THE RUE DES FOSSES SAINT VICTOR.
Maurice finding himself alone with the young woman felt for the
moment deeply embarrassed. The fear of being duped, attracted by her
marvellous beauty, troubled his conscience as a pure and exalted
Republican, and caused him to hesitate when about to offer her the
support of his arm.
"Where are you going, Citizeness?" said he.
"Alas, sir, a long way from here," replied she.
"But how far?"
"By the side of the Jardin des Plantes."
"It is some distance; let us proceed on our way."
"Ah, sir!" said the unknown; "I plainly perceive I am a burden to you;
but indeed it is no ordinary danger that I incur. Were it not so,
believe me, I should not abuse your generosity."
"But, Madame," said Maurice, who during this _tête-à-tête_ had totally
forgotten the language imposed by the Republican vocabulary, and
returned to the language of a gentleman, "how is it, in all conscience,
that at this hour you are found in the streets of Paris, where, with
the exception of ourselves, you do not see a solitary individual?"
"I have told you, sir; I have been paying a visit to the Faubourg du
Roule. Leaving home at mid-day, and knowing nothing of what had taken
place, I returned in equal ignorance, all my time having been spent in
deep retirement."
"Yes," murmured Maurice, "in some retired house, the resort of the
aristocrats. Confess, Citizeness, that, while outwardly demanding my
protection, you laugh in your sleeve at my egregious folly."
"Why should I act thus?"
"You are aware that a Republican is your guide. Well, this Republican
betrays his cause, that is all."
"But, Citizen," quickly rejoined the unknown, "I, as well as you, love
the Republic; you labor under a mistake concerning me."
"Then, Citizeness, if you are a good patriot, you can have no cause for
concealment. Where do you come from?"
"Monsieur, excuse me."
There was in this "monsieur" so much sweetness and modesty of
expression, that Maurice believed it to be founded on some sentiment
concealed.
"Surely," said he, "this woman is returning from some assignation."
At this moment, without knowing why, he felt deeply oppressed at this
thought, and for a short time he remained silent.
When these two nocturnal promenaders had reached the Rue de la
Verrerie, after having encountered three or four patrols, who, thanks
to the password, allowed them free passage, the last watchman appeared
somewhat suspicious. Maurice found it necessary to give his name and
residence.
"That is all that is required from you," said the officer; "but the
citizeness, who is she?"
"The sister of my wife."
The officer permitted them to pass.
"You are then married, sir?" murmured the unknown.
"No, Madame; why do you think so?"
"Then," said she, laughing, "you had better have said I was your wife."
"Madame," said Maurice, "the name of wife is rather too sacred to be
lightly bestowed. I have not the honor of your acquaintance."
The unknown in her turn felt an oppression of the heart, and remained
silent and confused. At this moment they crossed the Bridge Marie. The
young woman quickened her pace as they approached the end of their
journey. They crossed the Bridge de la Tournelle.
"We are now, I believe, in your quarter," said Maurice, planting his
foot on the Quai Saint Bernard.
"Yes, Citizen," replied the young woman; "but it is precisely here I
most require your kind assistance."
"Really, Madame," said Maurice, "you forbid me to be indiscreet, yet do
all in your power to excite my curiosity. This is not generous. Grant
me your confidence. I have merited it, I think. Will you not do me the
honor to tell me to whom I speak?"
"You speak, sir," said the unknown, smiling, "to a woman whom you have
saved from the greatest danger she has ever encountered; to one who
owes you a debt of everlasting gratitude."
"I do not require so much, Madame; be less grateful, and pending the
second we shall yet be together, tell me your name."
"Impossible!"
"You would have told it nevertheless to the first sectionary, if you
had been taken to the station."
"No, never!" exclaimed the unknown.
"But in that case you would have gone to prison."
"I had considered all that."
"And prison at this moment--"
"Means the scaffold; I know all that."
"And you would have preferred the scaffold?"
"To treason,--to discover my name would be treason."
"I said truly, you compel me to act a singular part for a Republican!"
"You act the part of a truly generous man. You find a poor woman
subjected to insult; you do not contemn her because she might be 'one
of the people,' but that she may be exempted from fresh annoyances, to
save her from shipwreck, you reconduct her to the miserable quarter she
inhabits."
"As far as appearances go, you state the matter correctly, and I might
have credited you, had I never either seen you or heard you speak; but
your beauty and mode of expression stamp you as a woman of distinction,
and it is just this distinction, in opposition to your costume and this
miserable quarter, which proves to me that your absence from home at
this unseasonable hour conceals some mystery. You are silent. We will
speak no more. Are we far from your house, Madame?"
At this moment they entered the Rue des Fossés Saint Victor.
"You see that small dark building," said the unknown to Maurice,
pointing toward a house situated beyond the walls of the Jardin des
Plantes. "When we reach there you must quit me."
"Very well, Madame, issue your orders; I am here only to obey."
"You are angry."
"I angry?--not the least in the world; besides, what does it matter to
you?"
"It matters much, since I have yet a favor to ask of you."
"What is that?"
"A kind and frank adieu,--the farewell of a friend."
"The farewell of a friend! Oh, Madame, you do me too great an honor. A
singular friend, not to know the name of his friend, who even conceals
from him where she resides, no doubt from the fear of being too much
troubled with his company."
The young woman hung down her head, but did not reply to this sarcasm.
"As to the rest, Madame," continued Maurice, "if I have discovered a
secret, I did so involuntarily, and without any effort on my part to do
so."
"I have now reached my destination, sir," said the unknown.
They were opposite the old Rue Saint Jacques, lined with tall
dark-looking houses, intersected by obscure narrow alleys, leading to
streets occupied by manufactories and tanyards, as within two steps ran
the little river De Bièvre.
"Here!" said Maurice, "is it here that you live?"
"Yes."
"Impossible!"
"It is so, nevertheless. And now, adieu! my brave chevalier, my
generous protector, adieu!"
"Adieu! Madame," said Maurice, with slight irony of tone, "but first
again assure me you run no further risk of danger."
"None whatever."
"In that case I will leave you."
Maurice then bowed coldly and retired a few paces. The unknown remained
standing for an instant in the same place.
"I do not like to take my leave of you thus," said she. "Come, Monsieur
Maurice, your hand."
Maurice approached, and held out his hand, and then felt the young
woman slip a ring on his finger.
"Oh, Citizen! what have you done? Do you not perceive that you have
lost one of your rings?"
"Sir, you wrong me much."
"The crime of ingratitude is wanting in me; is it not so, Madame?"
"Come, I beseech you, sir--my friend, do not leave me thus. What do you
wish to know? What do you ask?"
"Payment--is it not so?" said the young man, bitterly.
"No," said the unknown, with a bewitching expression; "but forgive me
the secrecy I am obliged to preserve toward you."
Maurice, seeing in the obscurity those beautiful eyes wet with
tears, feeling the pressure of that soft hand reposing between his
own, hearing the accents of that persuasive voice, which had almost
descended to the depths of prayer, felt his anger all at once yield to
admiration.
"What do I ask?" said he. "To see you again."
"Impossible! utterly impossible."
"If only for once--one hour, a minute, a second."
"I tell you it is impossible."
"Do you tell me seriously," said Maurice, "that I shall never see you
again!"
"Never," said the unknown, in a desponding tone.
"Madame," said Maurice, "you certainly jest with me." Then, raising his
noble head, he shook his hanging curls like a man wishing to escape
from some power which, in spite of himself, still bound him. The
unknown regarded him with an undefinable expression. It was evident she
had not altogether escaped the sentiment she had inspired.
"Listen," said she, after a moment's silence, interrupted only by a
sigh, which Maurice had in vain endeavored to suppress. "Swear to me,
upon your honor, to shut your eyes the moment I desire you to do so,
and to keep them closed while you count sixty. Mind, upon your honor."
"If I swear, what will happen to me?"
"It will happen that I will prove my gratitude to you in a manner that
I faithfully promise you I will never again to any other person, should
he even do more for me than you have done, which would be no easy
matter."
"But, at least, am I not to know--"
"No; trust to me. You will see--"
"In truth, Madame, I know not whether you are angel or demon."
"Will you swear it?"
"Yes; I swear to do as you desire me."
"Whatever occurs, you will not open your eyes--whatever happens. You
understand? even if you should feel yourself struck with a poniard."
"You bewilder me. My word of honor required with so much urgency?"
"Swear, then, Monsieur. It appears to me that you run no great risk in
so doing."
"Well, I swear," said Maurice, "whatever may happen," closing his eyes.
He hesitated.
"Let me see you only once more--only once more," said he. "I entreat
you."
The young woman let fall her hood, with a smile not quite free from
coquetry, when, by the light of the moon, which at this moment shed
its lustre between two clouds, he again beheld, for the second time,
the raven hair hanging in masses of shining curls, the beautifully
arched and pencilled eyebrows overshadowing the almond-shaped eyes, so
soft and languishing, an exquisitely formed nose, and lips fresh and
brilliant as coral.
"Oh, you are beautiful, lovely, divine!" said Maurice.
"Shut your eyes," said the unknown.
Maurice obeyed.
The young woman took both his hands within her own, and placed him in
the desired position.
Suddenly he felt a warm perfume pervade his face, and lips slightly
touch his mouth, leaving between his lips the disputed ring.
All passed rapid as thought. Maurice experienced a sensation almost
amounting to pain, so deep was it and unexpected, penetrating to his
very inmost soul.
He made a brusque movement, and extended his arms before him.
"Your oath!" said a voice, already in the distance.
Maurice clasped his hands over his eyes the more strenuously to resist
the strong inclination he felt to perjure himself. He counted no more;
he thought no more, but remained tottering, his nerves totally unstrung.
In about an instant he heard a noise like that of a door closing a
few paces distant from him; then again everything was silent. Then he
removed his hand, and opened his eyes, looking round about him like a
man just awakened from a deep sleep, and might, perhaps, have fancied
all that had occurred a passing dream, had he not held between his lips
the identical ring, proving that the adventure, however incredible, was
an incontestable reality.