A STAB IN THE DARK.
September had now arrived; and though the weather was very bad, the Duke
de Champdoce, accompanied by his faithful old servant, Jean, left Paris
on a visit to his training stables. Having had a serious difference with
Diana, he had made up his mind to try whether a long absence on his part
would not have the effect of reducing her to submission, and at the
same time remembering the proverb, that “absence makes the heart grow
fonder.”
He had already been away two whole days, and was growing extremely
anxious at not having heard from Madame de Mussidan, when one evening,
as he was returning from a late inspection of his stud, he was informed
that there was a man waiting to see him. The man was a poor old fellow
belonging to the place, who eked out a wretched subsistence by begging,
and executing occasional commissions.
“Do you want me?” asked the Duke.
With a sly look, the man drew from his pocket a letter.
“This is for you,” muttered he.
“All right; give it to me, then.”
“I was told to give it to you only in private.”
“Never mind that; hand it over.”
“Well, if I must, I must.”
Norbert’s sole thought was that this letter must have come from Diana,
and throwing the man a coin, hurried to a spot where it was light enough
to read the missive. He did not, however, recognize Diana’s firm, bold
hand on the envelope.
“Who the devil can this be from?” thought Norbert, as he tore open
the outer covering. The paper within was soiled and greasy, and the
handwriting was of the vilest description, it was full of bad spelling,
and ran thus:--
“Sir,--
“I hardly dare tell you the truth, and yet my conscience will give me
no relief until I do so. I can no longer bear to see a gentleman such as
you are deceived by a woman who has no heart or honorable feeling. Your
wife is unfaithful to you, and will soon make you a laughing stock to
all. You may trust to this being true, for I am a respectable woman,
and you can easily find out if I am lying to you. Hide yourself this
evening, so that you may command a view of the side-door in the wall
of your garden, and between half-past ten and eleven you will see your
wife’s lover enter. It is a long time since he has been furnished with
a key. The hour for the meeting has been judiciously fixed, for all the
servants will be out; but I implore you not to be violent, for I would
not do your wife any harm, but I feel that you ought to be warned.
“From one
“WHO KNOWS.”
Norbert ran through the contents of this infamous anonymous letter in an
instant. The blood surged madly through his brain, and he uttered a howl
of fury. His servants ran in to see what was the matter.
“Where is the fellow who brought this letter?” said he. “Run after him
and bring him back to me.”
In a few minutes the sturdy grooms made their appearance, pushing in the
messenger, who seemed over-powered with tears.
“I am not a thief,” exclaimed he. “It was given to me, but I will give
it back.”
He was alluding to the louis given to him by Norbert, for the largeness
of the sum made him think that the donor had made a mistake.
“Keep the money,” said the Duke; “I meant it for you; but tell me who
gave this letter to you.”
“I can’t tell you,” answered the man. “If I ever saw him before, may my
next glass of wine choke me. He got out of a cab just as I was passing
near the bridge, and calling to me, said, ‘Look at this letter; at
half-past seven take it to the Duke de Champdoce, who lives by his
stables in the road to the Forest. Do you know the place?’ ‘Yes,’ I
says, and then he slips the letter and a five-franc piece into my hand,
got back into the cab, and off he went.”
“What was the man like?” asked he.
“Well, I can hardly say. He wasn’t young or old, or short or tall.
I recollect he had a gold watch-chain on, but that was about all I
noticed.”
“Very well; you can be off.”
At this moment Norbert’s anger was turned against the writer of
the letter only, for he did not place the smallest credence in the
accusations against his wife. If he did not love her, he at any rate
respected her. “My wife,” said he to himself, “is an honorable and
virtuous woman, and it is some discharged menial who has taken this
cowardly mode of revenge.” A closer inspection of the letter seemed to
show him that the faults in caligraphy were intentional. The concluding
portion of the letter excited his attention, and, calling Jean, he asked
him if it was true that all the servants would be absent from the house
to-day.
“There will be none there this evening; not until late at night,”
answered the old man.
“And why, pray?”
“Have you forgotten, your Grace, that the first coachman is going to be
married, and the Duchess was good enough to say that all might go to the
wedding dinner and ball, as long as some one remained at the porter’s
lodge?”
After the first outburst, Norbert affected an air of calmness, and
laughed at the idea of having permitted himself to be disturbed for so
trivial a cause. But this was mere pretence, for doubt and suspicion had
entered his soul, and no power on earth could expel them. “Why should
not my wife be unfaithful to me?” thought Norbert. “I give her credit
for being honorable and right-minded, but then all deceived husbands
have the same idea. Why should I not take advantage of this information,
and judge for myself? But no. I will not stoop to such an act of
baseness. I should be as infamous as the writer of this letter if I
was to play the spy, as she recommends me to do.” He glanced round,
and perceived that his servants were looking at him with undisguised
curiosity.
“Go to your work,” said he. “Extinguish the lights, and see that all the
doors and windows are carefully closed.”
He had made up his mind now, and taking out his watch, saw that it was
just eight o’clock. “I have time to reach Paris,” muttered he, “by the
appointed time.” Then he called Jean to him again. There was no need to
conceal anything from this trusty adherent of the house of Champdoce. “I
must start for Paris,” said the Duke, “without an instant’s delay.”
“On account of that letter?” asked the old man with an expression of the
deepest sorrow upon his features.
“Yes, for that reason only.”
“Some one has been making false charges against the Duchess.”
“How do you know that?”
“It was easy enough to guess.”
“Have the carriage got ready, and tell the coachman to wait for me in
front of the club. I myself will go on foot.”
“You must not do that,” answered Jean gravely. “The servants may have
conceived the same suspicions as I have. You ought to creep away without
any one being a bit the wiser. The other domestics need not even suppose
that you have left the house. I can get you a horse out of the little
stables without any one being the wiser. I will wait for you on the
other side of the bridge.”
“Good; but remember that I have not a moment to lose.”
Jean left the room, and as he reached the passage Norbert heard him say
to one of the servants, “Put some cold supper on the table; the Duke
says that he is starving.”
Norbert went into his bedroom, put on a great coat and a pair of high
boots, and slipped into his pocket a revolver, the charges of which he
had examined with the greatest care. The night was exceedingly dark, a
fine, icy rain was falling, and the roads were very heavy. Norbert found
Jean with the horse at the appointed spot, and as he leaped into the
saddle the Duke exclaimed, “Not a soul saw me leave the house.”
“Nor I either,” returned the attached domestic. “I shall go back and
act as if you were at supper. At three in the morning I will be in the
wine-shop on the left-hand side of the road. When you return, give a
gentle tap on the window-pane with the handle of your whip.” Norbert
sprang into the saddle, and sped away through the darkness like a
phantom of the night. Jean had made an excellent choice in the horse he
had brought for his master’s use, and the animal made its way rapidly
through the mud and rain; but Norbert by this time was half mad with
excitement, and spurred him madly on. As he neared home a new idea
crossed his brain. Suppose it was a practical joke on the part of
some of the members of the club? In that case, they would doubtless
be watching for his arrival, and, after talking to him on indifferent
subjects, would, when he betrayed any symptoms of impatience, overwhelm
him with ridicule. The fear of this made him cautious. What should he do
with the horse he was riding? The wine-shops were open, and perhaps he
might pick up some man there who would take charge of it for him. As he
was debating this point, his eyes fell upon a soldier, probably on his
way to barracks.
“My man,” asked the Duke, “would you like to earn twenty francs?”
“I should think so, if it is nothing contrary to the rules and
regulations of the army.”
“It is only to take my horse and walk him up and down while I pay a
visit close by.”
“I can stay out of the barracks a couple of hours longer, but no more,”
returned the soldier.
Norbert told the soldier where he was to wait for him, and then went on
rapidly to his own house, and reached the side street along which ran
the garden belonging to his magnificent residence. On the opposite side
of the street the houses all had porticoes, and Norbert took up his
position in one of these, and peered out carefully. He had studied the
whole street, which was not a long one, from beginning to end, and was
convinced that he was the only person in it. He made up his mind that he
would wait until midnight; and if by that time no one appeared, he would
feel confident that the Duchess was innocent, and return without any one
but Jean having known of his expedition. From his position he could see
that three windows on the second floor of his house were lighted up, and
those windows were in his wife’s sleeping apartment. “She is the last
woman in the world to permit a lover to visit her,” thought he. “No, no;
the whole thing is a hoax.” He began to think of the way in which he
had treated his wife. Had he nothing to reproach himself with? Ten days
after their marriage he had deserted her entirely; and if during the
last few weeks he had paid her any attention, it was because he was
acting in obedience to the whims of another woman. Suppose a lover was
with her now, what right had he to interfere? The law gave him leave,
but what did his conscience say? He leaned against the chill stone until
he almost became as cold as it was. It seemed to him at that moment that
life and hope were rapidly drifting away from him. He had lost all count
of how long he had been on guard. He pulled out his watch, but it was
too dark to distinguish the hands or the figures on the dial-plate. A
neighboring clock struck the half-hour, but this gave him no clue as
to the time. He had almost made up his mind to leave, when he heard the
sound of a quick step coming down the street. It was the light, quick
step of a sportsman,--of a man more accustomed to the woods and fields
than the pavement and asphalt of Paris. Then a shadow fell upon the
opposite wall, and almost immediately disappeared. Then Norbert knew
that the door had opened and closed, and that the man had entered the
garden. There could be no doubt upon this point, and yet the Duke would
have given worlds to be able to disbelieve the evidence of his senses.
It might be a burglar, but burglars seldom work alone; or it might be
a visitor to one of the servants, but all the servants were absent. He
again raised his eyes to the windows of his wife’s room. All of a sudden
the light grew brighter; either the lamp had been turned up, or fresh
candles lighted. Yes, it was a candle, for he saw it borne across the
room in the direction of the great staircase, and now he saw that the
anonymous letter had spoken the truth, and that he was on the brink of a
discovery. A lover had entered the garden, and the lighted candle was a
signal to him. Norbert shuddered; the blood seemed to course through
his veins like streams of molten fire, and the misty atmosphere that
surrounded him appeared to stifle him. He ran across the street, forced
the lock, and rushed wildly into the garden.