It is several weeks after the date of the last chapter; the lime-trees in
the Tuileries are clothed in green.
In a somewhat spacious apartment on the ground-floor in the quiet
locality of the Rue d'Anjou, a man was seated, very still and evidently
absorbed in deep thought, before a writing-table placed close to the
window.
Seen thus, there was an expression of great power both of intellect and
of character in a face which, in ordinary social commune, might rather be
noticeable for an aspect of hardy frankness, suiting well with the clear-
cut, handsome profile, and the rich dark auburn hair, waving carelessly
over one of those broad open foreheads, which, according to an old
writer, seem the "frontispiece of a temple dedicated to Honour."
The forehead, indeed, was the man's most remarkable feature. It could
not but prepossess the beholder. When, in private theatricals, he had
need to alter the character of his countenance, he did it effectually,
merely by forcing down his hair till it reached his eyebrows. He no
longer then looked like the same man.
The person I describe has been already introduced to the reader as Graham
Vane. But perhaps this is the fit occasion to enter into some such
details as to his parentage and position as may make the introduction
more satisfactory and complete.
His father, the representative of a very ancient family, came into
possession, after a long minority, of what may be called a fair squire's
estate, and about half a million in moneyed investments, inherited on the
female side. Both land and money were absolutely at his disposal,
unencumbered by entail or settlement. He was a man of a brilliant,
irregular genius, of princely generosity, of splendid taste, of a
gorgeous kind of pride closely allied to a masculine kind of vanity. As
soon as he was of age he began to build, converting his squire's hall
into a ducal palace. He then stood for the county; and in days before
the first Reform Bill, when a county election was to the estate of a
candidate what a long war is to the debt of a nation. He won the
election; he obtained early successes in Parliament. It was said by good
authorities in political circles that, if he chose, he might aspire to
lead his party, and ultimately to hold the first rank in the government
of his country.
That may or may not be true; but certainly he did not choose to take the
trouble necessary for such an ambition. He was too fond of pleasure, of
luxury, of pomp. He kept a famous stud of racers and hunters. He was a
munificent patron of art. His establishments, his entertainments, were
on a par with those of the great noble who represented the loftiest (Mr.
Vane would not own it to be the eldest) branch of his genealogical tree.
He became indifferent to political contests, indolent in his attendance
at the House, speaking seldom, not at great length nor with much
preparation, but with power and fire, originality and genius; so that
he was not only effective as an orator, but combining with eloquence
advantages of birth, person, station, the reputation of patriotic
independence, and genial attributes of character, he was an authority
of weight in the scales of party.
This gentleman, at the age of forty, married the dowerless daughter of a
poor but distinguished naval officer, of noble family, first cousin to
the Duke of Alton.
He settled on her a suitable jointure, but declined to tie up any portion
of his property for the benefit of children by the marriage. He declared
that so much of his fortune was invested either in mines, the produce of
which was extremely fluctuating, or in various funds, over rapid
transfers in which it was his amusement and his interest to have control,
unchecked by reference to trustees, that entails and settlements on
children were an inconvenience he declined to incur.
Besides, he held notions of his own as to the wisdom of keeping children
dependent on their father. "What numbers of young men," said he, "are
ruined in character and in fortune by knowing that when their father dies
they are certain of the same provision, no matter how they displease him;
and in the meanwhile forestalling that provision by recourse to usurers."
These arguments might not have prevailed over the bride's father a year
or two later, when, by the death of intervening kinsmen, he became Duke
of Alton; but in his then circumstances the marriage itself was so much
beyond the expectations which the portionless daughter of a sea-captain
has the right to form that Mr. Vane had it all his own way, and he
remained absolute master of his whole fortune, save of that part of his
landed estate on which his wife's jointure was settled; and even from
this incumbrance he was very soon freed. His wife died in the second
year of marriage, leaving an only son,--Graham. He grieved for her loss
with all the passion of an impressionable, ardent, and powerful nature.
Then for a while he sought distraction to his sorrow by throwing himself
into public life with a devoted energy lie had not previously displayed.
His speeches served to bring his party into power, and he yielded, though
reluctantly, to the unanimous demand of that party that he should accept
one of the highest offices in the new Cabinet. He acquitted himself well
as an administrator, but declared, no doubt honestly, that he felt like
Sinbad released from the old man on his back, when, a year or two
afterwards, he went out of office with his party. No persuasions could
induce him to come in again; nor did he ever again take a very active
part in debate. "No," said he, "I was born to the freedom of a private
gentleman: intolerable to me is the thraldom of a public servant. But I
will bring up my son so that he may acquit the debt which I decline to
pay to my country." There he kept his word. Graham had been carefully
educated for public life, the ambition for it dinned into his ear from
childhood. In his school vacations his father made him learn and declaim
chosen specimens of masculine oratory; engaged an eminent actor to give
him lessons in elocution; bade him frequent theatres, and study there the
effect which words derive from looks and gesture; encouraged him to take
part himself in private theatricals. To all this the boy lent his mind
with delight. He had the orator's inborn temperament; quick, yet
imaginative, and loving the sport of rivalry and contest. Being also, in
his boyish years, good-humoured and joyous, he was not more a favourite
with the masters in the schoolroom than with the boys in the play-ground.
Leaving Eton at seventeen, he then entered at Cambridge, and became, in
his first term, the most popular speaker at the Union.
But his father cut short his academical career, and decided, for reasons
of his own, to place him at once in diplomacy. He was attached to the
Embassy at Paris, and partook of the pleasures and dissipations of that
metropolis too keenly to retain much of the sterner ambition to which he
had before devoted himself. Becoming one of the spoiled darlings of
fashion, there was great danger that his character would relax into the
easy grace of the Epicurean, when all such loiterings in the Rose Garden
were brought to abrupt close by a rude and terrible change in his
fortunes.
His father was killed by a fall from his horse in hunting; and when his
affairs were investigated, they were found to be hopelessly involved:
apparently the assets would not suffice for the debts. The elder Vane
himself was probably not aware of the extent of his liabilities. He had
never wanted ready money to the last. He could always obtain that from a
money-lender, or from the sale of his funded investments. But it became
obvious, on examining his papers, that he knew at least how impaired
would be the heritage he should bequeath to a son whom he idolized. For
that reason he had given Graham a profession in diplomacy, and for that
reason he had privately applied to the Ministry for the Viceroyalty of
India, in the event of its speedy vacancy. He was eminent enough not to
anticipate refusal, and with economy in that lucrative post much of his
pecuniary difficulties might have been redeemed, and at least an
independent provision secured for his son.
Graham, like Alain de Rochebriant, allowed no reproach on his father's
memory; indeed, with more reason than Alain, for the elder Vane's fortune
had at least gone on no mean and frivolous dissipation.
It had lavished itself on encouragement to art, on great objects of
public beneficence, on public-spirited aid of political objects; and even
in more selfish enjoyments there was a certain grandeur in his princely
hospitalities, in his munificent generosity, in a warm-hearted
carelessness for money. No indulgence in petty follies or degrading
vices aggravated the offence of the magnificent squanderer.
"Let me look on my loss of fortune as a gain to myself," said Graham,
manfully. "Had I been a rich man, my experience of Paris tells me that I
should most likely have been a very idle one. Now that I have no gold, I
must dig in myself for iron."
The man to whom he said this was an uncle-in-law,--if I may use that
phrase,--the Right Hon. Richard King, popularly styled "the blameless
King."
This gentleman had married the sister of Graham's mother, whose loss in
his infancy and boyhood she had tenderly and anxiously sought to supply.
It is impossible to conceive a woman more fitted to invite love and
reverence than was Lady Janet King, her manners were so sweet and gentle,
her whole nature so elevated and pure.
Her father had succeeded to the dukedom when she married Mr. King, and
the alliance was not deemed quite suitable. Still it was not one to
which the Duke would have been fairly justified in refusing his assent.
Mr. King could not indeed boast of noble ancestry, nor was even a landed
proprietor; but he was a not-undistinguished member of Parliament, of
irreproachable character, and ample fortune inherited from a distant
kinsman, who had enriched himself as a merchant. It was on both sides a
marriage of love.
It is popularly said that a man uplifts a wife to his own rank: it as
often happens that a woman uplifts her husband to the dignity of her own
character. Richard King rose greatly in public estimation after his
marriage with Lady Janet.
She united to a sincere piety a very active and a very enlightened
benevolence. She guided his ambition aside from mere party politics into
subjects of social and religious interest, and in devoting himself to
these he achieved a position more popular and more respected than he
could ever have won in the strife of party.
When the Government of which the elder Vane became a leading Minister was
formed, it was considered a great object to secure a name as high in the
religious world, so beloved by the working classes, as that of Richard
King; and he accepted one of those places which, though not in the
cabinet, confers the rank of Privy Councillor.
When that brief-lived Administration ceased, he felt the same sensation
of relief that Vane had felt, and came to the same resolution never again
to accept office, but from different reasons, all of which need not now
be detailed. Amongst them, however, certainly this: he was exceedingly
sensitive to opinion, thin-skinned as to abuse, and very tenacious of the
respect due to his peculiar character of sanctity and philanthropy. He
writhed under every newspaper article that had made "the blameless King"
responsible for the iniquities of the Government to which he belonged.
In the loss of office he seemed to recover his former throne.
Mr. King heard Graham's resolution with a grave approving smile, and his
interest in the young man became greatly increased. He devoted himself
strenuously to the object of saving to Graham some wrecks of his paternal
fortunes, and having a clear head and great experience in the transaction
of business, he succeeded beyond the most sanguine expectations formed by
the family solicitor. A rich manufacturer was found to purchase at a
fancy price the bulk of the estate with the palatial mansion, which the
estate alone could never have sufficed to maintain with suitable
establishments.
So that when all debts were paid, Graham found himself in possession of a
clear income of about L500 a year, invested in a mortgage secured on a
part of the hereditary lands, on which was seated an old hunting-lodge
bought by a brewer.
With this portion of the property Graham parted very reluctantly. It was
situated amid the most picturesque scenery on the estate, and the lodge
itself was a remnant of the original residence of his ancestors before it
had been abandoned for that which, built in the reign of Elizabeth, had
been expanded into a Trenthain-like palace by the last owner.
But Mr. King's argument reconciled him to the sacrifice. "I can manage,"
said the prudent adviser, "if you insist on it, to retain that remnant of
the hereditary estate which you are so loath to part with. But how? by
mortgaging it to an extent that will scarcely leave you L50. a year net
from the rents. This is not all. Your mind will then be distracted from
the large object of a career to the small object of retaining a few
family acres; you will be constantly hampered by private anxieties and
fears; you could do nothing for the benefit of those around you,--could
not repair a farmhouse for a better class of tenant, could not rebuild a
labourer's dilapidated cottage. Give up an idea that might be very well
for a man whose sole ambition was to remain a squire, however beggarly.
Launch yourself into the larger world of metropolitan life with energies
wholly unshackled, a mind wholly undisturbed, and secure of an income
which, however modest, is equal to that of most young men who enter that
world as your equals."
Graham was convinced, and yielded, though with a bitter pang. It is hard
for a man whose fathers have lived on the soil to give up all trace of
their whereabouts. But none saw in him any morbid consciousness of
change of fortune, when, a year after his father's death, he reassumed
his place in society. If before courted for his expectations, he was
still courted for himself; by many of the great who had loved his father,
perhaps even courted more.
He resigned the diplomatic career, not merely because the rise in that
profession is slow, and in the intermediate steps the chances of
distinction are slight and few, but more because he desired to cast his
lot in the home country, and regarded the courts of other lands as exile.
It was not true, however, as Lemercier had stated on report, that he
lived on his pen. Curbing all his old extravagant tastes, L500 a year
amply supplied his wants. But he had by his pen gained distinction, and
created great belief in his abilities for a public career. He had
written critical articles, read with much praise, in periodicals of
authority, and had published one or two essays on political questions
which had created yet more sensation. It was only the graver literature,
connected more or less with his ultimate object of a public career, in
which he had thus evinced his talents of composition. Such writings were
not of a nature to bring him much money, but they gave him a definite and
solid station. In the old time, before the first Reform Bill, his
reputation would have secured him at once a seat in Parliament; but the
ancient nurseries of statesmen are gone, and their place is not supplied.
He had been invited, however, to stand for more than one large and
populous borough, with very fair prospects of success; and, whatever the
expense, Mr. King had offered to defray it. But Graham would not have
incurred the latter obligation; and when he learned the pledges which his
supporters would have exacted, he would not have stood if success had
been certain and the cost nothing. "I cannot," he said to his friends,
"go into the consideration of what is best for the country with my
thoughts manacled; and I cannot be both representative and slave of the
greatest ignorance of the greatest number. I bide my time, and meanwhile
I prefer to write as I please, rather than vote as I don't please."
Three years went by, passed chiefly in England, partly in travel; and at
the age of thirty, Graham Vane was still one of those of whom admirers
say, "He will be a great man some day;" and detractors reply, "Some day
seems a long way off."
The same fastidiousness which had operated against that entrance into
Parliament, to which his ambition not the less steadily adapted itself,
had kept him free from the perils of wedlock. In his heart he yearned
for love and domestic life, but he had hitherto met with no one who
realized the ideal he had formed. With his person, his accomplishments,
his connections, and his repute, he might have made many an advantageous
marriage. But somehow or other the charm vanished from a fair face, if
the shadow of a money-bag fell on it; on the other hand, his ambition
occupied so large a share in his thoughts that he would have fled in time
from the temptation of a marriage that would have overweighted him beyond
the chance of rising. Added to all, he desired in a wife an intellect
that, if not equal to his own, could become so by sympathy,--a union of
high culture and noble aspiration, and yet of loving womanly sweetness
which a man seldom finds out of books; and when he does find it, perhaps
it does not wear the sort of face that he fancies. Be that as it may,
Graham was still unmarried and heart-whole.
And now a new change in his life befell him. Lady Janet died of a fever
contracted in her habitual rounds of charity among the houses of the
poor. She had been to him as the most tender mother, and a lovelier soul
than hers never alighted on the earth. His grief was intense; but what
was her husband's?--one of those griefs that kill.
To the side of Richard King his Janet had been as the guardian angel.
His love for her was almost worship: with her, every object in a life
hitherto so active and useful seemed gone. He evinced no noisy passion
of sorrow. He shut himself up, and refused to see even Graham. But
after some weeks had passed, he admitted the clergyman in whom on
spiritual matters he habitually confided, and seemed consoled by the
visits; then he sent for his lawyer and made his will; after which he
allowed Graham to call on him daily, on the condition that there should
be no reference to his loss. He spoke to the young man on other
subjects, rather drawing him out about himself, sounding his opinion on
various grave matters, watching his face while he questioned, as if
seeking to dive into his heart, and sometimes pathetically sinking into
silence, broken but by sighs. So it went on for a few more weeks; then
he took the advice of his physician to seek change of air and scene.
He went away alone, without even a servant, not leaving word where he had
gone. After a little while he returned, more ailing, more broken than
before. One morning he was found insensible,--stricken by paralysis.
He regained consciousness, and even for some days rallied strength.
He might have recovered, but he seemed as if he tacitly refused to live.
He expired at last, peacefully, in Graham's arms.
At the opening of his will it was found that he had left Graham his sole
heir and executor. Deducting government duties, legacies to servants,
and donations to public charities, the sum thus bequeathed to his lost
wife's nephew was two hundred and twenty thousand pounds.
With such a fortune, opening indeed was made for an ambition so long
obstructed. But Graham affected no change in his mode of life; he still
retained his modest bachelor's apartments, engaged no servants, bought no
horses, in no way exceeded the income he had posesssed before. He
seemed, indeed, depressed rather than elated by the succession to a
wealth which he had never anticipated.
Two children had been born from the marriage of Richard King: they had
died young, it is true, but Lady Janet at the time of her own decease was
not too advanced in years for the reasonable expectation of other
offspring; and even after Richard King became a widower, he had given to
Graham no hint of his testamentary dispositions. The young man was no
blood-relation to him, and naturally supposed that such relations would
become the heirs. But in truth the deceased seemed to have no blood-
relations: none had ever been known to visit him; none raised a voice to
question the justice of his will.
Lady Janet had been buried at Kensal Green; her husband's remains were
placed in the same vault.
For days and days Graham went his way lonelily to the cemetery. He might
be seen standing motionless by that tomb, with tears rolling down his
cheeks; yet his was not a weak nature,--not one of those that love
indulgence of irremediable grief. On the contrary, people who did not
know him well said "that he had more head than heart," and the character
of his pursuits, as of his writings, was certainly not that of a
sentimentalist. He had not thus visited the tomb till Richard King had
been placed within it. Yet his love for his aunt was unspeakably greater
than that which he could have felt for her husband. Was it, then, the
husband that he so much more acutely mourned; or was there something
that, since the husband's death, had deepened his reverence for the
memory of her whom he had not only loved as a mother, but honoured as a
saint?
These visits to the cemetery did not cease till Graham was confined to
his bed by a very grave illness,--the only one he had ever known. His
physician said it was nervous fever, and occasioned by moral shock or
excitement; it was attended with delirium. His recovery was slow, and
when it was sufficiently completed he quitted England; and we find him
now, with his mind composed, his strength restored, and his spirits
braced, in that gay city of Paris; hiding, perhaps, some earnest purpose
amid his participation in its holiday enjoyments. He is now, as I have
said, seated before his writing-table in deep thought. He takes up a
letter which he had already glanced over hastily, and reperuses it with
more care.
The letter is from his cousin, the Duke of Alton, who had succeeded a few
years since to the family honours,--an able man, with no small degree of
information, an ardent politician, but of very rational and temperate
opinions; too much occupied by the cares of a princely estate to covet
office for himself; too sincere a patriot not to desire office for those
to whose hands he thought the country might be most safely entrusted; an
intimate friend of Graham's. The contents of the letter are these:--
MY DEAR GRAHAM,--I trust that you will welcome the brilliant opening
into public life which these lines are intended to announce to you.
Vavasour has just been with me to say that he intends to resign his
seat for the county when Parliament meets, and agreeing with me that
there is no one so fit to succeed him as yourself, he suggests the
keeping his intention secret until you have arranged your committee
and are prepared to take the field. You cannot hope to escape a
contest; but I have examined the Register, and the party has gained
rather than lost since the last election, when Vavasour was so
triumphantly returned. The expenses for this county, where there
are so many outvoters to bring up, and so many agents to retain, are
always large in comparison with some other counties; but that
consideration is all in your favour, for it deters Squire Hunston,
the only man who could beat you, from starting; and to your
resources a thousand pounds more or less are a trifle not worth
discussing. You know how difficult it is nowadays to find a seat
for a man of moderate opinions like yours and mine. Our county
would exactly suit you. The constituency is so evenly divided
between the urban and rural populations, that its representative
must fairly consult the interests of both. He can be neither an
ultra-Tory nor a violent Radical. He is left to the enviable
freedom, to which you say you aspire, of considering what is best
for the country as a whole.
Do not lose so rare an opportunity. There is but one drawback to
your triumphant candidature. It will be said that you have no
longer an acre in the county in which the Vanes have been settled so
long. That drawback can be removed. It is true that you can never
hope to buy back the estates which you were compelled to sell at
your father's death: the old manufacturer gripes them too firmly to
loosen his hold; and after all, even were your income double what it
is, you would be overhoused in the vast pile in which your father
buried so large a share of his fortune. But that beautiful old
hunting-lodge, the Stamm Schloss of your family, with the adjacent
farms, can be now repurchased very reasonably. The brewer who
bought them is afflicted with an extravagant son, whom he placed in
the--Hussars, and will gladly sell the property for L5,000 more than
he gave: well worth the difference, as he has improved the farm-
buildings and raised the rental. I think, in addition to the sum
you have on mortgage, L3,000 will be accepted, and as a mere
investment pay you nearly three per cent. But to you it is worth
more than double the money; it once more identifies your ancient
name with the county. You would be a greater personage with that
moderate holding in the district in which your race took root, and
on which your father's genius threw such a lustre, than you would be
if you invested all your wealth in a county in which every squire
and farmer would call you "the new man." Pray think over this most
seriously, and instruct your solicitor to open negotiations with the
brewer at once. But rather put yourself into the train, and come
back to England straight to me. I will ask Vavasour to meet you.
What news from Paris? Is the Emperor as ill as the papers
insinuate? And is the revolutionary party gaining ground?
Your affectionate cousin,
ALTON.
As he put down this letter, Graham heaved a short impatient sigh.
"The old Stamm Schloss," he muttered,--"a foot on the old soil once more!
and an entrance into the great arena with hands unfettered. Is it
possible!--is it?--is it?"
At this moment the door-bell of the apartment rang, and a servant whom
Graham had hired at Paris as a _laquais de place_ announced "Ce
Monsieur."
Graham hurried the letter into his portfolio, and said, "You mean the
person to whom I am always at home?"
"The same, Monsieur."
"Admit him, of course."
There entered a wonderfully thin man, middle-aged, clothed in black, his
face cleanly shaven, his hair cut very short, with one of those faces
which, to use a French expression, say "nothing." It was absolutely
without expression: it had not even, despite its thinness, one salient
feature. If you had found yourself anywhere seated next to that man,
your eye would have passed him over as too insignificant to notice; if at
a cafe, you would have gone on talking to your friend without lowering
your voice. What mattered it whether a _bete_ like that overheard or
not? Had you been asked to guess his calling and station, you might have
said, minutely observing the freshness of his clothes and the undeniable
respectability of his _tout ensemble_, "He must be well off, and with no
care for customers on his mind,--a ci-devant chandler who has retired on
a legacy."
Graham rose at the entrance of his visitor, motioned him courteously to a
seat beside him, and waiting till the _laquais_ had vanished, then asked,
"What news?"
"None, I fear, that will satisfy Monsieur. I have certainly hunted out,
since I had last the honour to see you, no less than four ladies of the
name of Duval, but only one of them took that name from her parents, and
was also christened Louise."
"Ah--Louise!"
"Yes, the daughter of a perfumer, aged twenty-eight. She, therefore, is
not the Louise you seek. Permit me to refer to your instructions." Here
M. Renard took out a note-book, turned over the leaves, and resumed,
"Wanted, Louise Duval, daughter of Auguste Duval, a French drawing-
master, who lived for many years at Tours, removed to Paris in 1845,
lived at No. 12, Rue de S---- at Paris for some years, but afterwards
moved to a different guartier of the town, and died 1848, in Rue I----,
No. 39. Shortly after his death, his daughter Louise left that lodging,
and could not be traced. In 1849 official documents reporting her death
were forwarded from Munich to a person (a friend of yours, Monsieur).
Death, of course, taken for granted; but nearly five years afterwards,
this very person encountered the said Louise Duval at Aix-la-Chapelle,
and never heard nor saw more of her. Demande submitted, to find out said
Louise Duval or any children of hers born in 1848-9; supposed in 1852-3
to have one child, a girl, between four and five years old. Is that
right, Monsieur?"
"Quite right."
"And this is the whole information given to me. Monsieur on giving it
asked me if I thought it desirable that he should commence inquiries at
Aix-la-Chapelle, where Louise Duval was last seen by the person
interested to discover her. I reply, No; pains thrown away. Aix-la-
Chapelle is not a place where any Frenchwoman not settled there by
marriage would remain. Nor does it seem probable that the said Duval
would venture to select for her residence Munich, a city in which she had
contrived to obtain certificates of her death. A Frenchwoman who has
once known Paris always wants to get back to it; especially, Monsieur, if
she has the beauty which you assign to this lady. I therefore suggested
that our inquiries should commence in this capital. Monsieur agreed with
me, and I did not grudge the time necessary for investigation."
"You were most obliging. Still I am beginning to be impatient if time is
to be thrown away."
"Naturally. Permit me to return to my notes. Monsieur informs me that
twenty-one years ago, in 1848, the Parisian police were instructed to
find out this lady and failed, but gave hopes of discovering her through
her relations. He asks me to refer to our archives; I tell him that is
no use. However, in order to oblige him, I do so. No trace of such
inquiry: it must have been, as Monsieur led me to suppose, a strictly
private one, unconnected with crime or with politics; and as I have the
honour to tell Monsieur, no record of such investigations is preserved in
our office. Great scandal would there be, and injury to the peace of
families, if we preserved the results of private inquiries intrusted to
us--by absurdly jealous husbands, for instance. Honour,--Monsieur,
honour forbids it. Next I suggest to Monsieur that his simplest plan
would be an advertisement in the French journals, stating, if I
understand him right, that it is for the pecuniary interest of Madame or
Mademoiselle Duval, daughter of Auguste Duval, _artiste en dessin_, to
come forward. Monsieur objects to that."
"I object to it extremely; as I have told you, this is a strictly
confidential inquiry; and an advertisement which in all likelihood would
be practically useless (it proved to be so in a former inquiry) would not
be resorted to unless all else failed, and even then with reluctance."
"Quite so. Accordingly, Monsieur delegates to me, who have been
recommended to him as the best person he can employ in that department
of our police which is not connected with crime or political
surveillance, a task the most difficult. I have, through strictly
private investigations, to discover the address and prove the identity
of a lady bearing a name among the most common in France, and of whom
nothing has been heard for fifteen years, and then at so migratory an
_endroit_ as Aix-la-Chapelle. You will not or cannot inform me if since
that time the lady has changed her name by marriage."
"I have no reason to think that she has; and there are reasons against
the supposition that she married after 1849."
"Permit me to observe that the more details of information Monsieur can
give me, the easier my task of research will be."
"I have given you all the details I can, and, aware of the difficulty of
tracing a person with a name so much the reverse of singular, I adopted
your advice in our first interview, of asking some Parisian friend of
mine, with a large acquaintance in the miscellaneous societies of your
capital, to inform me of any ladies of that name whom he might chance to
encounter; and he, like you, has lighted upon one or two, who alas!
resemble the right one in name and nothing more."
"You will do wisely to keep him on the watch as well as myself. If it
were but a murderess or a political incendiary, then you might trust
exclusively to the enlightenment of our corps, but this seems an affair
of sentiment, Monsieur. Sentiment is not in our way. Seek the trace of
that in the haunts of pleasure."
M. Renard, having thus poetically delivered himself of that philosophical
dogma, rose to depart.
Graham slipped into his hand a bank-note of sufficient value to justify
the profound bow he received in return.
When M. Renard had gone, Graham heaved another impatient sigh, and said
to himself, "No, it is not possible,--at least not yet."
Then, compressing his lips as a man who forces himself to something he
dislikes, he dipped his pen into the inkstand, and wrote rapidly thus to
his kinsman:
MY DEAR COUSIN,--I lose not a post in replying to your kind and
considerate letter. It is not in my power at present to return to
England. I need not say how fondly I cherish the hope of
representing the dear old county some day. If Vavasour could be
induced to defer his resignation of the seat for another session, or
at least for six or seven months, why then I might be free to avail
myself of the opening; at present I am not. Meanwhile I am sorely
tempted to buy back the old Lodge; probably the brewer would allow
me to leave on mortgage the sum I myself have on the property, and a
few additional thousands. I have reasons for not wishing to
transfer at present much of the money now invested in the Funds. I
will consider this point, which probably does not press.
I reserve all Paris news till my next; and begging you to forgive so
curt and unsatisfactory a reply to a letter so important that it
excites me more than I like to own, believe me your affectionate
friend and cousin,
GRAHAM.