Harville walked up to the stage of arms we before
mentioned, examined them with an expression of deep interest, then,
turning towards Joseph, with a sinister smile, said:
"I hope you have not omitted to clean the guns which are placed at the
top of the stand,--I mean those in my hunting-case."
"I had not your lordship's orders to do so," replied the astonished
servant.
"You had, sir, and have neglected them!"
"I humbly assure you, my lord--"
"They must be in a fine state!"
"Your lordship will please to bear in mind that it is scarcely a month
since they were regularly repaired and put in order for use by the
gunsmith."
"Never mind! As soon as I am dressed reach down my shooting-case; I will
examine the guns myself. I may very possibly go out shooting either
to-morrow or next day."
"I will reach them down directly, my lord."
The chamber being by this time replaced in its ordinary state, a second
_valet de chambre_ was summoned to assist Joseph.
His toilet concluded, M. d'Harville repaired to his study, where the
steward (M. Doublet) and his lawyer's clerk were awaiting him.
"We have brought the agreement that my lord marquis may hear it read
over," said the bowing clerk; "my lord will then only have to sign it,
and the affair is concluded."
"Have you perused it, M. Doublet?"
"I have, my lord, attentively."
"In that case I will affix my signature at once."
The necessary forms completed, the clerk withdrew, when M. Doublet,
rubbing his hands, and looking triumphantly, exclaimed:
"Now, then, by this last addition to your lordship's estates, your
manorial property cannot be less than a hundred and twenty-six thousand
francs per annum, in round numbers. And permit me to say, my lord
marquis, that a rent-roll of a hundred and twenty-six thousand francs
per annum is of no common occurrence nowadays."
"I am a happy man, am I not, M. Doublet? A hundred and twenty-six
thousand livres per annum! Surely the man owning such an income must be
blessed indeed,--sorrow or care cannot reach him through so golden a
shield!"
"And that is wholly independent of my lord's funded property, amounting
at least to two millions more; or reckoning--"
"Exactly; I know what you would say; without reckoning my other
blessings and comforts."
"Why, heaven be praised, your lordship is as rich in all earthly
blessings as in revenue. Not a precious gift but it has been largely
bestowed upon you; ay, and such as even money will not buy: youth,
uninterrupted health, the power of enjoying every happiness, amongst
which, or, rather, at the head of which," said M. Doublet, gracefully
smiling, and gallantly bowing, "place that of being the husband of so
sweet a lady as Madame la Marquise, and the parent of a lovely little
girl, who might be mistaken for a cherubim."
M. d'Harville cast a look of gloomy mistrust on the poor steward; who,
revelling in his own ecstasy at seeing the princely rent-roll committed
to his charge, exceeding all others in magnificent amount, was far from
perceiving the scowling brow of his master, thus congratulated on being
the happiest man alive, when, to his own view, a verier wretch, or more
complete bankrupt in happiness existed not. Striking M. Doublet
familiarly on the shoulder, and breaking into a wild, ironical laugh, M.
d'Harville rejoined:
"Then you think that with an income of two hundred and sixty thousand
livres, a wife like mine, and a daughter resembling a cherubim, a man
has nothing more to wish for?"
"Nay, my lord," replied the steward, with honest zeal, "you have still
to wish for the blessing of lengthened days, that you may be spared to
see mademoiselle married as happily as yourself. Ah, my lord, I may not
hope to see it, but I should be thankful to witness you and my honoured
lady surrounded by your grandchildren,--ay, and great-grandchildren
too,--why not?"
"Excellent, M. Doublet! A regular Baucis and Philemon idea. You have
always a capital illustration to your ideas."
"You are too good to me, my lord. Has your lordship any further orders
for me?"
"None. Stay, though; what cash have you in hand?"
"Twenty-nine thousand three hundred and odd francs for current expenses,
my lord marquis; but there is a heavy sum at the bank belonging to this
quarter's income."
"Well, bring me twenty thousand francs in gold, and, should I have gone
out, give them to Joseph for me."
"Does your lordship wish for them this morning?"
"I do."
"Within an hour the gold shall be here. You have nothing else to say to
me, my lord?"
"No, M. Doublet."
"A hundred and twenty-six thousand francs per annum, wholly
unincumbered," repeated the steward, as he was about to quit the room;
"this is a glorious day for me to see; I almost feared at one time that
we should not secure this desirable property. Your lordship's most
humble servant, I take my leave."
"Good morning, M. Doublet."
As the door closed upon the steward, M. d'Harville, overcome with the
mental agony he had repressed thus far, threw himself into an armchair,
leaned his elbows on the desk before which he sat, and covering his face
with his hands, for the first time since receiving the fatal _billet_,
gave vent to a flood of hot, burning tears.
"Cruel mockery of fate!" cried he, at length, "to have made me rich, but
to have given me only shame and dishonour to place within the gilded
frame: the perjury of Clémence, the disgrace which will descend upon my
innocent child. Can I suffer this? Or shall I for the sake of her
unoffending offspring spare the guilty mother from the opprobrium of an
exposure?" Then rising suddenly from his seat, with sparkling eyes and
clenched teeth he cried, in a deep, determined voice, "No, no! Blood,
blood! The fearful protection from laughter and derision. Ah, full well
I can now comprehend her coldness, her antipathy, wretched, wretched
woman!" Then, stopping all at once, as though melted by some tender
recollection, he resumed, in a hoarse tone, "Aversion! Alas! too well I
know its cause. I inspire her with loathing, with disgust!" Then, after
a lengthened silence, he cried, in a voice broken by sighs, "Yet, was it
my fault or my misfortune? Should she have wronged me thus for a
calamity beyond my power to avert? Surely I am a more fitting object for
her pity than scorn and hatred." Again rekindling into his excited
feelings, he reiterated, "Nothing but blood--the blood of both--can wash
out this guilty stain! Doubtless he, the favoured lover, has been
informed why she flies her husband's arms."
This latter thought redoubled the fury of the marquis. He elevated his
tightly compressed hands towards heaven, as though invoking its
vengeance; then, passing his burning fingers over his eyes as he
recollected the necessity that existed for concealing his emotion from
the servants of his establishment, he returned to his sleeping-apartment
with an appearance of perfect tranquillity. There he found Joseph.
"Well, in what state are the guns?"
"In perfect order. Please to examine them, my lord."
"I came for the purpose of so doing. Has your lady yet rung?"
"I do not know, my lord."
"Then inquire."
Directly the servant had quitted the room, M. d'Harville hastily took
from the gun-case a small powder-flask, some balls and caps; then,
locking the case, put the key in his pocket. Then going to the stand of
arms, he took from it a pair of moderate-sized Manton's pistols, loaded
them, and placed them without difficulty in the pockets of his morning
wrapper. Joseph returned with the intimation that Madame d'Harville was
in her dressing-room.
"Has your lady ordered her carriage?"
"My lord, I heard Mlle. Juliette say to the head-coachman, when he came
to inquire her ladyship's orders for the day, that, 'as it was cold, dry
walking, if her ladyship went out at all, she would prefer going on
foot.'"
"Very well. Stay,--I forgot. I shall not go out hunting before
to-morrow, or probably, next day. Desire Williams to look the small
travelling-britcska carefully over. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my lord; it shall be attended to. Will not your lordship
require a stick?"
"No. Pray tell me, is there not a hackney coach-stand near here?"
"Quite close, my lord,--in the Rue de Lille."
After a moment's hesitation, the marquis continued: "Go and inquire of
Mlle. Juliette whether Madame d'Harville can see me for a few minutes."
Joseph obeyed.
"Yes," murmured the marquis, "I will see the cause of all my misery,--my
disgrace. I will contemplate the guilty mask beneath which the impure
heart conceals its adulterous designs. I will listen to the false lips
that speak the words of innocence, while deep dishonour lurks in the
candid smile,--a smile that seemed to me as that of an angel. Yet 'tis
an appalling spectacle to watch the words, the looks, of one who,
breathing only the sentiments of a chaste wife and mother, is about to
sully your name with one of those deep, deadly stains which can only be
washed out in blood. Fool that I am to give her the chance of again
bewildering my senses! She will look at me with her accustomed sweetness
and candour; greet me (all guilty as she is) with the same pure smile
she bestows upon her child, as, kneeling at her lap, it lisps its early
prayer. That look,--those eyes, mirrors of the soul,--the more modest
and pure the glance" (D'Harville shuddered with contempt) "the greater
must be the innate corruption and falsehood! Alas! she has proved
herself a consummate dissembler; and I--I--have been the veriest dupe!
Only let me consider with what sentiments must that woman look upon me,
if just previous to her meeting with her favoured lover I pay her my
accustomed visit, and express my usual devotion and love for her,--the
young, the virtuous wife, the tender, sensible, and devoted mother, as
until this wretched moment I would have died to prove her. Can I, dare
I, trust myself in her presence, with the knowledge of her being but too
impatient for the arrival of that blessed hour which conveys her to her
guilty rendezvous and infamous paramour? Oh, Clémence, Clémence, you in
whom all my hopes and fondest affections were placed, is this a just
return? No! no! no!" again repeated M. d'Harville, with rapidly
returning excitement. "False, treacherous woman! I will not see you! I
will not trust my ears to your feigned words! Nor you, my child. At the
sight of your innocent countenance I should unman myself, and compromise
my just revenge."
Quitting his apartment, M. d'Harville, instead of repairing to those of
the marquise, contented himself with leaving a message for her through
Mlle. Juliette, to the effect that he wished a short conversation with
Madame d'Harville, but that being obliged to go out just then, he should
be glad, if it assorted with Madame la Marquise's perfect convenience,
to breakfast with her at twelve o'clock.
"And so," said the unhappy M. d'Harville, "fancying that after twelve
o'clock I shall be safe at home, she will consider herself more at
liberty to follow out her own plans."
He then repaired to the coach-stand contiguous to his mansion, and
summoned a vehicle from the ranks.
"Now, coachee," said he, affecting to disguise his rank, "what's
o'clock?"
"All right, master," said the man, drawing up to the side of the
footway, "where am I to drive to? Let's have a right understanding, and
a look at the clock. Why, it's as close on half-after eleven as may be."
"Now, then, drive to the corner of the Rue St. Dominique, and wait at
the end of the garden wall which runs along there; do you understand?"
"Yes, yes,--I know."
M. d'Harville then drew down the blinds of the _fiacre_; the coachman
drove on, and soon arrived opposite the Hôtel d'Harville, from which
point of observation it was impossible for any person to enter or quit
the house without the marquis having a full view of them. One o'clock
was the hour fixed in the note; and with his eyes riveted on the
entrance-gates of the mansion, the marquis waited in painful suspense,
absorbed in a whirl of fearful thoughts and maddening conjectures. Time
stole on imperceptibly; twelve o'clock reverberated from the dome of St.
Thomas Aquinas, when the door opened slowly at the Hôtel d'Harville, and
Madame d'Harville herself came timidly forth.
"Already?" exclaimed the unhappy husband; "how punctual she is! She
fears to keep him waiting," cried the marquis, with a mixture of irony
and savage rage.
The cold was excessive; the pavement hard and dry. Clémence was dressed
in a black velvet bonnet, covered with a veil of the same colour, and a
thickly wadded pelisse of dark ruby satin, a large shawl of dark blue
cashmere fell to the very hem of her pelisse, which she lightly and
gracefully held up while crossing the street. Thanks to this movement,
the taper foot and graceful ankle of Madame d'Harville, cased in an
exquisitely fitting boot of black satin, were exposed to view.
It was strange, that amid the painful and bewildering ideas that crowded
the brain of D'Harville, he should have found one thought to waste upon
the beauty of his wife's foot; but so it was; and at the moment that was
about to separate them for ever, to his eager gaze that fairy foot and
well-turned ankle had never looked so charming; and then, as by a rapid
train of thought he recalled the matchless loveliness of his wife, and,
as he had ever believed till now, her purity, her mental graces, he
groaned aloud as he remembered that another was preferred to him, and
that the light figure that glided on before his fixed gaze, was but the
hollow spectre of fallen goodness, a lost, degraded creature, hastening
to steep her husband and infant in irremediable disgrace, for the
indulging of a base and guilty passion. Even in that wretched moment he
felt how dearly, how exclusively he had loved her; and for the first
time during the blow which had fallen on him, he knew that he mourned
the lovely woman almost equally with the virtuous mother and chaste
wife. A cry of rage and mingled fury escaped him, as he pictured the
rapture of her meeting with the lover of her choice; and a sharp,
darting pain quivered through his heart as he remembered that Clémence,
with all her youth and beauty, her countless charms, both of body and
mind, was lost to him for ever.
Hitherto his passionate grief had been unmixed by any alloy of self. He
had bewailed the sanctity of the marriage-vow trampled under foot, the
abandonment of all sworn and sacred duties; but his sufferings of rage,
jealousy, and regret almost overpowered him, and with much difficulty
was he able to command his voice sufficiently to say to the coachman,
while partially drawing up the blind:
"Do you see that lady in the blue shawl and black bonnet walking along
by the wall?"
"Yes, yes! I see her safe enough."
"Well, then, go slowly along, and keep up with her. Should she go to the
coach-stand I had you from, pull up; and when she has got into a
_fiacre_, follow it wherever it goes."
"All right,--I understand! Now this is what I call a good joke!"
M. d'Harville had conjectured rightly. Madame d'Harville repaired
directly to the coach-stand, and beckoning a _fiacre_ off the stand,
instantly got in, and drove off, closely followed by the vehicle
containing her husband.
They had proceeded but a very short distance, when the coachman took the
road to the church of St. Thomas Aquinas, and, to the surprise of M.
d'Harville, pulled up directly in front.
"What is this for? What are you about?"
"Why, master, the lady you told me to follow has just alighted here, and
a smart, tidy leg and foot of her own she has got. Her dress somehow
caught; so, you see, I couldn't help having a peep, nohow. This is
downright good fun though, this is!"
A thousand varied thoughts agitated M. d'Harville. One minute he fancied
that his wife, fearing pursuit, had taken this step to escape detection;
then hope whispered that the letter which had given him so much
uneasiness, might after all be only an infamous calumny; for if guilty,
what could be gained by this false assumption of piety? Would it not be
a species of sacrilegious mockery? At this suggestion a bright ray of
hope shot across the troubled mind of M. d'Harville, arising from the
striking contrast between Clémence's present occupation and the crime
alleged as her motive for quitting her home. Alas! this consolatory
illusion was speedily destroyed. Leaning in at the open window the
coachman observed:
"I say, master, that nice little woman you are after has got back into
her coach."
"Then follow quickly."
"I'm off! Now this is what I call downright good fun. Capital; hang me
if it ain't!"
The vehicle reached the Quais, the Hôtel de Ville, the Rue St. Avoye,
and, at last, Rue du Temple.
"I say," said the coachman, turning round to speak to M. d'Harville from
his seat, "master, just look. My mate, there, has stopped at No. 17; we
are about at 13. Shall I stop here or go on to 17?"
"Stop here."
"I say,--look'ee,--you'll lose your pretty lady. She has gone into the
alley leading to No. 17."
"Open the door."
"I'm coming, sir."
And quickly following the steps of his wife, M. d'Harville entered the
obscure passage up which she had disappeared. Madame d'Harville,
however, had so far the start as to have entered the house previously.
Attracted by the most devouring curiosity, Madame Pipelet, with her
melancholy Alfred and her friend the oyster-woman, were huddled close
together on the sill at the lodge door. The staircase was so dark that a
person just emerging from the daylight into the gloom of the passage
could not discern a single step of it; and Madame d'Harville, agitated
and almost sinking with apprehension, found herself constrained to apply
to Madame Pipelet for further advice how to proceed, saying, in a low,
tremulous voice:
"Which way must I turn, madame, to find the staircase of the house?"
"Stop, if you please. Pray, whom do you want?"
"I wish to go to the apartments of M. Charles, madame."
"Monsieur who?" repeated the old woman, feigning not to have heard her,
but in reality to afford sufficient leisure to her husband and her
friend thoroughly to scrutinise the unhappy woman's countenance, even
through the folds of her thick veil.
"M. Charles, madame," repeated Clémence, in a low, trembling tone, and
bending down her head, so as to escape the rude and insolent examination
to which her features were subjected.
"Ah! M. Charles; very well; you should have spoken so that one could
hear you. Well, my pretty dear, if you want M. Charles,--and a
good-looking fellow he is as ever won a woman's heart,--go straight on,
and the door will stare you in the face. Eh! eh! eh!" laughed out the
old woman, shaking her fat sides with spiteful glee, "it seems he has
not waited for nothing this time. Success to love and love-makings, and
a merry end to it!"
The marquise, ready to sink with confusion, began slowly to grope her
way up the dingy staircase.
"I say," bawled out the old shell-fish woman, "our commandant knows what
he is about, don't he? Leave him alone to choose a pretty girl. His marm
is a regular swell, ain't she?"
Had it not been requisite for her to run the gauntlet of the trio who
occupied the entrance-door, Madame d'Harville, ready to sink with shame
and terror, would gladly have retraced her steps. She made another
effort, and at last reached the landing-place, where, to her unutterable
consternation and surprise, she saw Rodolph waiting, impatiently, her
arrival. Instantly flying to meet her, he hastily placed a purse in her
hand, saying, in a hurried manner:
"Your husband knows all, and is now following your very steps."
At this instant, the sharp tones of Madame Pipelet were heard crying
out, "Where are you going to, sir?"
"'Tis he!" exclaimed Rodolph, and then, almost forcing Madame d'Harville
up the second staircase, he added, in a rapid manner, "make all haste to
the very top of the house; on the fifth floor you will find a wretched
family, named Morel. Remember your sole business in coming hither was to
relieve their distress."
"I tell you, sir," screamed Madame Pipelet, "that unless you tell me
your name, you shall trample over me, as they walked over our brave men
at Waterloo, before I let you pass."
Having, from the entrance to the alley, observed Madame d'Harville stop
to speak to the porteress, the marquis had likewise prepared himself to
pass through some sort of questioning.
"I belong to the lady who just now entered," said the marquis.
"Bless me!" exclaimed Madame Pipelet, looking the picture of wonderment,
"why, that, of course, is a satisfactory answer. You can pass on, if you
please."
Hearing an unusual stir, M. Charles Robert had set the door of his
apartments ajar, and Rodolph, unwilling to be recognised by M.
d'Harville, whose quick, searching eye might have detected him, spite of
the murkiness of the staircase, hearing him rapidly ascending the
stairs, just as he reached the landing-place, dashed into the chamber of
the astonished commandant, locking the door after him. M. Charles
Robert, magnificently attired in his _robe de chambre_ of scarlet damask
with orange-coloured stripes, and Greek cap of embroidered velvet, was
struck with astonishment at the unexpected appearance of Rodolph, whom
he had not seen the preceding evening at the embassy, and who was upon
the present occasion very plainly dressed.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" asked he at length, assuming a
tone of killing haughtiness.
"Be silent!" replied Rodolph; and there was that in his voice and manner
that Charles Robert obeyed, even in spite of his own determination to
strike terror into the bold invader of his private moments.
A violent and continued noise, as of some heavy substance falling from
one stair to the other, resounded through the dull silence of the gloomy
staircase.
"Unhappy man! He has murdered her!" exclaimed Rodolph.
"Murdered!" ejaculated M. Charles Robert, turning very pale; "for the
love of Heaven, what is all this about?"
But, without heeding his inquiry, Rodolph partially opened the door, and
discovered little Tortillard half rolling, half limping, down the
stairs, holding in his hand the red silk purse Rodolph had just given to
Madame d'Harville. Tortillard, with another scrambling shuffle,
disappeared at the bottom of the last flight of stairs. The light step
of Madame d'Harville, and the heavier tread of her husband, as he
continued his pursuit of her from one story to another, could be
distinctly heard. Somewhat relieved of his worst fears, yet unable to
make out by what chance the purse so recently committed to Madame
d'Harville's hands should have been transferred to those of Tortillard,
Rodolph said, authoritatively, to M. Robert:
"Do not think of quitting your apartments for the next hour, I request!"
"Upon my life and soul, that is a pretty thing to say to a gentleman in
his own house," replied M. Robert in an impatient and wrathful tone. "I
ask you, again, what is the meaning of all this? Who the devil are you,
sir? And how dare you dictate to me, a gentleman?"
"M. d'Harville is informed of everything,--has followed his wife to your
very door,--and is now pursuing her to the upper part of the house."
"God bless me! Here's a situation!" exclaimed Charles Robert, with an
appearance of utter consternation. "But what is to be done? What is the
use of her going up-stairs? And how will she manage to get down again
unobserved?"
"Remain where you are, neither speak nor move until the porteress comes
to you," rejoined Rodolph, who hastened to give his final instructions
to Madame Pipelet, leaving the commandant a prey to the most alarming
apprehensions.
"Well! well!" cried Madame Pipelet, her face radiant with chuckling
exultation; "there's rare sport going on! The lady who came to visit my
fine gentleman on the first floor has been followed by another
gentleman, who seems rather in a passion,--the husband of that silly
young creature, I make no doubt. Directly the truth flashed across me, I
tells him to go straight up; for, thinks I, he'll be sure to murder our
commandant. That'll make a deal of talk in the neighbourhood; and folks
will come crowding to see the house, just as they did at No. 36 after
the man was killed there. Lord! I wonder the fighting has not begun
yet. I have been listening to hear them set to; but I can't catch the
least sound."
"My dear Madame Pipelet, will you do me a great favour?" said Rodolph,
putting five louis into her hand. "When this lady comes down-stairs, ask
her how she found the poor Morels. Tell her she has performed an act of
real charity in coming to see them, according to her promise, the last
time she called to inquire respecting them."
Madame Pipelet looked first at the money and then at Rodolph, with an
air of petrified astonishment.
"What am I to do with this money?" inquired she, at length; "do you give
it to me? Ah, I see! This handsome lady, then, does not come altogether
for the commandant?"
"The gentleman who followed her was her husband, as you justly supposed;
but, being warned in time, the poor lady went straight on to the Morels,
as though her only business here was to afford them succour. Now do you
understand!"
"I should think I did,--clear as noonday. 'A nod is as good as a wink,'
as the old woman said. I know! You want me to help you cheat the
husband? Lord bless you! I'm up to all those things,--quick as
lightning, silent as the grave! Go along with you! I'm a regular good
hand at keeping husbands in the dark; you might fancy I'd been used to
it all my life. But tell me--"
The huge hat of M. Pipelet was here observed sending its dark shadow
across the floor of the lodge.
"Anastasie," said Alfred, gravely, "you are like M. César Bradamanti;
you have no respect for anything or anybody. And let me tell you that
there are subjects that should never be made the subject of a jest, even
amongst the most familiar acquaintances."
"Nonsense, my old darling. Don't stand there rolling up your eyes, and
looking about as wise as a pig in a pound. You know well enough I was
only joking; you know well enough that no living soul beneath the canopy
of heaven can ever say I gave him a liberty. But that'll do; so let's
talk of this good gentleman's business. Suppose I do go out of my usual
way to save this young lady, I'm sure I do it solely to oblige our new
lodger, who, for his generosity, may well deserve to be called the king
of lodgers." Then, turning towards Rodolph, she added, "You shall see
how cleverly I will go to work. Just hide yourself there in that corner
behind the curtain. Quick,--quick! I hear them coming."
Rodolph had scarcely time to conceal himself ere M. and Madame
d'Harville descended the stairs. The features of the marquis shone with
happiness, mingled with a confused and astonished expression, while the
countenance of his wife, as she hung on his arm, looked calm but pale.
"Well, my good lady," cried Madame Pipelet, going out of her lodge to
address her, as she descended the last stair, "how did you find the poor
creatures,--I mean the Morels? Ah, I doubt not, such a sight made your
heart ache? God knows your charity was well bestowed! I told you the
other day, when you called to inquire about them, what a state of
starvation and misery they were in. Be assured, kind lady, these poor
things are fit objects of your bounty; you will never have to regret
coming to this out-of-the-way place to examine into their case. They
really are deserving all your kindness,--don't you think so, Alfred?"
Alfred, the strictness of whose ideas touching a due regard for all
conjugal duties made him revolt at the thoughts of helping to deceive a
husband, replied only by a sort of grumbling sound, as vague as
discordant.
"Please to excuse my husband, madame," resumed Madame Pipelet; "he has
got the cramp in his stomach, and cannot speak loud enough to be
understood, or he would tell you as well as myself that the poor people
you have so fortunately relieved will pray of the Almighty, night and
day, to bless and reward you, my worthy lady."
M. d'Harville gazed on his wife with feelings approaching to adoration,
as he exclaimed, "Angel of goodness, how has base slander dared to
disturb your heavenly work!"
"An angel!" repeated Madame Pipelet; "that she is, and one of the very
best heaven could send. There is not a better."
"Let us return home, I entreat!" said Madame d'Harville, who was
suffering acutely under the restraint she had put upon herself since
entering the house, and, now that the necessity for exertion was over,
found her strength rapidly forsaking her.
"Instantly," replied the marquis.
At the instant of their emerging into the open air from the obscurity of
the alley, M. d'Harville, observing the pale looks of his wife, said,
tenderly:
"Ah, Clémence, I have deep cause to solicit your pity and forgiveness."
"Alas! my lord," said the marquise, sighing deeply, "which of us has not
need of pardon?"
Rodolph quitted his hiding-place, deeply ruminating upon so terrible a
scene, thus intermingled with absurdity and coarseness, and pondering
over the curious termination to a drama, the commencement of which had
called forth such different passions.
"Well, now," exclaimed Madame Pipelet, "you must say I played my part
well. Didn't I send that donkey of a husband home with longer ears than
he came out with? Lord bless you! he'll put his wife under a glass case,
and worship her from this day forward. Poor, dear gentleman! I really
could not help feeling sorry for him. Oh! but about your furniture, M.
Rodolph; it has not come yet."
"I am now going to see about it. By the by, you had better go and inform
the commandant that he may venture out."
"True; I'll go and let the caged bird out. But what stuff and nonsense
for him to hire apartments of no more use to him than they are to the
King of Prussia! He is a fine fellow, he is, with his paltry twelve
francs a month. This is the fourth time he has been made a fool of."
Rodolph quitted the house, and Madame Pipelet, turning to her husband,
said, with a chuckling laugh, "Now, Alfred, the commandant's turn has
come; now for it! I mean to have a jolly good laugh at my gentleman,--up
and dressed for nothing."
Arrived at the apartments of M. Charles Robert, the porteress rang the
bell; the door was opened by the commandant himself.
"Commandant," said Anastasie, giving him a military salute, by placing
the back of her little fat hand against the front of her wig, "I have
come to set you free. Your friends have gone away arm in arm, happy as
doves, under your very nose. Well, you are out of a nice mess, thanks to
M. Rodolph. You ought to stand something very handsome to him for all he
has done upon the present occasion."
"Then this slim individual with the moustachios is called M. Rodolph, is
he?"
"Exactly so; neither more nor less."
"And who and what is the fellow?"
"Fellow, indeed!" cried Madame Pipelet, in a wrathful voice; "he is as
good as other men,--better than some I could mention. Why, he is a
travelling clerk, but the very king of lodgers; for, though he has only
one room, he does not haggle and beat folks down,--not he. Why, he gave
me six francs for doing for him,--six francs, mind, I say, without a
word. Think of that!--without ever offering me a sou less. Oh, he is a
lodger! I wish other people were at all like him!"
"There, there, that's enough; take the key."
"Shall I light the fire to-morrow, commandant?"
"No!"
"Next day?"
"No, no! Don't bother me."
"I say, commandant, if you recollect, I warned you that you would have
your trouble for your pains."
M. Charles Robert threw a glance at his grinning tormentor that spoke of
annihilation at least, and, dashing furiously by her, quitted the house,
wondering much how a mere clerk should have become acquainted with his
assignation with the Marquise d'Harville.
As the commandant left the alley, Tortillard came hobbling along.
"Well, what do you want?" said Madame Pipelet.
"Has the Borgnesse been to call upon me?" asked the young scamp, without
attending to the porteress's question.
"The Chouette? No, you ugly monster! What should she come for?"
"Why, to take me with her into the country, to be sure," said
Tortillard, swinging on the lodge gate.
"And what does your master say to it?"
"Oh, father managed all that. He sent this morning to M. Bradamanti, to
ask him to give me leave to go in the country,--the country,--the
country," sang or rather screamed the amiable scion of M. Bras Rouge,
beating time most melodiously on the window-panes.
"Will you leave off, you young rascal, or are you going to break my
window? Oh, here comes a coach!"
"Oh! oh! oh!" shrieked the urchin; "it is my dear Chouette! Oh, how nice
the ride in a coach!"
And, looking through the window, they saw reflected upon the red blind
of the opposite glass the hideous profile of the Borgnesse. She beckoned
to Tortillard, who ran out to her. The coachman descended from his box,
and opened the door; Tortillard sprang into the vehicle, which instantly
drove off.
Another person beside the Chouette was in the carriage. In the farther
corner, and wrapped in an old cloak with a furred collar, his features
shrouded by a black silk cap pulled down over his brows, sat the
Schoolmaster. His inflamed lids formed a horrible contrast with the
white globeless space beneath; and this fearful spectacle was rendered
still more hideous by the action of the severe cold upon his seamed and
frightful countenance.
"Now, small boy, squat yourself down on the pins of my man; you'll serve
to keep him warm," said the Borgnesse to Tortillard, who crouched like a
dog close to the feet of the Schoolmaster and the Chouette.
"Now, then, my coves," said the driver, "on we go to the 'ken' at
Bouqueval, don't we, La Chouette? You shall see whether I can 'tool a
drag' or not."
"And keep your pads on the move, my fine fellow; for we must get hold of
the girl to-night."
"All right, my blind un; we'll go the pace."
"Shall I give you a hint?" said the Schoolmaster.
"What about?"
"Why, cut it fine as you pass by the 'nabs' at the barrier; the meeting
might lead to disagreeable recollections. It is not every old
acquaintance it is worth while to renew our friendship with. You have
been wanted at the barriers for some time."
"I'll keep my weather-eye open," replied the driver, getting on his box.
It needs scarcely be told, after this specimen of slang, that the
coachman was a robber, one of the Schoolmaster's worthy associates. The
vehicle then quitted the Rue du Temple.
Two hours afterwards, towards the closing of a winter's day, the vehicle
containing the Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, stopped
before a wooden cross, marking out the sunken and lonely road which
conducted to the farm at Bouqueval, where the Goualeuse remained under
the kind protection of Madame Georges.