attacked me with violence. While defending myself, I listened to the
other combatants. I fancied that Fouvenard uttered a cry of triumph. My
adversary made the most of my distraction; I received a thrust which
passed through the upper part of my left arm. That wound irritated,
exasperated me; I attacked Saint-Bergame fiercely, and he soon fell at
my feet; my sword had entered his breast.
I turned and looked for Frédérique. She had not been fighting for some
time; in a few seconds, she had knocked Fouvenard's sword from his hand
and wounded him in the side. He fell on the turf, and although his wound
was trifling he had declined to fight any more.
The little man went to call one of the cabs. Balloquet assisted in
placing Saint-Bergame inside, and he was so seriously wounded that the
young doctor thought it best to accompany him and his seconds. I
returned to Paris alone with Frédérique, who twisted a handkerchief
round my arm and begged Balloquet to come to us as soon as possible.
In the cab, she put her arm around my neck, and insisted that I should
rest my head on her shoulder. She gazed at me, gazed at me incessantly.
Dear Frédérique! it seemed to me that we loved each other all the more
dearly from having just escaped a great danger.
When we reached my lodgings, we found no one there but Pomponne, who
wept when he saw that I was wounded. I had much difficulty in making him
understand that it amounted to nothing. I lay on a couch; Frédérique
seated herself beside me and made lint, expressing surprise at
Mignonne's absence; for she relied upon her to nurse me zealously when
she should be obliged to leave me. In about three-quarters of an hour
Balloquet arrived.
"Monsieur Saint-Bergame is in for a long siege," he said, "if he escapes
at all. He has his own surgeon, so I left him. As for Fouvenard, he will
be all right in a fortnight; but what irritates him most is that blow
across the face with the flat of the foil. That was so well laid on,
that it is probable that our seducer will carry the mark of it all his
life. _Fichtre!_ madame, there's some strength in your hand!"
"Now, Monsieur Balloquet, please examine Charles."
Balloquet looked at my wound and dressed it, declared that there was not
the slightest danger to be apprehended, but that it would be as well for
me to keep my bed for a few days. I was about to obey my doctor, albeit
with regret, when the doorbell rang violently. I supposed that it was
Mignonne; but Ballangier appeared, pale as death and so excited that he
could hardly speak.
"In heaven's name, what's the matter?" I asked; "what has happened?"
"Ah! a terrible misfortune, a---- Mon Dieu! are you wounded?"
"It's almost nothing. Pray go on."
"You urged me yesterday to watch over Mignonne. When I left you, as I
was still disturbed by what you had said, I walked in the direction of
her home. When I reached Rue Ménilmontant, although I was persuaded that
Mignonne had not gone out, as she had not been at your rooms at all that
day, something impelled me to go and ask the concierge. 'Madame
Landernoy isn't in,' she said; 'she went out this morning to go and work
at Monsieur Rochebrune's, on Rue Bleue, as usual.'--I knew that she
hadn't been here, so you can imagine my anxiety. I told that to the
concierge. She shared my uneasiness. We waited. The evening passed, and
the night, and Mignonne did not return. This morning I went to
Père-Lachaise, where Mignonne often goes to visit her little girl's
grave. I inquired there. The gate-keeper said that he did see her
yesterday morning; he knows her well, she has such a gentle, courteous
way! After passing half an hour, as usual, at her daughter's grave, she
went away--to come here, no doubt. But since then she hasn't been seen."
"Mon Dieu!" cried Frédérique; "what can have happened to her?"
"What has happened to her!" cried Ballangier, clenching his fists
frantically; "ah! I suspect, and so does Charles! There's a man--a vile
scoundrel--who looks respectable, unfortunately; he's been watching
Mignonne a long while. I thrashed him some time ago, but it seems that
that didn't sicken him. I ought to have killed him then and there! When
you come away from Père-Lachaise toward Paris, there are some deserted
streets, nothing more than alleyways, where you don't meet anyone even
in broad daylight. We don't know which streets Mignonne usually took,
but he knew, no doubt; he must have been on the watch for her and
abducted her, forced her into a cab. Here in Paris, with a little money
one can always find a hundred vagabonds, miserable wretches, who are
ready to do any rascally thing. It must be the man we met last night who
has carried Mignonne off--it can't be anyone else; and you remember,
Charles, when I pointed him out to you, how he was sneaking along,
looking furtively on all sides, as if to see whether anyone was
following him. And when he saw that you were looking at him, he scuttled
away fast Oh! to think that if I had followed him then, I should know
where Mignonne is! For he was going to her, I am sure of it! But you
know the man, Charles; you told me last night that you knew him; you
said: 'The day of reckoning must come some time.'--So tell me who he is,
tell me where I can find him and kill him if he doesn't give Mignonne
back to me!"
Frédérique and Balloquet gazed anxiously at me. Should I name that man?
name him before her? Why should I spare the monster? Why should not his
wife, as well as I, have the right to despise him utterly?
"The man who was watching Mignonne," I said, at last, "was your husband,
Frédérique; it was Monsieur Dauberny."
Ballangier was stupefied. Balloquet was no less surprised. Frédérique,
on the contrary, simply nodded her head, muttering: "I suspected as
much!"--Then she said:
"But it isn't enough to be convinced, to know that it was he? How are we
to prove it? How can we discover in what place, in what out-of-the-way
corner of Paris, he has concealed Mignonne? If you should ask him, he
would deny having had any hand in the young woman's disappearance."
"Just let me find your husband," I said; "tell me where I can see him
and speak to him, and I am sure that he will deny nothing to me."
Frédérique looked at me in surprise; then she rose hurriedly, saying:
"I will go home at once; my presence will not rouse his suspicions. I
will find out what he did yesterday and to-day; I will find out whether
he is at home. If he is, I will send word to you instantly; and to
prevent his going out, I will go to his apartment, I will ask for an
interview on business--in short, I will keep him at home."
She said no more, but left the room at once. Then I said to Balloquet:
"You remember Annette--and that Bouqueton?"
"Yes, yes! Well?"
"Well, that Bouqueton was Monsieur Dauberny."
"What! the villain who----"
I put my finger on my lips and pointed to Ballangier, who was sitting
with his head in his hands; it would have been cruel to add to his
suffering. Balloquet understood me; but he could not sit still; he paced
the floor excitedly, muttering:
"Ah! mon Dieu! but, in that case, we must make haste; we mustn't lose an
instant! Poor young woman! Oh! it is ghastly to know that she is with
him!"
We counted the seconds. Ballangier went again and again to the window.
At last he cried:
"Here she is; she's coming back!"
"What a pity!" said Balloquet; "that means that her husband isn't at
home."
Frédérique entered and dropped into a chair, exhausted and gasping for
breath.
"Monsieur Dauberny isn't at home," she said; "but he passed the night
there."
"He passed the night at home?" cried Ballangier.
"Yes; the concierge is certain of it; he saw him go in last evening,
before dark, quite early in fact, and he is perfectly positive that he
didn't go out again."
"His meeting with us must have made him uneasy," said I; "if he was
going to where he is detaining Mignonne, he was afraid of being watched
and followed; so he probably went home."
"That is probable. But he went out early this morning, saying that he
was going to pass some time in the country, and might be away three
weeks. Where shall we look for him? Where can we hope to find him now?"
We were in despair. Ballangier, who was in a most desperate frame of
mind, was still ignorant of all that Balloquet and I feared for
Mignonne, who, I was sure, would not yield to Monsieur Dauberny's
desires.
For a long while we were silent, each cudgelling his brains to think how
we could find Monsieur Dauberny's trail. Suddenly Frédérique cried:
"Ah! there is one hope!"
We all looked anxiously at her.
"During that trip of Monsieur Dauberny's, some time ago, one of his
intimate friends, Monsieur Faisandé, came often to inquire for him. One
day, he found only Adèle at home, and he said to her: 'If Dauberny
returns soon, tell him to come at once to Monsieur Saint-Germain's, at
Montmartre--a small house, with a green door, on the left-hand side of
the square.'"
"At Montmartre!" cried Ballangier; "he was going in that direction last
night."
I rose and held out my arm to Balloquet, telling him to bind it up with
a handkerchief.
"Come, messieurs, come," I cried; "this is a dispensation of Providence,
let us not lose a minute!--You cannot go with us, Frédérique, but you
will soon see us again, and something tells me that we shall bring
Mignonne back with us."
Ballangier threw his arms about my neck and kissed me. Frédérique bound
up my arm, whispering:
"You are wounded, and you are going out--when you need rest!"
"Oh! if my recovery is a little slower, that makes no difference. I want
all those whom I love to be as happy as I am!"
"You are right, my friend. Go, but remember that I am waiting for you."
I took from my desk the ring that came from poor Annette; on it I rested
all my hopes. I pressed Frédérique's hand, and we started. We took the
first cab we saw, and I said to the driver:
"Montmartre, the public square. Take us there quickly, and you shall
have five francs an hour."
We went like the wind, but the road seemed very long. At last we reached
the square. I told the cabman to stop, and we all three alighted and
turned to the left.
"That must be the place!" cried Ballangier, pointing to a small house of
poor aspect, with a narrow green door.
"Stay in the square," I said to him, "and keep your eye on the house. If
anyone comes out, run after him. You and I, Balloquet, will go in."
I knocked at the little green door; it was opened and we entered a
narrow passageway, at the end of which was a small yard. A
shrewish-looking woman, who was sitting in a dark corner, called out to
us:
"Who do you want?"
"Monsieur Saint-Germain."
"He ain't in; he went away this morning, and won't be back to-day."
"Monsieur Bouqueton must be here, then, and what we have to say to his
friend Saint-Germain, we can say to him just as well."
The woman looked at us distrustfully, then said:
"Yes, Monsieur Bouqueton's here--since this morning. Wait, while I go
and call him. Go into that room; I'll tell him some friends of Monsieur
Saint-Germain want to see him."
We entered a room on the ground floor, taking care not to go near the
window, so that we might not be seen from outside.
After a few minutes, we heard heavy steps coming downstairs; they
stopped at the door of the room in which we were, and Monsieur Dauberny
appeared.
He gazed at us for several seconds in amazement; but, on scrutinizing me
more closely, he seemed disturbed. However, he tried to recover himself,
and said:
"What can I do for you, messieurs?"
"We have come in search of Mignonne Landernoy, a young woman whom you
caused to be kidnapped yesterday morning as she was coming away from
Père-Lachaise."
Dauberny could not control a sudden start; but he affected an air of
tranquillity, and replied:
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, monsieur. I suppose that you
mistake me for somebody else."
"No, I know you quite well. Search your memory. You saw me once at your
house in Paris; you are Monsieur Dauberny; Bouqueton is the name you
assume in your love intrigues! I know you perfectly, monsieur, as you
see!"
Frédérique's husband looked at me for some instants, then assumed a
mocking expression, and rejoined:
"And you are my wife's lover--the man who lives with her at
Fontenay-sous-Bois. You see that I know you too."
"If your wife has a liaison in which her heart is engaged, monsieur,
your abominable conduct makes her only too excusable."
"Monsieur!"
"Let us have done with this! Where is Mignonne? Give that young woman up
to us; we will not leave this house without her."
"I don't know what you mean, and I order you to leave the house."
Instead of complying, Balloquet and I walked up to Monsieur Dauberny,
and I held before his eyes the hand in which was Annette's ring.
"What about this--do you know what this means?" I said.
At sight of the ring, Dauberny turned a greenish white and fell into a
chair. Balloquet seized his arm.
"It was I," he said, "who attended the unhappy Annette, the woman you
murdered! She is dead; but I received her full confidence, and we are
familiar with your crime to its smallest details."
Dauberny could not speak. Great drops of sweat rolled down his forehead;
he took a key from his bosom and held it out to us with a trembling
hand, stammering almost inaudibly:
"On the second floor. Mignonne is on the second floor."
I motioned to Balloquet to stay with Dauberny, while I flew upstairs to
the second floor. I found two doors; the one at the rear was locked. I
opened it and found Mignonne on her knees, praying, in a corner of the
room. When she heard the door open, she gave a shriek and ran toward the
window; but I called her by name; she recognized my voice, and fell
unconscious to the floor. Poor girl! joy sometimes kills. I took her in
my arms and carried her downstairs. The air revived her; when we reached
the yard, she opened her eyes and smiled at me.
"You have saved me again!" she cried.
Balloquet heard our voices and joined us. I told him to take Mignonne to
the cab; then I returned to Dauberny, who was still in the lower room,
pale and trembling, like a criminal awaiting his doom.
"Monsieur," said I, "we will hold our peace concerning your crime; but
you must go away, leave France, and never let your wife see you again."
He motioned that he would obey me, and I made haste to join my friends.
Ballangier was like one mad with joy; he seized Mignonne's hands and
kissed them, and I made haste to tell the young woman that but for
Ballangier we should have known absolutely nothing of her abduction, and
that he was her savior.
Thereupon she gave Ballangier her hand.
"Poor boy!" she said.
She told us that the night before, in a narrow, lonely street, two men,
who doubtless were watching for her, had suddenly seized her and taken
her to a cab which was waiting a few yards away. To prevent her crying
out, one of them held a handkerchief over her mouth; but that precaution
was unnecessary in the carriage, as terror had deprived her of the use
of her senses.
On recovering consciousness, she found herself in the little house at
Montmartre. A man, whom from her description I identified as Faisandé,
was with her, and tried to allay her fears.
"You will see my friend Bouqueton to-night," he said. "You will come to
an understanding with him, for he's a good fellow; he seems to be in
love with you."
Mignonne threw herself at his feet, imploring him to set her free. He
contented himself with locking her in a room, where the shockingly ugly
old hag brought her food. The evening passed, and no one came. Mignonne
did not close her eyes during the night. At last, about eight in the
morning, another man, whom she recognized as the one who had insulted
her on the street, appeared before her and informed her that she must be
his mistress. Mignonne repulsed him with horror, and he left her,
saying:
"Weep, shriek--it will do no good; you will be much wiser to make the
best of it; we will dine together this evening, and I will pass the
night with you."
Mignonne, alone once more, had determined to die rather than yield to
that man; having no weapon, she had resolved to jump out of the window
when he returned to her room. Then she prayed--and it was at that moment
that I arrived. It was time.
* * * * *
At last we were at my rooms once more. Frédérique was awaiting us; she
embraced Mignonne, then insisted that I should tell her all. I had not
the strength to speak. The intensely exciting scenes that I had passed
through had inflamed my wound; I was in terrible pain, and I swooned.
L
A PRESENTATION
It seems that I was ill a week; my wound threw me into a fever; then, I
was delirious, and a scratch that should have amounted to nothing became
a serious matter as a result of the events following my duel.
But I became convalescent at last, I was restored to health and
happiness; for Frédérique was there, beside my bed, watching for my
first glance. Tears fell from her eyes when I held out my hand to her.
"Saved!" she cried; "saved! Ah! Balloquet was right when he said that
you were cured; but I dared not believe him!"
I saw two other persons stealing softly toward the bed; they were
Mignonne and Ballangier. I shook their hands; I tried to thank them; but
Frédérique begged me not to speak yet. I could smile at them, and that
was something.
Madame Dauberny had learned from Balloquet how we had succeeded in
rescuing Mignonne. He had not concealed from her that Monsieur Bouqueton
was poor Annette's murderer. Frédérique had taken an oath never again to
live under the same roof with that man. For my part, I did not believe
that he would ever venture to reappear in society.
Health returns quickly when the heart is at peace. A few days later, I
was walking on the boulevards, leaning on Frédérique's arm.
"My dear," she said, "Balloquet insists that the country air will
complete your cure. To-morrow, if you feel strong enough to endure the
journey, we will go to Fontenay and pass the rest of the season there."
"To Fontenay?" I said, looking her in the face. "Why, aren't you afraid
of meeting people there whose presence annoys you?"
"Oh, no, no!" she said, fixing her lovely eyes on mine; "I am not afraid
of anything now, for I am sure of your love."
The next day, we went to Fontenay, and Frédérique absolutely insisted
upon taking Mignonne with us; she had become very fond of her; to be
sure, Mignonne was much more amiable to Ballangier.
Mignonne lived in the pavilion which I had previously occupied, and I
was under the same roof with Frédérique; a convalescent requires so much
attention!
Armantine came to see us soon after our arrival. Frédérique received her
with vastly more cordiality than before, notwithstanding which, Madame
Sordeville came much less frequently; women have a tact which enables
them to divine instantly when they have lost the game beyond recall.
I went to Paris and made inquiries about Ballangier; all that I learned
was in his favor. I went to see him at his employer's, and invited him
to dine at Fontenay on the next day but one. At first he declined what
he called an honor; but I did not leave him until I had made him promise
to come. The poor fellow asked nothing better, for I told him that he
would see Mignonne.
I invited Balloquet to come into the country on the same day. On my
return to Fontenay, I told Frédérique of the invitations I had ventured
to extend without asking her permission; she closed my mouth by
informing me that I need not ask her permission for anything. Then,
after a moment's reflection, she said:
"I too propose to invite some people for that day. Will it annoy you if
I have other company?"
"On the contrary, on that day it will give me great pleasure."
The next day, I went to Paris again; I had various purchases to make of
gifts which I had in mind. As I passed through Rue du Petit-Carreau, I
noticed a sponge shop. I thought of Rosette and stopped. Someone called
me; it was my pretty brunette, enthroned at the desk.
"Are you afraid to come into my shop, monsieur?" asked Rosette, who was
as lively and alluring as ever. "You were going by without deigning to
say good-day to an old acquaintance."
And she began to sing:
"'Eh quoi! vous ne dites rien!
Mon ami, ce n'est pas bien!
Jadis c'était différent,
Souvenez-vous-en!'"[B]
"Still as merry as ever, Rosette?"
"Faith, yes! sponges ain't such a dismal trade as I thought; and then,
my husband's such a good fellow! He's like putty in my hands!"
"You are happy, are you?"
"Yes, monsieur, very happy. Are you sorry for that?"
"On the contrary, I am very glad."
"And your lovely friend--does she still pretend to be nothing but a
friend?"
"Faith, no! we are on better terms than that now; we were both mistaken
in thinking that our feeling for each other was only friendship."
"Bah! I saw what was coming a long way off! It was a long time coming,
that love!"
"Adieu, Rosette!"
"You will give me your custom, I hope? Send me your doctor _à la rose_
too, with or without his gloves."
"I will send all my acquaintances to you."
"Oh! I haven't told you--on Sundays, I have my seven aunts in the shop,
and people come in just from curiosity; we make a lot of money that
day."
I left Rosette and returned to Fontenay. I showed Frédérique all that I
had bought for Mignonne; I proposed that the young woman should wear a
costume which would enhance the charms of her person, and I suggested
that Frédérique should superintend her toilet. She approved all that I
had done; I fancy that she also divined a great part of what I intended
to do.
The reception day came in due time. The Ramonet brothers and several
other neighbors arrived before dinner. Armantine was among those
invited. I was very glad of it; I should have regretted her not being
there on that day. Balloquet soon appeared, and then our old friend the
Baron von Brunzbrack, who wrung my hand with great force, saying:
"I vould like to pe your frent no more, but I vas, all te same."
"Why should you not be my friend, monsieur le baron?"
"Because, ven she haf sent me a letter of invitation, Montame Dauberny,
she haf told me dat she loafe you, but dat she offer to me her
frentship."
"Well, baron, isn't it something to be her friend?"
"Ja, ja; but I vas right, ven I haf susbect dat you pe in loafe mit
her."
"You had second-sight, baron."
Mignonne appeared at last, in a lovely costume, which became her to
admiration, and which she seemed ashamed to wear. It was Frédérique
herself who led her into the salon; she blushed when she came in,
although Frédérique whispered to her:
"Don't be afraid, Mignonne; the men admire you and the women envy you;
that is the most delightful part that one can play in society."
Madame Sordeville bit her lips when she saw Mignonne; that was a tacit
homage to her charms.
Everybody had arrived, except Ballangier. He came at last, dressed
without pretension, but very suitably for the occasion.
The whole company was assembled in the salon on the ground floor. I took
Ballangier's hand and led him to Madame Dauberny, saying:
"Pray permit me, madame, to present my brother."
Everybody loudly expressed surprise, except Frédérique, who whispered to
me:
"I knew it."
But the one upon whom my words produced the greatest effect was
Ballangier himself. He stood as if rooted to the floor, trembling like a
leaf; tears gathered in his eyes, and he said under his breath:
"O Charles! why tell it? there was no need."
"No need to acknowledge you as my brother?" I said, raising my voice.
"Oh! be sure that this is a very happy moment to me! If I did for a long
time conceal the ties that united us, do you suppose that it was because
our positions were different, because you were only a workman, while I,
more favored by fortune, chose to be an artist, a poet, a financier? No,
my dear fellow; I forbade you to call me your brother, when, led astray
by vicious men, you lived a life of idleness, drunkenness, and
debauchery. Yes, I blushed to be the brother of a lazy vagabond! But now
that you have reformed, now that you possess the esteem of your fellow
workmen and your employers, I am proud to call you my brother; for one
should always be proud to be related to an honest man, whatever rank he
may hold in society."
Balloquet shook hands with me, saying:
"What you said was very fine, Rochebrune!"
The baron complimented me too, but I fancy that he did not understand.
I continued, addressing Frédérique: