"And now, my lady," I said, "whither would you have me escort you? I am at
your disposal."
"Why, to Mme. Ledieu," she said with a laugh. "I told you she was my
mother."
"And where does Mme. Ledieu reside?"
"Rue Ferou, 24."
"Then, let us proceed to Rue Ferou, 24."
On the way neither of us spoke a word. But by the light of the moon,
enthroned in serene glory in the sky, I was able to observe her at my
leisure. She was a charming girl of twenty or twenty-two--brunette, with
large blue eyes, more expressive of intelligence than melancholy--a finely
chiseled nose, mocking lips, teeth of pearl, hands like a queen's, and
feet like a child's; and all these, in spite of her costume of a
laundress, betokened an aristocratic air that had aroused the sergeant's
suspicions not without justice.
Arrived at the door of the house, we looked at each other a moment in
silence.
"Well, my dear M. Albert, what do you wish?" my fair unknown asked with a
smile.
"I was about to say, my dear Mlle. Solange, that it was hardly worth while
to meet if we are to part so soon."
"Oh, I beg ten thousand pardons! I find it was well worth the while; for
if I had not met you, I should have been dragged to the guard-house, and
there it would have been discovered that I am not the daughter of Mme.
Ledieu--in fact, it would have developed that I am an aristocrat, and in
all likelihood they would have cut off my head."
"You admit, then, that you are an aristocrat?"
"I admit nothing."
"At least you might tell me your name."
"Solange."
"I know very well that this name, which I gave you on the inspiration of
the moment, is not your right name."
"No matter; I like it, and I am going to keep it--at least for you."
"Why should you keep it for me? if we are not to meet again?"
"I did not say that. I only said that if we should meet again it will not
be necessary for you to know my name any more than that I should know
yours. To me you will be known as Albert, and to you I shall always be
Solange."
"So be it, then; but I say, Solange," I began.
"I am listening, Albert," she replied.
"You are an aristocrat--that you admit."
"If I did not admit it, you would surmise it, and so my admission would be
divested of half its merit."
"And you were pursued because you were suspected of being an aristocrat?"
"I fear so."
"And you are hiding to escape persecution?"
"In the Rue Ferou, No. 24, with Mme. Ledieu, whose husband was my father's
coachman. You see, I have no secret from you."
"And your father?"
"I shall make no concealment, my dear Albert, of anything that relates to
me. But my fathers secrets are not my own. My father is in hiding, hoping
to make his escape. That is all I can tell you."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Go with my father, if that be possible. If not, allow him to depart
without me until the opportunity offers itself to me to join him."
"Were you coming from your father when the guard arrested you to-night?"
"Yes."
"Listen, dearest Solange."
"I am all attention."
"You observed all that took place to-night?"
"Yes. I saw that you had powerful influence."
"I regret my power is not very great. However, I have friends."
"I made the acquaintance of one of them."
"And you know he is not one of the least powerful men of the times."
"Do you intend to enlist his influence to enable my father to escape?"
"No, I reserve him for you."
"But my father?"
"I have other ways of helping your father."
"Other ways?" exclaimed Solange, seizing my hands and studying me with an
anxious expression.
"If I serve your father, will you then sometimes think kindly of me?"
"Oh, I shall all my life hold you in grateful remembrance!"
She uttered these words with an enchanting expression of devotion. Then
she looked at me beseechingly and said:
"But will that satisfy you?"
"Yes," I said.
"Ah, I was not mistaken. You are kind, generous. I thank you for my father
and myself. Even if you should fail, I shall be grateful for what you have
already done!"
"When shall we meet again, Solange?"
"When do you think it necessary to see me again?"
"To-morrow, when I hope to have good news for you."
"Well, then, to-morrow."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Here in the street?"
"Well, mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "You see, it is the safest place. For
thirty minutes, while we have been talking here, not a soul has passed."
"Why may I not go to you, or you come to me?"
"Because it would compromise the good people if you should come to me, and
you would incur serious risk if I should go to you."
"Oh, I would give you the pass of one of my relatives."
"And send your relative to the guillotine if I should be accidentally
arrested!"
"True. I will bring you a pass made out in the name of Solange."
"Charming! You observe Solange is my real name."
"And the hour?"
"The same at which we met to-night--ten o'clock, if you please."
"All right; ten o'clock. And how shall we meet?"
"That is very simple. Be at the door at five minutes of ten, and at ten I
will come down."
"Then, at ten to-morrow, dear Solange."
"To-morrow at ten, dear Albert."