A VAIN INTERVIEW.
Several days after Madame de Beaumesnil's funeral, M. de Maillefort,
arousing himself from the gloomy lethargy into which the death of the
countess had plunged him, resolved to carry out that unfortunate lady's
last wishes in regard to the unknown orphan, though he fully realised
all the difficulties of the mission intrusted to him.
How should he go to work to find the young girl whom Madame de
Beaumesnil had so urgently commended to his care?
To whom could he apply for information that would give him the necessary
clue to her identity?
Above all, how could he secure this information without compromising
Madame de Beaumesnil's good name and the secrecy with which she had
wished him to carry out her intentions with regard to this mysterious
daughter,--her illegitimate child, as M. de Maillefort could no longer
doubt.
The hunchback recollected that on the evening of her death the countess
had sent a confidential servant to beg him to come to the Hotel de
Beaumesnil without delay.
"This woman has been in Madame de Beaumesnil's service a long time,"
thought the marquis. "She may be able to give me some information."
So M. de Maillefort's valet, a trustworthy and devoted man, was sent to
bring Madame Dupont to the house of the marquis.
"I know how devotedly you were attached to your mistress, my dear Madame
Dupont," the marquis began.
"Ah, monsieur, madame la comtesse was so good and kind!" exclaimed
Madame Dupont, bursting into tears. "How could one help being devoted to
her in life and in death?"
"It is because I am so sure of this devotion, as well as of your respect
for the memory of your deceased mistress, that I requested you to come
to my house, my dear Madame Dupont. I wish to speak to you on a very
delicate subject."
"I am listening, M. le marquis."
"The proof of confidence which Madame de Beaumesnil gave by sending for
me just before her death must convince you that any questions I may put
to you are of an almost sacred nature, so I can safely count upon your
frankness and discretion."
"You can, indeed, M. le marquis."
"I am sure of it. Now the state of affairs is just this: Madame de
Beaumesnil has for a long time, as nearly as I can learn,--at the
request of a friend,--taken charge of a young orphan girl who, by the
death of her protectress, is now deprived of the means of support. I am
ignorant of this young girl's name, as well as of her place of
residence, and I am anxious to ascertain both as soon as possible. Can
you give me any information on the subject?"
"A young orphan girl?" repeated Madame Dupont, thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"During the ten years I have been in the service of madame la comtesse,
I have never known any young girl who came regularly to the house or who
seemed to be a protegee of hers."
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly sure, M. le marquis."
"And Madame de Beaumesnil never entrusted you with any commission in
connection with the young girl of whom I speak?"
"Never, M. le marquis. Many persons applied to madame for aid, for she
was very liberal, but I never noticed that she gave any particular
person the preference or interested herself any more in one person than
in another, and I feel sure that if madame had wished any confidential
mission performed, she would certainly have entrusted it to me."
"That is exactly what I thought, and it was for that very reason I felt
confident of securing some information from you. Come now, try and think
if you can not remember some young girl in whom Madame de Beaumesnil has
seemed to take a special interest for some time past."
"I can remember no one, absolutely no one," answered Madame Dupont after
several minutes of profound reflection.
The thought of Herminie did occur to her, but was instantly dismissed,
for there had been nothing in Madame de Beaumesnil's manner towards the
young musician that indicated any special interest; besides, she and the
countess had met for the first time less than a fortnight before the
latter's death, while the marquis declared that the young girl of whom
he was in search had been under Madame de Beaumesnil's protection for a
long time.
"Then I must endeavour to secure my information elsewhere," said the
marquis, with a sigh.
"Wait a moment, M. le marquis," exclaimed Madame Dupont. "What I am
going to tell you may have no connection with the young girl of whom you
speak, but it will do no harm to mention it."
"Let me hear what it is."
"The day before her death, madame la comtesse sent for me, and said:
'Take a cab and carry this letter to a woman who lives in the
Batignolles. Do not tell her who sent you, but bring her back with you,
and show her up to my room immediately upon her arrival.'"
"And this woman's name?"
"Was a very peculiar one, M. le marquis, and I have not forgotten it.
She is called Madame Barbancon."
"Was she a frequent visitor at Madame de Beaumesnil's house?"
"She was never there except that once."
"And did you bring this woman to Madame de Beaumesnil's?"
"I did not."
"How was that?"
"After giving me the order I just spoke of, madame seemed to change her
mind, for she said to me: 'All things considered, Madame Dupont, you had
better not take a cab. It would give the affair an air of mystery. Order
out the carriage, give this letter to the footman, and tell him to
deliver it to the person to whom it is addressed.'"
"And he found the woman?"
"Yes, M. le marquis."
"And did Madame de Beaumesnil have a conversation with her?"
"The interview lasted at least two hours, M. le marquis."
"How old was this woman?"
"Fifty years of age at the very least, and a very ordinary person."
"And after her interview with the countess?"
"She was taken back to her home in madame's carriage."
"And you say she has never been at the Hotel de Beaumesnil since?"
"No, M. le marquis."
After remaining silent for some time, the hunchback turned to Madame
Dupont, and asked:
"What did you say this woman's name was?"
"Madame Barbancon."
The hunchback wrote down the name in his note-book, then asked:
"And she lives where?"
"In the Batignolles."
"The street and number, if you please."
"I do not know, M. le marquis. I only remember that the footman told us
that the house where she lived was in a very quiet street, and that
there was a garden, into which one could look through a small latticed
gate."
The hunchback, after jotting down these items in his note-book, said:
"I thank you very much for this information, though it may be of little
or no assistance to me in my search. If you should at any time recall
other facts which you think may be of service, I hope you will notify me
at once."
"I will not fail to do so, M. le marquis."
M. de Maillefort, having rewarded Madame Dupont handsomely, called a cab
and ordered the coachman to drive him to the Batignolles.
After two hours of persistent inquiry and assiduous search the marquis
at last discovered Commander Bernard's house, where he found only Madame
Barbancon at home.
Olivier had left Paris several days before in company with his master
mason, and the veteran had just gone out for his daily walk.
The housekeeper on opening the door was so unpleasantly impressed by the
visitor's deformity, that, instead of inviting him in, she remained
standing upon the threshold, thus barring M. de Maillefort's passage.
That gentleman, noting the unfavourable impression he was making upon
the housekeeper, bowed very politely, and said:
"Have I the honour of speaking to Madame Barbancon?"
"Yes, monsieur; and what do you want of Madame Barbancon?"
"I am desirous that you should grant me the honour of a few minutes'
conversation."
"And why, monsieur?" demanded the housekeeper, eyeing the stranger
distrustfully.
"I wish to confer with you, madame, on a very important matter."
"But I do not even know you."
"I have the advantage of knowing you, though only by name, it is true."
"A fine story that! I, too, know the Grand Turk by name."
"My dear Madame Barbancon, will you permit me to say that we could talk
very much more at our ease inside, than out here on the doorstep."
"I only care to be at ease with persons I like, monsieur," retorted the
housekeeper, tartly.
"I can understand your distrust, my dear madame," replied the marquis,
concealing his impatience, "so I will vouch for myself by a name that is
not entirely unknown to you."
"What name is that?"
"That of Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil."
"Do you come at her request, monsieur?" asked the housekeeper, quickly.
"At her request? No, madame," sadly replied the hunchback, shaking his
head, "Madame de Beaumesnil is dead."
"Dead! And when did the poor, dear lady die?"
"Let us step inside and I will then answer your question," said the
marquis, in an authoritative manner that rather awed Madame Barbancon;
besides, she was very anxious to hear the particulars of Madame de
Beaumesnil's death.
"And you say that Madame de Beaumesnil is dead?" exclaimed the
housekeeper, as soon as they had entered the house.
"She died several days ago--the very next day after her interview with
you."
"What, monsieur, you know?"
"I know that Madame de Beaumesnil had a long conversation with you, and
I am fulfilling her last wishes in asking you to accept these
twenty-five napoleons from her."
And the hunchback showed Madame Barbancon a small silk purse filled with
shining gold.
The words "twenty-five napoleons" grievously offended the housekeeper's
ears. Had the marquis said twenty-five louis the effect would probably
have been entirely different.
So instead of taking the proffered gold, Madame Barbancon, feeling all
her former doubts revive, answered majestically, as she waved aside the
purse with an expression of superb disdain:
"I do not accept napoleons," accenting the detested name strongly; "no,
I do not accept napoleons from the first person that happens to come
along--without knowing--do you understand, monsieur?"
"Without knowing what, my dear madame?"
"Without knowing who these people are who say napoleons as if it would
scorch their mouths if they should utter the word louis. But it is all
plain enough now," she added, sardonically. "Tell me who you go with and
I will tell you who you are. Now what do you want with me? I have my
soup pot to watch."
"As I told you before, madame, I came to bring you a slight token of
Madame de Beaumesnil's gratitude for the discretion and reserve you
displayed in a certain affair."
"What affair?"
"You know very well."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."
"Come, come, my dear Madame Barbancon, why will you not be perfectly
frank with me? I was one of Madame de Beaumesnil's most intimate
friends, and I know all about that orphan--you know--that orphan."
"That orphan?"
"Yes, that young girl, I need say no more. You see I know all about it."
"Then if you know all about it, why do you come here to question me?"
"I come in the interest of the young girl--you know who I mean--to ask
you to give me her address, as I have a very important communication to
make to her."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well, well, did anybody ever hear the equal of that?" snorted the
housekeeper, indignantly.
"But my dear Madame Barbancon, what is there so very extraordinary in
what I am saying to you?"
"This," yelled the housekeeper, "this--that you are nothing more or less
than a miserable old roue!"
"I?"
"Yes, a miserable scoundrel who is trying to bribe me, and make me blab
all I know by promises of gold."
"But, my dear madame, I assure you--"
"But understand me once for all: if that hump of yours was stuffed with
napoleons, and you authorised me to help myself to all I wanted, I
wouldn't tell you a word more than I chose to. That is the kind of a
woman I am!"
"But, Madame Barbancon, do pray listen to me. You are a worthy and
honest woman."
"Yes, I flatter myself that I am."
"And very justly, I am sure. That being the case, if you would only
hear me to the end you would answer very differently, I am sure, for--"
"I should do nothing of the kind. Oh, I understand, you came here
intending to pump me and get all you could out of me, but, thank Heaven,
I was smart enough to see through you from the very first, and now I
tell you once for all you had better let me alone."
"But one word, I beg, my dear friend," pleaded the marquis, trying to
take his irascible companion's hand.
"Don't touch me, you vile libertine," shrieked the housekeeper,
springing back in prudish terror. "I know you now for the serpent that
you are! First it was 'madame,' and then 'my dear madame,' and now 'my
dear friend,' and you'll wind up with 'my treasure,' I suppose!"
"But Madame Barbancon, I do assure you--"
"I have always heard it said that humpbacked people were worse than
monkeys," exclaimed the housekeeper, recoiling still further. "If you
don't take yourself off, sir, and at once, I'll call the neighbours;
I'll yell for the police; I'll cry fire!"
"You must be crazy, woman," exclaimed the marquis, exasperated by the
complete failure of his efforts so far as Madame Barbancon was
concerned. "What the devil do you mean by all this pretended indignation
and prudery? You are very nearly as ugly as I am, and we are not
calculated to tempt each other. I say once more, and for the last time,
and you had better weigh my words well, I came here in the hope of being
of assistance to a poor and worthy young girl whom you must know. And if
you do know her, you are doing her an irreparable wrong--do you
understand me?--by refusing to tell me where she is and to assist me in
finding her. Consider well--the future of this young girl is in your
hands, and I am sure you are really too kind-hearted to wish to injure a
worthy girl who has never harmed you."
M. de Maillefort spoke with so much feeling, his tone was so earnest and
sincere, that Madame Barbancon began to feel that there was really no
just cause for her distrust, after all.
"Well, monsieur, I may have been mistaken in thinking that you were
trying to make love to me," she began.
"You certainly were."
"But as for telling you anything I oughtn't to tell you, you won't make
me do that, however hard you may try. It is quite possible that you're a
respectable man, and that your intentions are good, but I'm an honest
woman, too, and I know what I ought and what I ought not to tell; so,
though you might cut me in pieces, you wouldn't get a treacherous word
out of me. That is the kind of a woman I am!"
"Where the devil can one hope to find a woman of sense?" M. de
Maillefort said to himself as he left Madame Barbancon, quite despairing
of getting any information out of the worthy housekeeper, and realising
only too well the futility of his first efforts to discover Madame de
Beaumesnil's illegitimate child.