MONSIEUR DROQVILLE
Full of this exciting hope I sauntered out upon the steps of the Belle
Étoile. It was now night, and a pleasant moonlight over everything. I
had entered more into my romance since my arrival, and this poetic light
heightened the sentiment. What a drama if she turned out to be the
Count's daughter, and in love with me! What a delightful--_tragedy_
if she turned out to be the Count's wife! In this luxurious mood I was
accosted by a tall and very elegantly made gentleman, who appeared to be
about fifty. His air was courtly and graceful, and there was in his
whole manner and appearance something so distinguished that it was
impossible not to suspect him of being a person of rank.
He had been standing upon the steps, looking out, like me, upon the
moonlight effects that transformed, as it were, the objects and
buildings in the little street. He accosted me, I say, with the
politeness, at once easy and lofty, of a French nobleman of the old
school. He asked me if I were not Mr. Beckett? I assented; and he
immediately introduced himself as the Marquis d'Harmonville (this
information he gave me in a low tone), and asked leave to present me
with a letter from Lord R----, who knew my father slightly, and had
once done me, also, a trifling kindness.
This English peer, I may mention, stood very high in the political
world, and was named as the most probable successor to the distinguished
post of English Minister at Paris. I received it with a low bow, and
read:
My Dear Beckett,
I beg to introduce my very dear friend, the Marquis d'Harmonville, who
will explain to you the nature of the services it may be in your power
to render him and us.
He went on to speak of the Marquis as a man whose great wealth, whose
intimate relations with the old families, and whose legitimate influence
with the court rendered him the fittest possible person for those
friendly offices which, at the desire of his own sovereign, and of our
government, he has so obligingly undertaken. It added a great deal to my
perplexity, when I read, further:
By-the-bye, Walton was here yesterday, and told me that your seat was
likely to be attacked; something, he says, is unquestionably going on at
Domwell. You know there is an awkwardness in my meddling ever so
cautiously. But I advise, if it is not very officious, your making
Haxton look after it and report immediately. I fear it is serious. I
ought to have mentioned that, for reasons that you will see, when you
have talked with him for five minutes, the Marquis--with the concurrence
of all our friends--drops his title, for a few weeks, and is at present
plain Monsieur Droqville. I am this moment going to town, and can say no
more.
Yours faithfully,
R----
I was utterly puzzled. I could scarcely boast of Lord R----'s I
acquaintance. I knew no one named Haxton, and, except my hatter, no one
called Walton; and this peer wrote as if we were intimate friends! I
looked at the back of the letter, and the mystery was solved. And now,
to my consternation--for I was plain Richard Beckett--I read:
"_To George Stanhope Beckett, Esq., M.P._"
I looked with consternation in the face of the Marquis.
"What apology can I offer to Monsieur the Mar---- to Monsieur Droqville?
It is true my name is Beckett--it is true I am known, though very
slightly, to Lord R----; but the letter was not intended for me. My name
is Richard Beckett--this is to Mr. Stanhope Beckett, the member for
Shillingsworth. What can I say, or do, in this unfortunate situation? I
can only give you my honor as a gentleman, that, for me, the letter,
which I now return, shall remain as unviolated a secret as before I
opened it. I am so shocked and grieved that such a mistake should have
occurred!"
I dare say my honest vexation and good faith were pretty legibly written
in my countenance; for the look of gloomy embarrassment which had for a
moment settled on the face of the Marquis, brightened; he smiled,
kindly, and extended his hand.
"I have not the least doubt that Monsieur Beckett will respect my little
secret. As a mistake was destined to occur, I have reason to thank my
good stars that it should have been with a gentleman of honor. Monsieur
Beckett will permit me, I hope, to place his name among those of my
friends?"
I thanked the Marquis very much for his kind expressions. He went on to
say:
"If, Monsieur, I can persuade you to visit me at Claironville, in
Normandy, where I hope to see, on the 15th of August, a great many
friends, whose acquaintance it might interest you to make, I shall be
too happy."
I thanked him, of course, very gratefully for his hospitality. He
continued: "I cannot, for the present, see my friends, for reasons which
you may surmise, at my house in Paris. But Monsieur will be so good as
to let me know the hotel he means to stay at in Paris; and he will find
that although the Marquis d'Harmonville is not in town, that Monsieur
Droqville will not lose sight of him."
With many acknowledgments I gave him, the information he desired.
"And in the meantime," he continued, "if you think of any way in which
Monsieur Droqville can be of use to you, our communication shall not be
interrupted, and I shall so manage matters that you can easily let me
know."
I was very much flattered. The Marquis had, as we say, taken a fancy to
me. Such likings at first sight often ripen into lasting friendships. To
be sure it was just possible that the Marquis might think it prudent to
keep the involuntary depositary of a political secret, even so vague a
one, in good humor.
Very graciously the Marquis took his leave, going up the stairs of the
Belle Étoile.
I remained upon the steps for a minute, lost in speculation upon this
new theme of interest. But the wonderful eyes, the thrilling voice, the
exquisite figure of the beautiful lady who had taken possession of my
imagination, quickly re-asserted their influence. I was again gazing at
the sympathetic moon, and descending the steps I loitered along the
pavements among strange objects, and houses that were antique and
picturesque, in a dreamy state, thinking.
In a little while I turned into the inn-yard again. There had come a
lull. Instead of the noisy place it was an hour or two before, the yard
was perfectly still and empty, except for the carriages that stood here
and there. Perhaps there was a servants' table-d'hôte just then. I was
rather pleased to find solitude; and undisturbed I found out my
lady-love's carriage, in the moonlight. I mused, I walked round it; I
was as utterly foolish and maudlin as very young men, in my situation,
usually are. The blinds were down, the doors, I suppose, locked. The
brilliant moonlight revealed everything, and cast sharp, black shadows
of wheel, and bar, and spring, on the pavement. I stood before the
escutcheon painted on the door, which I had examined in the daylight. I
wondered how often her eyes had rested on the same object. I pondered in
a charming dream. A harsh, loud voice, over my shoulder, said suddenly:
"A red stork--good! The stork is a bird of prey; it is vigilant, greedy,
and catches gudgeons. Red, too!--blood red! Hal ha! the symbol is
appropriate."
I had turned about, and beheld the palest face I ever saw. It was broad,
ugly, and malignant. The figure was that of a French officer, in
undress, and was six feet high. Across the nose and eyebrow there was a
deep scar, which made the repulsive face grimmer.
The officer elevated his chin and his eyebrows, with a scoffing chuckle,
and said: "I have shot a stork, with a rifle bullet, when he thought
himself safe in the clouds, for mere sport!" (He shrugged, and laughed
malignantly.) "See, Monsieur; when a man like me--a man of energy, you
understand, a man with all his wits about him, a man who has made the
tour of Europe under canvas, and, _parbleu_! often without it--resolves
to discover a secret, expose a crime, catch a thief, spit a
robber on the point of his sword, it is odd if he does not succeed. Ha!
ha! ha! Adieu, Monsieur!"
He turned with an angry whisk on his heel, and swaggered with long
strides out of the gate.