"I have told you, my good woman, I am waiting for Touquet. I must speak

to him this evening; that is very important."

"And just now you said that it was he who had sent you; you were

deceiving us, then?"

"Perhaps," said the marquis, laughing.

"Very well, monsieur, if you are really waiting for my master, come into

the lower room. I will give you a light, and you will find a fire

there."

"No, indeed, my good woman, I like this much better than your lower

room; the society of this charming child will make the time seem very

short, and surely, adorable Blanche, you will not be cruel enough to

refuse to keep me company."

"No, monsieur, if you desire it, if it will amuse you, I must wish it

also."

"Yes," said Marguerite, "it seems that it is necessary that we should do

monsieur's will, but patience--soon I hope--"

At this moment somebody violently shut the street door. Blanche started

joyfully, and Marguerite cried, with a triumphant air,--

"Ah! here is my master! We shall now see whether anyone can establish

himself here in spite of us."

The marquis rose without answering, took his mantle, put his hat on his

head, kissed Blanche's hand, saying to her,--

"Au revoir, charming girl," then left the room saying to Marguerite,--

"Light me!"

All this had happened so quickly that Blanche, who was greatly

astonished, had not time to oppose the action of the marquis, and the

old servant followed the great nobleman, saying,--

"O mon Dieu, what a man!"

The barber had entered and was taking off his mantle, when the marquis,

followed by Marguerite, appeared in the lower room. At the sight of

Villebelle, Touquet started with surprise, saying,--

"What, you here, monseigneur!"

He paused and Marguerite cried,--

"Yes, my dear master, monseigneur has been here for three-quarters of an

hour. He presented himself as coming from you, and he installed himself

in Mademoiselle Blanche's room."

"In Blanche's room," said the barber, appearing violently agitated.

"Yes, monsieur, in mademoiselle's room--"

"That's enough, my good woman, leave us," said the marquis, in an

imperious tone.

"Leave you," answered Marguerite, "oh, it is necessary before all--"

"It is necessary to obey," said the barber, in a gloomy voice. "Go!"

Marguerite was dumbfounded, but she dared not reply and left them,

saying,--

"Well, I don't understand all this, this man does as he pleases here, it

troubles me."

"Well, dear nurse," said Blanche to the old woman, "and what about the

stranger?"

"Oh, I don't know who that man can be, but M. Touquet is as submissive

as a child before him. I left them together. This fine gentleman said to

me, 'Go!' and it was necessary to obey him."

"That's very surprising, dear nurse."

"How did you like that man?"

"Oh, he is not so bad, dear nurse, and if I had not been a little afraid

of him, I believe I should have thought him very agreeable."

"Ah, mon Dieu, I was very much frightened; he has something satanic in

his looks."

"Oh, dear nurse, you're mistaken, he has a very fine face, features

which inspire respect, and which are bland at the same time."

"Fie! for shame! my child, to admire such an impertinent man. Oh, if

your Urbain could hear you."

"But, dear nurse, I should say the same thing before Urbain. Is it not

necessary to tell him all that I think? That could not displease him,

for he knows how much I love him."

"Come, my child, it's late, go to bed. I am going, too, good-night."

Marguerite went up to her room, saying to herself,--

"Young girls will always be young girls. The most virtuous of them will

allow themselves to be favorably impressed by fine compliments, a

handsome face, and rich clothing. These are terrible talismans with the

women."

When Marguerite had left the lower room, the barber shut the door. His

manner disclosed a violent agitation; however, he awaited the marquis'

explanation, and the latter narrowly watched and appeared to enjoy his

uneasiness.

"May I know, monseigneur," said Touquet at last, "how it is that you are

at my house when you appointed another meeting place?"

"What, Touquet, don't you understand it? I made a distant appointment

with you in order that I might represent myself as sent by you to this

young girl, whom you have hidden from me and whom I ardently desired to

see. This is one of the little tricks which you yourself formerly taught

me, and which are nearly always successful."

The barber bit his lips, but did not answer.

"Well, to be sure," resumed the marquis, "that you should possess such a

treasure, an angel of beauty and grace, and hide her from me, your old

master! From me, when you know my partiality for the sex which has led

me to commit so many follies."

"It was precisely because of that partiality, monsieur le marquis, that

I hoped to shield Blanche from your notice; I am interested in that

young girl, to whom I stand in the place of her parents. I know the

impetuosity of your passions, and I don't think the honor of being your

mistress for a fortnight will assure the child's happiness."

"And how long, clown, have you made similar reflections," said the

marquis, looking witheringly at the barber. "After lending aid in all my

intrigues, after leading me to commit actions which, but for you, I

should never have thought of, should you allow yourself to control my

morals and enact the knight errant of the beauties I deign to

distinguish."

"Monseigneur!"

"Remember that though your hypocrisy and lies may serve you sometimes,

they can never deceive me. It is not from me only that you hide this

young girl, for you hold her a prisoner in her chamber and do not permit

her to go out. It is not because you are in love with Blanche, since you

are about to give her in marriage; besides, love is a feeling unknown to

you; your heart knows nothing but a thirst for gold. There is in all

this some mystery which I must discover."

Touquet became pale and trembling, and murmured, lowering his eyes,--

"I swear to you, monsieur le marquis--"

"Make an end of this," said Villebelle, interrupting him. "Listen to me.

I love, what do I say, I adore this young girl whom I have seen only for

a moment; for a very long time I have not experienced sensations similar

to those I felt in her presence. This is not a passing caprice; these

are not desires to which the heart is a stranger. No, on seeing Blanche

I felt moved, uneasy, softened. I cannot define all that passed within

me. It seemed to me that I recognized that lovely child--that my love

for her had existed for a long time. After that you must divine that it

is impossible henceforth to live without her. Blanche must be mine; I am

capable of every sacrifice in order to arrive at that end."

"Ah, monsieur, that is what I feared," said Touquet, who appeared to be

really grieved at what he heard. "You wish to make Blanche your

mistress!"

"I wish to make her happiness; I feel that my love for her will be

lifelong."

"That is impossible, monseigneur. Blanche is about to be married to a

young man whom she loves. You must see that your love cannot render her

happy."

For some moments the marquis walked up and down the room, then he cried

passionately,--

"I repeat to you, Blanche must be mine--it must be so. I will leave no

means unemployed to attain this end. She cannot yet love her destined

husband; she has only known him for a few days."

"Monseigneur, who has informed you as to all this?"

"What does that matter to you? That love is but a passing sentiment and

I shall know how to make her forget it by overwhelming her with

presents, with jewels, and by seeking to invent new pleasures to make

each day delightful to her."

"Monseigneur, Blanche is accustomed to retirement; she is not a

coquette; your ornaments, your gifts will have no effect upon her."

"Enough of this," said the marquis, "your objections weary me; I have

now some orders to give you. I wish you to give me Blanche, on whom I

swear to settle an independent fortune. Such a treasure I feel is worthy

of a great price. Wait, here are six thousand crowns in notes and gold.

You shall have as much more when you have fulfilled my commands."

The barber eyed with avaricious looks the money which the marquis had

spread upon the table; then he turned his eyes away, saying in a gloomy

voice,--

"Gold! yes, it is always that which draws me on; but this time--no, I

cannot. Remember, monseigneur, that within two days Blanche should be

united to her lover."

"Then at once, tonight even, it is necessary that she be given into my

hands."

The barber appeared to be weighing the proposition in his mind; from

time to time he looked at the money on the table, and, finally, speaking

with a great effort, he said,--

"It cannot be, monseigneur, I am extremely grieved to have to disappoint

you, but matters are too far advanced."

The marquis drew near Touquet, and grasping him tightly by the arm, said

in a low tone,--

"It will, then, be necessary that I beg my uncle, the grand provost, to

cause a new inquiry to be held in regard to the murder of Blanche's

father. Do you think, scoundrel, that I do not partly divine the cause

which has induced you to keep this young girl so carefully hidden from

everybody's sight? Her beauty would be remarked, and could not fail to

draw a throng of admirers who would have much to say of Blanche, and in

seeking to learn who she is and what family she belongs to they would

obtain new facts about that unfortunate traveller who was murdered on

the evening of his arrival in Paris. They would make reflections on the

fortune which came to you, nobody knows how, some time after that

event."

"Monseigneur," said the barber, whose face had become livid, while a

convulsive trembling seized his limbs; "monseigneur, what do you say?

Could you believe it of me?"

"I believe nothing yet, but tomorrow I shall urge the magistrates to

make an effort to pierce this mystery."

"Monseigneur, you shall have Blanche," said Touquet dropping into a

chair as though he were perfectly helpless.

The marquis smiled triumphantly and seemed to forget all but his love.

Touquet who had been thrown into a state of the deepest depression and

consternation, remained for some minutes without daring to raise his

eyes, and unable to resume his ordinary expression. Finally, he rose

and murmured, in a broken voice,--

"Believe me, monsieur le marquis, that it is not the suspicions you have

conceived which determine me to obey you--my devotion alone--"

"Enough," said the marquis interrupting him; "not another word about

that. I am quite willing to believe that appearances are deceitful. We

will occupy ourselves only with my love. I don't wish to lose a single

instant in obtaining possession of Blanche, and, since you tell me that

in two days she was to have been married, it is necessary that she

should leave this house tonight."

"I agree with you," said Touquet, "since she is to go the sooner the

better. But how can it be done tonight?"

"I don't recognize you, Touquet; you see nothing but obstacles, as for

me, I don't know of any. It is not yet midnight, we have some time

remaining. I'll go to my hotel and send Germain, my valet de chambre, to

get a carriage--and to go only as far as my little house."

"Monseigneur, you must not take Blanche there; she would not be safe;

the place is too near Paris. Urbain Dorgeville, the person she was to

marry, will make every effort to discover her. The young man adores her;

he is enterprising; you have everything to fear from his despair."

"I fear nobody, and you know it. However, I think your advice is wise.

Blanche is so pretty; I already feel jealous of a glance given by her to

another, and a good many giddy fellows know my little house. But wait,

wait, I have just what will suit me; amongst all the property that came

to me from my mother is a chateau situated in the neighborhood of

Grandvilliers, about twenty-two leagues from here, and far enough from

the town and the highway to avoid the notice of travellers."

"Very well, monsieur, that will suit perfectly."

"I have only once visited this chateau, which is called Sarcus, but

although I only made a short stay there, I was greatly struck by the

elegance of the beautiful estate. The chateau, built in 1522, was given

to Mademoiselle de Sarcus by Francis the First, and in the neighborhood

is noted for the marvellous beauty of its architecture, and especially

of its facade, in which the artist excelled all his previous works. That

is the place to which I shall take, or rather, to which I shall have

Blanche taken. Twenty-eight leagues--two trusty men--she will be at the

chateau in ten hours or so. As for myself, after tomorrow I shall

arrange my affairs, and pretending at court that I am obliged to go to

England, I shall repair secretly to Sarcus to her whom I never more wish

to leave. You see, Touquet, my plan is perfect and no one will suspect

that I have abducted the young orphan."

"Yes, monseigneur, no one among your brilliant acquaintances; but how

shall we induce Blanche to go with you quietly and prevent a noise and

cries which will attract the attention of the neighbors?"

"Oh, hang it! it will be necessary to mislead her at first--that's your

look out. Is your invention so sterile that you can think of nothing to

deceive a mere child. You can make her believe that she is going to

rejoin her future husband."

"Wait, monseigneur, I've thought of a way, but Blanche mustn't see you.

She would suspect something, and my stratagem would fail."

"I repeat to you she will start alone--a postilion and two well-armed

men behind the carriage will answer to me for her safety."

"That is all that is necessary."

"It is midnight. I'll go and settle everything. My valet de chambre

shall start before at full speed, that he may give my orders at the

chateau and that he may be there to receive our beautiful girl; at two

o'clock in the morning I shall be at your door with a coach; you

understand me, at two o'clock."

"Yes, monsieur le marquis," said the barber, "I will not forget the

hour."

"Manage so as to have Blanche ready to get into the carriage. I leave it

to you. Do not try to evade your promise or my vengeance will be

terrible."

"You may rely on me, monseigneur."

The marquis wrapped himself in his mantle and hastily left the barber's

shop. Touquet remained alone for some time, thoughtful and depressed; at

length he rose abruptly.

"What does it matter after all," said he, "whether Blanche be with

Urbain or the marquis? Shall I be foolish enough to sympathize with the

love of two children? In keeping this young girl with me I hoped to

avoid all suspicion. But at last I shall be relieved of the burden that

oppresses me. Come let's put up this gold; the marquis has promised me

as much more--and I would have refused him. No. My destiny must be

accomplished; this metal has always served as its compass. I was only

sixteen years old when it caused me to commit actions which drew down

upon me my father's curse; arrived in Paris, which I had yearned to

know, I soon found myself robbed of everything I possessed by people who

were more adroit than myself; I had been deceived and I wished to make

others suffer as I had suffered. I gave scope to my talents. Up to that

time I had done no great wrong--but this cursed thirst for gold. Ten

years have passed and have not effaced from my memory that horrible

night--when--since then I have not tasted a moment's peace. I will

return to my birthplace and if my father is still alive I will try to

obtain his pardon; perhaps then I may regain quiet of mind. But if he

knew how I enriched myself."

The barber again gave himself to his reflections. Soon Saint-Eustache's

clock struck one. Touquet slowly took the money from the table, and,

after locking it in his room upstairs, he went to Blanche's chamber and

knocked at the door.

The poor little girl was not asleep; she had been too greatly excited by

the events of the evening. She still seemed to see the stranger seated

near her, holding her hand and looking at her with an expression that

she could not define. She felt oppressed; it seemed to her that she

should never see Urbain more. The marquis' figure appeared constantly

between herself and Urbain, and the sadness the latter had felt on

leaving her heightened her own premonitions. Yielding to this indefinite

anxiety, often harder to bear than a real sorrow, Blanche could not

rest, and the sound of a knock at her door in the middle of the night

awoke in her fresh terror.

"Who is there?" she cried, in a faltering voice.

"It is I, Blanche," answered the barber; "open the door. I have

something of importance to tell you."

The young girl, who had recognized Touquet's voice, rose, hastily put on

a dressing gown, and opened the door. The barber held the lamp in his

hand and avoided looking at the young girl, who, on the contrary, wished

to question him and said,--

"Mercy, my good friend, what has happened?"

These words, "my good friend," uttered in Blanche's sweet voice, always

agitated Touquet; he forced himself to hide his feelings.

"Calm yourself, Blanche," he said, "and listen to me; Urbain has had a

quarrel tonight--a duel."

"O heavens! He is wounded!"

"No, no, nothing has happened to him, but it was necessary to his safety

that he should leave Paris immediately; had he not done so they would

have arrested him; he therefore left for the country."

"He left without me?"

"Let me finish; you should have been married here, in place of which you

will be married at his house; but to quiet Urbain's anxiety I had to

promise that tonight you should rejoin him."

"Oh, at once, my friend, as soon as you please; but why did he not take

me with him?"

"That was impossible; Urbain had not an instant to lose; by a lucky

chance, one of my friends is sending his valet into the country to find

a wife. The carriage will come to take you in an hour. Get ready,

therefore. He will charge you nothing and you will find everything down

there that you need--do you understand me?"

"Oh, I shall be ready in a moment, and what about Marguerite?"

"She can follow you later; I need her to make divers arrangements. In a

few days I shall come to see you. I'll leave you now; make your

preparations. I shall come for you when the carriage arrives."

The barber departed, and Blanche, who had not the slightest suspicion

that anyone would deceive her, continued her toilet.

"Poor Urbain," she said to herself, "I was sure that something would

happen to him; and he, also, had a presentiment. How fortunate that he

was able to escape; but I shall rejoin him and I shall nevermore leave

him."

During this time Touquet had returned to his room, saying to himself,--

"Everything is going well--the little one will start without making the

least difficulty. But if Marguerite is not asleep; if she should have

heard some words of my conversation with the marquis and if she wishes

to follow Blanche. It is important that the old woman should know

nothing--it is easy to assure myself she is sleeping, since she now

sleeps in the room occupied by Blanche's father. Come, I mustn't be

weak. I'll go up."

The barber took his light, and directed his steps towards a closet which

was at the end of his room. When he reached it he still hesitated; then,

making an effort to command himself, he touched a button hidden by the

hangings, and a small door opened and discovered a small and very narrow

staircase which led to the floor above. Touquet turned his eyes,

murmuring,--

"Since that fatal night I have not been in this passage."

He mounted the stairs, his wild eyes seeming to fear that they would

meet some frightful object, the hand in which he held the lamp

trembling, while with the other he held to the wall to steady his

tottering steps.

At the top of the staircase was a door closed by two bolts, which he

withdrew with as little noise as possible, and entered the little dark

closet at the back of Marguerite's alcove, which the old nurse and

Blanche had entered without perceiving the door on the staircase,

because it was artistically hidden in the woodwork. The barber placed

his lamp on the floor, and put his ear to the door which led into the

alcove; he soon heard a prolonged snore, which announced that Marguerite

was sleeping soundly; however, he softly opened the door so as to

thoroughly assure himself of the fact; then he reentered the little room

and left by the secret door, drew the bolts and went down, saying,--

"There is nothing to fear from her."

Suddenly the barber made a false step, he lowered his lamp and perceived

some reddish stains on the staircase. Although it was difficult to

distinguish what had produced these stains, Touquet recoiled with

horror, his hair stood up on his head, his feet refused to carry him

over the steps on which were imprinted the marks which caused his fear;

in his agitation he allowed the lamp to fall from his hands; it rolled

and was extinguished. The barber was left in the most profound darkness

in the secret passage. Showing every sign of the most ungovernable

terror, he ran as fast as possible down the stairs, bumping his head

against the wall, falling and crawling on the stairs.

"Mercy! mercy!" he cried, in a suffocating voice, "do not pursue me. Is

it because I am giving up your daughter that you come anew to torment

me? Well, I won't give her to the marquis. No, but leave me. Don't touch

me with your bloody hands."

At length he came to the foot of the stairs; he reclosed the door hidden

by the hangings and without pausing in his room, where he had no light,

he went down into the lower room, which was lit by one lamp and by the

fire which still burned on the hearth.

He threw himself upon a seat, and looked wildly about him, gradually

becoming more assured; finally, he passed his hand over his brow

saying,--

"It was a dream."

At that moment he heard the sound of a carriage, which stopped in front

of the house, and having entirely recovered his wits he went to open the

street door.

"Here I am," said the marquis, alighting from the travelling carriage.

"I have come even sooner than I promised. My valet de chambre is

already on the way to Grandvilliers. The postilion is in the saddle,

these two efficiently armed men will follow the coach, all is ready; and

Blanche?"

"I will go and get her; she believes that she is going to rejoin her

future husband who has been wounded tonight in a duel; she has not the

slightest suspicion that there is any trickery, and goes of her own free

will."

"That's excellent!"

"But hide yourself, monseigneur, that she may not perceive you, or all

will be lost."

"Fear nothing; I will ensconce myself in the angle of this doorway--I

only wish to see her enter the carriage--tomorrow I shall be at Sarcus,

and I shall dry her tears."

"I will go and fetch her."

The barber went up to call Blanche, who had heard the carriage and was

ready.

"I am here, my good friend," said she, hastily leaving her room, "I knew

the carriage had come."

Touquet walked first, and Blanche followed; her heart was palpitating

and, although she thought she was going to rejoin Urbain, this departure

in the middle of the night had about it something mysterious, singular,

which almost frightened her. When they had reached the lower room the

sweet girl glanced around her, saying,--

"What! has not Marguerite come to bid me good-by and kiss me?"

"No, no, we haven't time for that," said Touquet taking her hand and

leading her into the passage. When they reached the front door the

barber put out his head to assure himself that the marquis was not

within sight, then he opened the carriage door.

"Come quickly," said he to Blanche, "get in; don't lose any time."

Blanche darted into the street and stepped into the vehicle; her heart

grew heavy as she found herself alone in it in the darkness of the

night; but Touquet had already closed the door.

"Good-by, my dear friend," she said to him, "I am going to rejoin

Urbain, but I shall never forget you. All you have done for me is graven

on my heart by gratitude."

"Go on, go on, postilion," cried the barber, in a voice faltering with

the emotions he experienced. At this moment two o'clock struck, the

postilion cracked his whip, and the carriage which held Blanche started.

"She is mine!" cried the marquis, and the barber hastily reentered his

dwelling.

CHAPTER VI

THE RENDEZVOUS. STROKES OF FORTUNE. THE HOTEL DE BOURGOGNE. THE SEDAN

CHAIR

On taking his departure from the marquis' little house in the Faubourg

Saint-Antoine, at daybreak, the Chevalier Chaudoreille did not feel

entirely reassured as to the outcome of his duel with Turlupin, whom he

believed to be a great personage; and whom, incredible as it may seem,

he firmly believed he had slain; however, the idea that he was now the

confidential agent of one so powerful as the Marquis de Villebelle,

which gave him the right to claim that nobleman's protection if it

should be necessary to him, gave him the courage to return to Paris,

where he summed up the events of the preceding night and their probable

consequences. The marquis had promised him a hundred pistoles if Blanche

should happen to please him, and Chaudoreille was confident that he

should have that sum; but should Touquet discover that it was through

him that the marquis had learned of Blanche's existence, he would have

everything to fear from the barber's anger. However, he did not forget

his rendezvous for the evening.

Forcing himself to banish all thoughts of the barber, and chinking the

crowns which he had won from Marcel, he went into a wine shop, where he

passed a great part of the day trying to obtain courage by emptying

several bottles of wine. Towards evening he felt more enterprising, and

returned to his lodging to iron out his ruff, renovate his complexion,

dye his mustache and imperial, dust his shoes, and brush his hat; he

then set out for his rendezvous, saying,--

"Though she should possess the grace of a princess, I must not forget

that I have to return this evening to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, in

order to receive a hundred pistoles from the marquis. Zounds! for a

hundred pistoles I would leave the Sultan's favorite and all the

odalisks of the Grand Turk."

The day was waning; for the last half hour Chaudoreille had been

strolling in the neighborhood where the old woman had accosted him the

evening before, looking up at all the windows, having first carefully

assured himself that the water carrier was not to be seen. Finally, the

servant who had spoken to him previously issued from a

respectable-looking house, and, as she passed near him, said in a

whisper,--

"Follow me, but do not appear to be with me."

"Very well, Marton," answered Chaudoreille; and he followed on the heels

of the old woman, so as not to lose her from sight.

They entered the house; the servant mounted the stairs, put her finger

on her lips and signed to Chaudoreille to follow her. The chevalier did

so, but all of a sudden he seized the old woman's petticoat and stopped

her, saying,--

"Is your mistress married?"

"Why?" asked the old woman, looking at him mockingly.

"Why! by jingo! because some husbands have very little patience in an

affair of this kind. Hang it! a stroke of the sword is soon given, and I

can't throw myself thus into the wolf's den."

"Are you not armed, monsieur? and if anyone should attack you, can you

not defend yourself?"

"Yes, I know how to defend myself," said Chaudoreille, going down some

stairs, "but I have an infinite respect for the marriage vow, and,

taking everything into consideration, I should prefer to take myself

off."

"Come I tell you, monsieur," said the domestic running after him, "my

mistress is not married, and you have nothing to fear."

"Well, by jingo! You should explain yourself, my good woman. My life is

too precious for me to expose it with temerity. Come, Lisette, go up! I

will follow you, but if you have lied to me, tremble!"

The old woman paused on the second landing; she opened a door and took

Chaudoreille into a pretty dining-room and from thence into a small

well-furnished parlor, where she left him, saying,--

"Wait here, I will go and tell madame."

"Do not be long, for I am not fond of waiting," cried he, looking around

him anxiously.

Left alone he examined the apartment curiously, saying,--

"It is pretty enough, it is all in very good taste; this is a woman of

distinction. Come, Chaudoreille, you're in great luck. Don't act like a

novice, but show some self-possession. Everything has come to me at

once; fortune--money--love--I am sure that I shall finish by making my

way. Oh, the deuce! here's a hole in my doublet! But I must pull my hat

up in front, it will hinder me from seeing my princess; I feel in

advance that I can adore her. But it's dark and they have left me

without a light, that's very singular. My heart beats, this is certainly

love."

Here Chaudoreille raised his voice, saying,--

"Besides, if anyone should dare to rub against me, Rolande has an edge

and four men could not frighten me."

At this moment the door creaked and opened behind Chaudoreille, who

started back against a table, overturning several porcelain cups, as he

exclaimed,--

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, monsieur," answered the servant. "I came to conduct you to

madame."

"Oh! that's right; but you left me without a light and I mistook you for

a rat, of which I have a great horror. I would much rather fight with a

lion than see only the tail of one of these little animals, but show me

the way, my good woman."

The servant led him through another room and opened a door into a

handsome boudoir lighted by many candles; a young woman was seated on a

sofa at the end of the room. The old woman retired. Chaudoreille, very

uneasy in this tete-a-tete, to which he had looked forward, dared not

look at the person with whom he found himself, and racked his

imagination to find a compliment suitable for the occasion; but his

Phoebus was stubborn, and nothing had occurred to him when he heard

these words,--

"Will not Monsieur Chaudoreille speak to his old acquaintances?"

Struck by the voice, the little man raised his eyes and uttered an

exclamation of surprise on recognizing Julia, the young Italian, who

looked smilingly at him.

"Can it be? Is it indeed you whom I see?" said Chaudoreille.

"And what do you find so extraordinary in that, monsieur le chevalier?

Did you think that the marquis would always leave me in his little

house?"

"No--undoubtedly not, beautiful lady--I do not know--but I was so far

from expecting to see you," and he glanced tenderly at her, saying to

himself: "I always thought that she loved me, behold me now the rival of

a marquis; it's a tremendously ticklish position."

"Be seated, Monsieur Chaudoreille," said Julia, who appeared for some

moments very much amused by the embarrassment and the oglings of the

little man. The latter, however, resumed his audacity, and was about to

seat himself on the sofa beside Julia, but, by a gesture, the young

woman indicated to him a folding chair, and signed to him to seat

himself opposite her.

"She's afraid of me," said Chaudoreille, seating himself on the folding

chair, "she felt that she could not resist me and wished to defer her

defeat. There's no need to hurry matters, my eyes can accomplish the

business for me."

"Can you imagine why I sent for you?" said the young woman, looking at

him mischievously.

"Why beautiful lady--I flatter myself, I presume there are some things

that one divines when one lives in society."

"And I think that you are mistaken," said Julia, assuming a serious

tone, "and I will explain myself."

"Mon Dieu," said Chaudoreille to himself, dismayed by Julia's change of

tone, "Is she going to kill herself on account of me?"

"I am the marquis' mistress; you are not ignorant of that fact."

"Undoubtedly not, since I myself was the messenger of--"

"Silence! do not interrupt me! If I do not seek to hide my frailty it is

because, far from having yielded to interest or ambition, love only has

caused my fall, and, in the eyes of a woman, love excuses many faults.

Yes, I have loved the marquis for a long time. I had often seen him on

the promenades, and in spite of all that I heard said about him, I could

not resist the feeling which he inspired. My heart yielded itself to

him. Be not astonished that I yielded so readily to your proposition. I

flattered myself that the marquis shared the devouring flame which

consumed me. I hoped to have enough strength not to show my love until I

was certain of his. Alas! I counted too much on myself and it was very

easy for him to persuade me that he loved me. Ungrateful man! the love

which he swore to me has already given place to indifference, and I!--I

feel that I love him more than ever."

In speaking of the marquis, Julia became animated; her glance was fiery

and her whole person indicated the violent passion to which she was a

prey; Chaudoreille, much surprised at what he had heard, and almost

alarmed at Julia's fate, drew his stool farther away as she grew warmer.

"Yes," said the young woman who had apparently forgotten that

Chaudoreille was there, and gave way to all her feelings; "yes, I shall

always love you, fascinating Villebelle--this burning heart beats but

for you! But I cannot bear your indifference; and if you should love

another then my fury would know no bounds, and in your blood and that of

my rival, I would revenge my outrage."

"O my God! she wants me to stab the marquis," said Chaudoreille, and he

tried to draw his chair still farther away, but, as it was now up

against the wall, it was impossible for him to go any further, and he

could only glance towards the door from the corner of his eye,

murmuring,--

"This is a fine rendezvous! That woman's possessed of the devil. I like

my portress much better."

Julia had ceased speaking, little by little she became calmer and

resumed her ordinary manner, and, glancing at Chaudoreille, she could

not prevent a smile on seeing him glued against the tapestry.

"Come nearer! come nearer," she said to him, "that I may tell you what I

desire of you. You are, you have told me, very intimate with the barber

Touquet?"

"Yes--mada--mademois--signora."

"The barber is a man who habitually serves the marquis in his gallant

intrigues; and I think that through him it would be very easy for you

to learn if Villebelle has any new conquest in sight. Do you understand

me?"

"Yes, yes; I understand you perfectly."

"Are you willing to serve me?--to inform me of all you can learn from

the barber in regard to the marquis? and if you yourself should be

employed in some love intrigues to come and impart to me immediately the

plans which they have formed."

"Yes, certainly. I consent with all my heart. Zounds!" added he to

himself, "if she knew what I said to her lover yesterday, I shouldn't

get out of here alive."

"What are you trembling for?"

"Oh, it's nothing, it's my nerves; that happens to me often."

"Wait, take this purse; if you serve me zealously and faithfully, you

will see that Julia is grateful."

The sight of a well-filled purse somewhat restored Chaudoreille's

resolution. He took the money, bowing nearly to the floor, and cried,--

"From this moment, I am entirely devoted to you; dispose of my arm, of

my sword, of--"

"It is neither a question of your arm nor of your sword, it is of your

eyes and your ears only that I have need. Be on the watch, make the

barber talk, inform yourself of the slightest actions of the marquis,

and come and give me an account of them. Let nobody have the least

suspicion of you and that is all that is necessary to us. Go! and

remember to inform me of the slightest circumstance if it has any

connection with my love."

"You shall be obeyed," responded Chaudoreille, bowing humbly. Julia

rang, the old woman arrived, and, at her mistress' signal, led the

chevalier to the door without saying a word.

Once in the street, Chaudoreille breathed more freely.

"Zounds!" said he, "here I am in intrigues up to my neck; Julia's agent,

confidential man of the marquis, confidant of the barber, and, what is

even more satisfactory, receiving money from all three of them. That's

doing pretty well. Hang it! this purse is well-filled. Tomorrow I will

clothe myself entirely anew. I shall get some flesh-colored breeches

that will make me look like an angel! But I mustn't forget the most

interesting item--the hundred pistoles that the marquis is to give me if

Blanche pleases him--and I must go to the little house. O Fortune! you

are treating me like a spoilt child, but it must be confessed that your

favors are directed to a very adroit fellow."

While making these reflections, Chaudoreille had taken his course toward

the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, arriving at the little house at eight

o'clock in the evening. He rang nearly as loudly as the marquis, and

Marcel on opening the door to him said,--

"You make as much noise as monseigneur."

"Apparently it is because I have a right to do so," responded the

Gascon, entering with an impertinent manner; then, striding across the

garden, he went immediately into the dining-room and threw himself on a

seat, saying,--

"Has my friend, the marquis, been here since yesterday?"

"Your friend, the marquis," answered Marcel, opening his eyes wide.

"Why, yes, caitiff! Or the marquis, my friend, if that pleases you

better."

"Nobody has been here."

"And has he sent nothing for me?"

"Nothing."

"I must wait for him then. Serve supper quickly for me, all that you

have of the best, some of your oldest wines, some liqueur. Come! go

about it, in place of standing and looking at me like a statue."

"But what the devil is the matter with you?"

"Marcel, no reflections, I beg of you, and, if you wish to keep your

place, render yourself worthy of my protection."

Marcel contented himself with smiling, then he laid the table and served

the supper. Chaudoreille placed himself at table, Marcel did likewise.

"Your conduct is a little familiar," said the chevalier to him; "but, as

we are alone, I may as well allow you to seat yourself near me--"

"That's very fortunate."

"On condition that you serve me first, always."

During supper, Chaudoreille chinked his money, counted his crowns,

calculated what remained to him, and what he expected to receive. Marcel

looked at him with surprise, saying,--

"Have you inherited some money?"

"Yes, I inherit like that very often. Zounds! if the marquis keeps his

word with me, I shall be able to keep the pace."

The supper lasted long; Chaudoreille was so much preoccupied by his

affairs that he did not dream of playing; however, midnight had struck,

he had received no message from the marquis, and the chevalier's hopes

began to vanish. He sighed, listened and exclaimed,--

"He doesn't come! If he should not have found her charming that would be

very difficult for me. Zounds! in place of a hundred pistoles I should

receive a hundred blows of a stick."

As his hope diminished, his impertinence became tempered and he clinked

his glass against Marcel's, saying,--

"To your health my dear and true friend, for you are my friend. Don't

talk to me about noblemen of the court, no one can put any faith in

them; my good Marcel, what a good cook he is and what a pleasure it is

to me to drink with him."

"You don't think now that I did so ill in seating myself at the table?"

"What! was I so unlucky as to say that to you?"

"Certainly."

"Me,--could I have said such a stupid thing?"

"Yes, there is no doubt of it."

"I was tipsy then, I'd lost my senses."

"I don't know what you had lost, but you said it."

"Listen, Marcel! when I say such things as that to you, I give you

permission to curse me."

"That's all right, we'll speak no more of it."

At that moment the bell of the gate was heard. Chaudoreille uttered an

exclamation, half rose, and dropped on his chair again.

"That will be monseigneur," said Marcel, taking a light, and he ran to

open the door, leaving his guest divided between fear and hope.

Marcel soon returned; he was alone, but he held a small roll which he

placed on the table before Chaudoreille, and presented him with a paper

on which somebody had written two lines in pencil, saying,--

"Here is what monseigneur has sent you; read it!"

Chaudoreille could not believe his eyes, he looked in turn at the roll,

at the paper, and at Marcel.

"Why don't you read it," said the latter to him.

Finally, he took the paper with a trembling hand, and read: "I have seen

her; you have surpassed my hopes and I double the promised recompense."

"O my God, Marcel! he's doubled the hundred pistoles."

"Then that makes two hundred; that is to say, that there is, in that

roll, two thousand livres tournois in gold."

"Two thousand livres!"

"Well, what's the matter with you now?"

"Marcel, give me a little vinegar, I beg of you. I don't feel very

well."

"It seems to me that a present like that should make you feel very well.

Wait, drink a drop of brandy, that will put you in good shape."

Chaudoreille, a little restored by the liquor, opened the roll, and the

sight of the pieces of gold which it held deprived him for some moments

of the faculty of speech. Finally, he murmured, in a voice faint with

emotion,--

"Marcel, all this belongs to me."

"I know it, all right."

"And then, there's this purse still; and these six crowns which I had

left--"

"Yes, from the game of piquet, yesterday."

"And I am rich! Oh, it produces a terrible effect, my poor fellow, to

pass all of a sudden from poverty to opulence. Alas! I shall suffocate!"

"Drink a little more. My faith! if good fortune produces such an effect,

I'd rather remain without a sou and breathe freely."

"O Marcel, you're very stupid, my boy!"

"I don't know at this moment which is the stupider of us two."

"Two thousand livres! Who would believe that one could thus hold his

fortune in the palm of his hand."

"Hang it! one should hold it there as long as he can."

"Marcel, do you know of any property for sale in the neighborhood?"

"No, why do you ask that?"

"It's very necessary that I should place my funds. What the deuce shall

I do with all this! Come! after tomorrow, I shall set up my house, but

first I shall leave my lodging in the Rue Brise-Miche and I shall take

one near the cardinal's palace; I shall need a jockey. Marcel, will you

be my jockey? No, in fact, you are too big. Ah, if it were not so late,

I should visit some of the gambling houses; but I can't expose myself at

night in this neighborhood with so much gold on me. What a figure I can

cut in the gambling dens and at faro. I shall place first a louis on the

card, I shall win, I shall double my stakes, I shall still win. I shan't

take it up, I shall win ten times following, and I shall carry away a

heap of gold. How can I spend all that. Oh, what an excellent idea! I

can dine and sup twice every day, that will indemnify me for the times

that I have had to fast."

Marcel, whom fortune had not overwhelmed with her favors, went to sleep

while Chaudoreille made his plans and counted his pieces of gold, but

day dawned without the latter having closed his eyes, for, at the least

sound, he started and carried his hand to his treasure, which he had

rolled in his belt.

Chaudoreille awoke Marcel and ordered him to go and find a sedan chair;

but Marcel would not leave the house, under the pretence that he must

obey the marquis' orders. Chaudoreille became very insolent again and

shouted and threatened, but seeing that nothing would move Marcel, he

took leave, and decided to return on foot to Paris.

The little man felt larger by six inches since he had so much gold in

his possession. He hardly looked at the passers-by, his nose seemed to

threaten the heavens, and he was astonished that the sentinel on guard

at the barrier did not present arms to him.

After breakfasting as copiously as possible he walked to the palace

which Richelieu had built, and on which he had lavished all that the

luxury and taste of the time afforded to please the eye and to leave to

posterity a monument worthy of the one who had erected it.

Chaudoreille went into several shops, but he found nothing fine enough

or fresh enough or brilliant enough for him. He ordered a doublet of

rose-colored velvet slashed with white satin; breeches of a similar

color; a cherry-colored mantle embroidered with silver and a fringed

belt with golden tassels. These articles would take the larger part of

his fortune; but as he was certain of breaking the bank at faro, he

refused himself nothing, and within two days hoped to be arrayed like

the most elegant nobleman of the court.

Having ordered his costume, he went into one of the inns in the city,

where he was served with a rich dinner and exquisite wines; and having

already perceived that it was not so easy as he had believed to dine

twice a day, which would be a very great resource for rich people who do

not know what to do with their time, he tried to make his repast last

twice as long as usual.

At five o'clock in the evening, he finally got up from the table; his

face flushed, his eyes brilliant, his legs a little unsteady, and left

the inn. It was still too early to go to the gambling house, where the

high players do not put in an appearance until towards nine o'clock, and

to pass his time until then Chaudoreille decided to go to the play,

which he had not visited for a long time. He therefore took his way

towards the Hotel de Bourgogne, which he preferred to the Theatre des

Italiens, because Turlupin, Gros-Guillaume and Gautier-Garguille, famous

for the farces which they had played in their little Theatre de

l'Estrapade had obtained permission from Richelieu to play there.

The theatre of the Hotel de Bourgogne was situated in the Rue

Mauconseil; the entrance was very narrow and the corridors very

incommodious; the body of the house was composed of a pit and several

tiers of boxes. When the court attended the theatre the courtiers

carried their seats with them. Here were represented, following the

privilege granted to comedians in January, 1613, all mysteries, and

decent and amusing plays; presently, comedies, rather more elevated in

tone than the usual buffooneries, were played there; and also some plays

in which mythological divinities figured as characters, the poets of the

day mingling the sacred and profane; but the low jokes and puns were

what captivated and attracted the public.

Chaudoreille entered the house and slipped into the pit, where everyone

was standing, and where the fluctuations of the crowd often carried one

from one corner to another. The chevalier found himself behind a very

tall man and could not see the stage. In vain he drew himself up and

stood on his tiptoes; he could see nothing except the backs and the wigs

of his neighbors. He tried to protest, but everybody hushed him, for

Gautier-Garguille appeared and was about to speak the prologue which

preceded the piece. Listen to the buffoon, that you may have an idea of

the style of prologue in use under Louis the Thirteenth.

"Gentlemen and ladies, one thing I ought to say to you, and that is not

to incline your ears to the symphony of this pastime as manual operators

who do not cooeperate with the nonsense; and do not treat it as a

deluding music or voice, rather for the spoliation and express capture

of your purses than to win praise from your ears; the field of my

invention being so sterile that if it is not watered by the cordial of

your kindness it is difficult for it to produce flowers worthy to be

offered to you. Philippot will appear immediately, and he hopes, under

the assurance of your indulgence, to make you laugh and cry both

together, so that finally the moderation of one feeling shall temper the

violence of the other. Gentlemen and ladies, I shall desire, I shall

wish, I shall will, I shall demand, and I shall require, desideratively,

wishfully, willingly, demandatively, and requireatively, with my

desiderations and my requireations, etc, to thank you for your kind

presence and attention to a little jovial and jolly farce which we are

about to represent, before which I wish to make a large, small, wide,

narrow, and spacious remonstrance, which will make you laugh."

While Gautier-Garguille was delivering this bombastic nonsense,

Chaudoreille was being tortured, pressed, pushed on all sides, and

struck in the face by his neighbors' elbows; in addition to which he

suffered much anxiety in regard to the safety of his purse. The little

man had urgently begged them to let him go out, but nobody would listen

to him. In his despair, and having immediate need of a little air, he

adopted the plan of pulling the wigs of two of his neighbors to hoist

himself to their height, but the wigs came off, and the heads of two

respectable tradesmen of Paris appeared naked before the assembly. The

two spectators who felt their wigs pulled off, cried,--

"Thief! watch!" and Chaudoreille mingled his voice with theirs, crying,

"Help." The play was interrupted and at last, Chaudoreille was

discovered struggling among the legs of the spectators, and rolling on

the floor of the pit with the two wigs, which he had not dropped.

The two bald heads treated him as a thief; he returned the wigs and

explained his conduct as well as he could; they put him out of the door

of the pit, which was all that he wished. He mounted to the boxes and

found a place in front and, from time to time, glanced angrily at the

public.

However, the piece was commencing. Turlupin and Gros-Guillaume were on

the stage and Chaudoreille rubbed his eyes, saying,--

"Why! by jingo! if I had not killed him, I should believe that that was

the Prince of Cochin-China."

Presently Gautier-Garguille reappeared; he had counterfeited the Gascon

to a marvel, his costume was exactly the same as that of Chaudoreille

and he had copied his manners and grimaces so well that the latter

cried,--

"Is it another self, I see?--can I have a double?"

The comedian having seen his model in the box, saluted him and made

faces at him; the spectators' eyes were turned on Chaudoreille, they

recognized in the little man that they had chased from the pit the one

whom Gautier-Garguille had copied, and the shouts of laughter redoubled.

The chevalier perceived that they were mocking at him and was furious;

he drew his sword and threatened the pit, because when one defies

everybody together it is as if one defied nobody. The spectators laughed

louder still, and Chaudoreille left his box, swearing that he would

never again go to the Hotel de Bourgogne.

Arrived in the street, where some persons had followed him, he again

gave way to his anger, exclaiming that he would punish the buffoon who

had dared to copy him, that nobody could mock with impunity at a man

like him, and that he would spend, if necessary, a hundred pistoles to

avenge himself.

While speaking thus, he drew out his purse, chinked his gold, took it

out and put it back in his pockets, and finally exclaimed,--

"Who will go and bring me a sedan chair!"

Two men immediately went to execute this commission. While waiting for

them to return, Chaudoreille promenaded before the theatre, swinging

himself in the manner which he judged the most noble, and striking his

belt every minute to make his gold pieces chink.

The two men returned presently, they had obtained a chair, and would

themselves have the honor of carrying Chaudoreille, or so they said to

him on their arrival, exclaiming,--

"Here, master! get in, master, you'll be pleased with us."

Chaudoreille, whom nobody had ever called master, felt much pleased, and

was about to bow low to the porters, but he restrained himself and

darted into the chair, quivering with delight on the cushion which was

at the bottom.

"Where shall we go, master?" said one of them.

"To Rue Bertrand-qui-Dort. You will see a lantern at the door of the

house where I stop."

"All right, master!"

They closed the door of the chair, and Chaudoreille felt himself raised,

and gently carried through the streets of Paris. It was the first time

he had been in a chair. The pleasure which he experienced in being

carried made him forget the disagreeable scene of the play. He reflected

on his dazzling situation, and on the pleasure which he should taste in

playing high, and laid new plans. However it seemed to him that he had

been a long time in the chair, and the porters were still walking.

Chaudoreille wished to know if he were near his destination. There was a

very narrow little window on each side of the seat, but these windows

could not be lowered. It was late, one could not see clearly in the

streets, and Chaudoreille could distinguish nothing.

"Are we almost there," cried he, leaning towards the front; nobody

answered, and they continued to carry him. He began to think the motion

of his carriage not quite so pleasant, he tried to open the door in

front, the only vent by which one could leave a sedan chair, but that

door would not open from the inside.

A cold sweat bathed the little man's brow. He conceived a thousand

suspicions, recalled divers adventures in which sedan chairs figured,

and was bitterly repenting having taken one when at last he felt that

they had stopped. He breathed more freely and prepared to descend, but

after being deposited on the ground the chair was stood up on end, in

such a manner that when they opened the door it was above Chaudoreille's

head.

"How do you think I can get out like that?" cried he, trying to climb.

"Before coming out there is a little ceremony to be observed, master,"

said the porters, in a jeering tone.

"A ceremony, what is it, my boys?"

"It is to give us all the silver and gold that you have about you. We'll

relieve you of that."

[Illustration]

"What is that you say? Scoundrels! Rascals!"

"Come, do as we bid you and no noise, or that will be worse for you."

As they gave this order, they flashed the blades of their swords before

Chaudoreille's eyes, and he fell back in the bottom of the chair, unable

to support himself. The two porters were obliged to draw him from the

chair themselves. He glanced around him, but he was in a lonely, narrow

road, surrounded by marshes, where nobody would venture so late. The

robbers searched him, and despoiled him of all that he possessed, then

they escaped with their sedan chair, leaving him lying beside a huge

stone, half dead with fright.

CHAPTER VII

POOR URBAIN

The morning after Blanche's hurried and unexpected departure, old

Marguerite left her room at her usual time. The good woman had heard

nothing; she had slept soundly, for it was long since the pleasures and

the pains of love had caused her to suffer from insomnia. Her first

movement on arising was to go to her dear Blanche's room to kiss her, as

she was in the habit of doing every morning. She found the door of the

room half open; but Blanche was not there, and the extreme disorder of

the apartment, the bed which had been slept in but had not been made,

the clothing spread upon the furniture, all indicated that some

extraordinary event had taken place. The young girl had never left her

room without Marguerite, and the latter called Blanche, and receiving no

answer and alarmed at this departure from her customary habits, and

perhaps by a secret presentiment, went downstairs to see if the young

girl was with her master, but the barber was alone in the lower room,

and then Marguerite said, in a frightened tone,--

"O my God! where can the dear child be?"

"What is the matter, Marguerite," said Touquet, who was prepared for

this scene.

"Blanche, monsieur, Blanche is not in her room. I have sought her vainly

for a long time; someone has taken the dear child away from us."

"Taken her away!" exclaimed the barber, pretending to be struck with

astonishment. He immediately went to Blanche's room, followed by the old

servant, who went as quickly as her legs would permit. After a search,

which Touquet knew would be fruitless, he threw himself on a seat,

crying,--

"The wretch has fulfilled his threats!"

"Who do you mean, monsieur!"

"That man you saw here yesterday evening."

"I believe you're right, monsieur, it can be nobody except him."

"He was fascinated with Blanche, he ventured to ask her hand of me. I

refused it to him and this is how he has revenged himself."

"But, monsieur, you must know where this man lives. He had the bearing

of a great nobleman. You can recover our dear child."

"I have very little hope of it. This wretch assumed a brilliant costume

in the hope of seducing Blanche, but he is a schemer without name,

without a roof, without position."

"A schemer," said Marguerite, looking at her master in astonishment;

"but, monsieur, it seemed to me that he was the same friend that you

were waiting for so late some time ago."

The barber was for an instant rendered uneasy by Marguerite's remark,

but soon recovering himself, he resumed,--

"You are mistaken, it was not he; I forbid you to speak to anybody of

that again."

"And Urbain, monsieur,--that poor Urbain--when he comes here this

evening--"

"Urbain will unite his efforts with mine to recover her whom he was

about to marry."

The barber went out and Marguerite then gave free course to her tears.

The good woman loved Blanche with a mother's tenderness. She could not

bear to be deprived of her presence, and impatiently awaited Urbain's

arrival; for it seemed to her that he would know better than anybody

else how to discover and restore her lost darling.

Touquet was absent during a large part of the day. On his return,

Marguerite inquired as to the success of his search, but he answered her

coldly,--

"I have no hope of finding her." These words chilled the poor old

woman's heart; she could not understand how anyone could be consoled at

the loss of Blanche.

The hour drew near when Urbain could recompense himself for the day's

absence.

"Only one day more," said he, as he approached the barber's house, "and

she will be mine." He hurried, his heart palpitating with love, but on

looking up at Blanche's window he saw no light, and this slight

circumstance astonished him and rendered him uneasy; or rather a secret

presentiment warned him of his misfortune, for, in love, presentiments

are not chimeras.

Urbain knocked and Marguerite appeared, but the grief depicted on her

face, her eyes filled with tears, announced that something had happened.

"Where is Blanche?" cried Urbain, looking fearfully at Marguerite.

The old woman could only sigh deeply, but Urbain was no longer near her,

he ran, he flew to the room of his beloved, but that room was deserted,

its charming occupant was gone. Marguerite slowly followed the young

man.

"In mercy tell me," cried Urbain, "where is she? Hide nothing from me."

"My poor boy, collect all your courage. Last night somebody carried off

our dear child."

Urbain remained motionless and overwhelmed, while Marguerite told him

all that she knew. He listened without interrupting her, and seemed as

if he could hardly yet realize his misfortune, but presently, dropping

on Blanche's favorite seat, he yielded to the profoundest despair. The

tears rolled down his face; at nineteen years of age one sheds them

still in the troubles of life; one has not then that strength of mind

which is later acquired in the school of misfortune.

Marguerite tried to calm Urbain by saying to him,--

"You will recover her, that dear child, for you are not capable of

forgetting her, and coldly consoling yourself for her loss."

"I forget her?" said Urbain, pressing the hands of the good old woman.

"Ah, Marguerite, is not my life bound up in that of Blanche? I shall

take no rest until she is with me again."

"That's right, my dear Urbain, to hear you speak thus renders me

hopeful; besides, our poor little one has with her a talisman, and that

lightens my anxiety a little."

"Tell me all the circumstances again; a man came here, you say?"

"Yes, he said he was sent by my master, and came to speak to Blanche."

"The scoundrel! and what did he say to her?"

"Oh, he merely paid her some compliments. He spoke like a great

nobleman, and he had the costume and bearing of one, although M. Touquet

pretends that he is a wretch without position and without home."

"He knows him, then?"

"There's no doubt of it. I confess to you that I am afraid, although he

did not have a wicked appearance, rather a look of pride, and an

imperious tone. I was sorry at having opened the door for him, and

Blanche, the poor little thing, trembled. But all this didn't last very

long. He heard M. Touquet come in, and immediately the stranger took his

mantle, saluted Blanche, and went down to monsieur. I followed him, but

they sent me away, and I know nothing further."

Urbain left Marguerite, he darted from the chamber and, in an instant,

he faced the barber, whose cold and gloomy look contrasted with Urbain's

excitement.

"Well, monsieur, what have you learned? what have you done to recover my

bride," cried he. "Speak! what do you know?"

The barber, rendered rather uneasy by the vivacity of Urbain's

questions, answered hesitatingly,--

"I have made a thousand inquiries, I can discover nothing."

"And this scoundrel who came here yesterday, who is he?"

"I hardly know him. He sometimes came into my shop, for what purpose I

do not know, and I swear to you that he must have heard of Blanche's

beauty, for he had never seen her, and formed the idea of introducing

himself to her."

The barber appeared so sincere in pronouncing these words that Urbain

repented of having suspected him.

"Forgive me," said he, "for daring to think--but you would not make us

unhappy. You have given me Blanche, you have been to her as a father.

Oh, you will join with me, will you not, in endeavoring to find her

ravishers?"

"Yes," answered Touquet in a low tone, "I shall second you, I promise

you."

"And the name of that man, you must know it?"

"I never dreamt of asking him his name. Yesterday, on my showing him

immediately that his love for Blanche was a folly, he retired, making

many threats to which I paid little attention."

"Who could have given him the information which led him to wish to see

her? and how could he get into Blanche's room?"

"A few false keys would be sufficient for that, and in this city, you

know, nobody is safe in his own house."

Urbain remained silent for some moments and the barber avoided his

looks; finally the bachelor exclaimed,--

"Good-by, monsieur, I am going to seek for her whom you gave me to be my

bride."

"May you be successful," answered the barber in a gloomy voice, as

Urbain abruptly departed, thinking of nothing but Blanche, but not

knowing where to direct his steps.

Urbain went first to the different gates of Paris; there he demanded if

during the previous night anyone had seen a young woman pass, and gave a

description of her. He was sure that everybody would notice Blanche, and

that her charming features would fix themselves upon the memory; but he

did not obtain the slightest information, they hardly answered him. His

simple costume prevented their putting themselves out to oblige him, for

in the good old times, as well as today, it was necessary to scatter

gold in order to expedite any business.

"If all these people could know Blanche," said Urbain, "they would not

show so much indifference."

Not daring to leave Paris without having some indication as to the way

that he should take, Urbain continued to walk as chance led him in the

capital, though the inhabitants had for some time retired to rest.

Thieves, lovers, and soldiers of the watch, alone showed themselves in

the gloomy streets of Paris. The young bachelor traversed many streets

without meeting anybody, but he still walked on, saying,--

"Why should I go in, I could not sleep, and what could I do with myself

at home?"

However, love and despair do not render one indefatigable. Urbain had

been walking since eight o'clock in the evening, and it was now nearly

three o'clock in the morning. His legs began to fail him, he felt that

it would soon be impossible for him to go any further. He looked around

him. The moon, which showed at intervals, allowed him to distinguish the

junction of some lonely cross roads into which converged some lanes

which led to the marshes. Urbain turned towards a large stone which he

perceived some steps from him, for he thought he would there seat

himself and wait for day, but as he reached the stone his feet struck

against something which he had not perceived, and a voice immediately

exclaimed,--

"Oh, by jingo! don't kill me; I haven't a sou now."

CHAPTER VIII

THE CHATEAU DE SARCUS

The carriage which contained the unfortunate Blanche bowled steadily

along for several hours, and in the excitement occasioned by this novel

journey, the lovely child hardly remembered her former fears. After

living in the most absolute retirement, shut up for years in a single

room except at meal times, it seemed like a dream to find herself in a

carriage in the middle of the night, and alone journeying into the wide

world, she knew not whither. However, the noise of the wheels and of the

horses' feet, mingled with the cracking of the postilion's whip, as he

sought to increase the speed of his horses, which were already going

like the wind, and the rocking of the vehicle as it swayed from side to

side alarmed her very much and persuaded her of the reality of her

situation.

"I am going to see Urbain," said the trembling traveller to herself, "I

am going to rejoin him; I should not give way to my fears, we are going

to be so happy. Why, since we are about to be united forever, should I

feel anything but pleasure at hastening the moment? But then, I had

hoped to travel with Urbain and everything has turned out so

differently. Poor Urbain, it's not his fault; but why did he fight? Oh,

I am so anxious to be with him!--and Marguerite didn't even say good-by

to me. It seems as though everybody had abandoned me."

The sweet girl dried the tears which had moistened her eyes, then she

looked out of the windows, but the darkness prevented her from seeing

anything; she sighed and sank back in the carriage.

"Where are we? I don't know, but it seems to me they are going very

fast. Well, so much the better, I shall be the sooner with Urbain."

As soon as day began to break, Blanche, who kept looking out of the

windows, could partly distinguish trees, fields, and houses. Presently

the mist was entirely dissipated, and the young traveller admired the

glory of the dawn, and the varied scenes which seemed to fly before her.

Soon the carriage rolled along a road bordered only by trees and hedges;

the branches of some old trees from time to time brushed the top of the

carriage, and this unexpected sound made the inexperienced traveller

tremble. All of a sudden the view extended widely; the road was edged

with meadows and rich fields. The laborers were already going to their

work; already the furrows made by the plough could be seen, and the

spade had newly broken the sweet-smelling earth. The trees were still

bare of foliage, but the tips of the branches were reddened and about to

break into bud. Everything announced the return of spring. Farther on

they passed through a village, the early rising inhabitants of which

could be seen at their doors or their windows, hastening to watch the

carriage passing so rapidly. Contentment and health were pictured on the

face of each peasant; it was their only ornament, for cleanliness and

neatness are not distinguishing traits of the country people, whose

children play on the manure heap, pell-mell with the ducks and geese.

But nature is not always pleasing, and it is not in the outskirts of

Paris that one must seek for the shepherds of Florian, the herdsmen of

Bertin, the seductive villagers of our comic operas.

Country scenes always please the pure and simple mind, and Blanche, as

she passed the villages and farms, and hamlets, exclaimed,--

"How delightful to live here, to walk, to run in the fields and in the

woods! Oh, how happy I shall be with Urbain!"

Indeed, the fields and the woods bore a more smiling aspect than the Rue

des Bourdonnais, and the barber's gloomy house.

The carriage did not stop; the postilions had orders to speed straight

to the chateau, though the horses should die at the journey's end.

Blanche did not know how far from Paris was Urbain's house and country,

besides, she did not remember ever before being in a carriage, and it

seemed to her that in moving so quickly they must have gone a very long

way. About an hour after midday they passed through the pretty town of

Grandvilliers, where a great number of manufactories afforded work and

means to the inhabitants; but they did not stop there, and the carriage,

turning to the right, crossed a wide plain and diverged towards a

building which could be seen at a little distance, and which was justly

called the wonder of the country side. It was the Chateau de Sarcus, of

which the elegant facade could be discerned in the distance. Blanche

perceived the chateau, but she was far from thinking that her journey

would terminate there, though she gazed at that magnificent dwelling

and, as the carriage rolled nearer, she could easily distinguish the

sculptures and admire the work of artists who had surpassed themselves

in order to merit the approbation of that gallant monarch, who

patronized the arts as much as he admired beauty.

At last they reached the front of the chateau, and the carriage, in

place of passing, entered the confines of this handsome domain.

"Well, now, what is the matter?" said Blanche trying to open the door.

"This is not the place, this cannot be right; Urbain hasn't a big house

like this--the coachman is mistaken."

However, the carriage stopped in a spacious courtyard. A servant in rich

livery opened the door, and with a respectful air offered his hand to

help Blanche alight.

"Oh, no, I don't wish to get down," said the innocent child, looking at

the servant in astonishment, "this is not the place I was coming to;

certainly they are mistaken, this is a chateau, it cannot be Urbain's

house; besides, he would have been very prompt to meet me."

"No, madame, they are not mistaken," answered Germain, the marquis's

valet, who had arrived two hours before the carriage, in order that he

might give instructions to the house porter, and have rooms prepared for

Blanche. "Your journey terminates here, and everything is in readiness

to receive you."

"Here?" said Blanche, as she lightly stepped from the carriage, and

looked around her in surprise, "but where is he?"

"He has not yet arrived, madame," said Germain, who had received strict

orders to name nobody and to answer the young girl in conformity with

the ideas she had formed in regard to her journey.

"What, he's not here yet? and I believe he started before me. He hasn't

come here directly, then? Oh, I understand! fearing lest he be pursued,

he has been obliged to hide and to make some detours."

"That's it, I am quite sure," answered the valet, smiling, "and I don't

think he can get here before evening."

"Poor Urbain, how tiresome to have to wait until this evening."

"If madame desires to follow me, I will lead her to the apartments which

have been hastily prepared for her."

"I'm not madame, my name is Blanche. We are not yet married, but as soon

as he arrives I hope to be his wife. Show me the way, monsieur, I will

follow you."

The man entered a spacious vestibule and mounted a marble staircase,

then he led Blanche through some superb galleries, along one side of

which were windows of stained glass, while upon the other the walls were

adorned with pictures representing the most pleasing mythological

subjects. In viewing all that met her sight, Blanche could not restrain

her astonishment. She paused and said to Germain,--in a voice which she

tried to render still more touching,--

"Monsieur, I beg of you, tell me the truth,--does this superb dwelling

belong to him?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, indeed this chateau does belong to him."

"Ah, I thought it was a chateau! and he said he had only a little house,

and this one appears to me immense; he must be very rich to have a

chateau like this, and Urbain sometimes regretted that he had not a

large fortune to share with me."

"Perhaps he wished to surprise you, mademoiselle."

"That was wrong of him; rich or poor I should love him just as much. Mon

Dieu! how large it is, these galleries, these beautiful rooms, we shall

be lost here; and how surprised Marguerite will be. Monsieur, are there

cows and rabbits here?"

"There shall be everything here that you desire, mademoiselle."

"Urbain has promised me a beautiful cow, and I should like to milk her

and to make butter and cheese, that would be so amusing."

Germain turned away to hide his smiles, because the country taste of the

young girl appeared very singular to the servant of the great nobleman,

but soon he opened a door saying,--

"This is the apartment which they have prepared for you, mademoiselle;

if it does not please you, you will choose any other in the chateau and

they will hasten to execute your orders."

"Oh, I like this above everything," said Blanche, as she entered a

richly furnished room, adorned with full-length mirrors, "It is very

fine here," said she, examining the hangings, draperies and candelabras

which ornamented the apartment. She then passed into a second room,

decorated with the same sumptuousness, in which was a bed hung with silk

curtains, with silver fringe.

"If he were here," said Blanche, sighing, "all this would please me much

better. And these windows, what do they look on?"

Germain hastened to open the windows which were all provided with vast

balconies. Blanche advanced, and could not restrain an exclamation of

pleasure on perceiving a lake which bathed the walls of that part of the

chateau in which her apartments were situated. The lake extended into

the middle of a wide meadow, and finally lost itself in some rocks,

where the water fell in a cascade into an immense basin. On the right of

the meadows one could see woods and shrubberies, and on the other side

the view extended itself, far and wide, over a country dotted with hills

which afforded a charming landscape.

"Oh, how charming it is," cried Blanche, "what a beautiful view!"

"Mademoiselle can hardly have an idea of what the view is when the

fields are covered with verdure."

"But I should like very much to walk in all these places which I see, to

run in those meadows and to go on that lake, whose waters bathe these

walls and seem to me so pure."

"That is very easy, mademoiselle, for the park belonging to this chateau

extends as far as you can see. When you wish to visit the gardens, run

about the park, or boat on the lake, I will hasten to attend you."

"What! does all that I see belong to Urbain?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, all that pertains to the chateau."

Each word of Germain augmented Blanche's surprise. She could not

conceive that her beloved could have deceived her so far. However, she

had not the least suspicion of the treason of which she was the victim.

The servant pulled the bell and a young country woman came into the room

and awkwardly curtseyed to Blanche, who returned her salutation with

good will.

"Mademoiselle, this young girl is at your orders. She will serve you as

chambermaid if you are willing to accept her services."

"Oh, I can do everything for myself very well; I do not need anybody, I

thank you."

"In any case, Marie will come as soon as you ring. Mademoiselle must

need rest after the fatigue of the journey; we will retire."

"Yes, since he will not come until evening I will try to sleep a little.

The time will seem shorter."

Germain made a sign to Marie, who after having made two other curtseys,

left, followed by the marquis' valet. Left alone in her new apartment,

Blanche glanced around her with surprise. All that had happened to her

since the evening before seemed like a dream. She paused before the

furniture, the mirrors, and murmured, sighing,--

"All this belongs to him, but why this mystery? He feared, perhaps, to

be loved only for his fortune. Ah, dear Urbain, it is you only whom I

love, and I should very quickly leave this fine chateau if it were

necessary for me to dwell in it without you. But we shall be very happy

here together, although it will be rather large for us two."

Fatigued by her journey, Blanche threw herself upon the bed. Soon

slumber closed her eyes, she rested tranquilly, believing that she was

under Urbain's roof.

It was four o'clock when the young girl awakened. Her first care on

rising from the bed was to go and look at a clock on the mantelpiece.

"Evening is still far distant," said she sighing, "and what can I do

until then? It seems to me that I'm lost in this fine chateau. If only

Marguerite were here, we could talk about Urbain, that would make the

time pass quicker."

In glancing about the chamber she perceived a little door which she had

not remarked before; she opened it and found herself in a dressing-room

where everything was gathered that could be agreeable to a woman of

fashion, but Blanche looked indifferently at a handsome dressing-case

furnished with rarely beautiful objects. In her plans for a happy future

she had seen only a small farm, a stable, a dovecot, and a garden, and

her mind could not become accustomed to replace it by the chateau. She

left the dressing-room and returned to the first room, where she saw a

table covered with all that could tempt the appetite.

"How attentive they are," said Blanche, "really they treat me like a

queen. Urbain must have told them to take every care of me."

Blanche rang and Marie answered, but she was followed by Germain, who

did not wish to lose sight of the chambermaid before the arrival of his

master for fear she might inform Blanche of that which he still wished

to conceal.

"Was this table laid for me?" said Blanche.

"Yes, mademoiselle," answered Germain, "I thought you would need some

breakfast. Excuse me if I offer you nothing but that, but not being

forewarned--"

"Nothing but that! You are laughing, no doubt. There is enough here to

suffice ten persons, and at M. Touquet's we never had more than two

dishes for our dinner."

Blanche seated herself at the table. Germain remained at some distance,

and Marie served her without opening her mouth, but curtseyed to her

every time that she handed her a dish. So much ceremony fatigued the

young girl, who was accustomed to a simple, frugal life. She soon left

the table and evinced a desire to walk in the park. Germain immediately

led her through a gallery and several passages to a staircase, at the

foot of which was an entrance to the gardens. Blanche breathed more

freely in the meadows than under the sculptured ceilings of the chateau.

She left the borders of the lake, crossed a little wood and found

herself presently in what was designated as the English park, of which

the paths crossed each other and formed a thousand detours, but when

Blanche turned she always saw Germain in the distance, who had never

lost sight of her.

"He's no doubt afraid that I shall lose myself," said she, "this is all

so vast that it would be easy to lose one's way."

Blanche returned to the chateau; Germain led her back to her apartments,

and then asked at what hour she wished to dine.

"I would much rather wait and sup with Urbain, for he will come this

evening, will he not, monsieur?"

"I think so," answered the valet, bowing, and he departed, leaving her

sad and thoughtful, for these words, "I think so," did not seem positive

enough for her. She stationed herself on one of the balconies which

looked on the lake and there, her eyes fixed on the horizon, gave

herself up to her thoughts, and invoked the night which should reunite

her with her lover. Soon her eyes could not distinguish distant objects,

a light mist seemed to rise and obscure the scene; presently the

perspective diminished, the horizon dosed in; finally, she could see

only a few steps before her, and Blanche left the balcony, saying,--

"Night is here, he will come."

Germain entered the room and lighted several candles.

"As soon as he arrives," said Blanche to the man, "do not fail to tell

him I am here--that I am waiting for him."

"His first care will be to seek you, mademoiselle," answered the valet

smiling, and he departed, inviting Blanche to ring if she should desire

anything else.

Had not Urbain's face been incessantly before the mind of the young

girl, perhaps she would have experienced some fear on finding herself

alone at night in a place which she hardly knew, in the middle of a room

which seemed to her immense in comparison with the little room which she

had occupied at the barber's, but love is the best remedy against fear,

and the young girl, who would not go down into the cellar without

trembling, although she had a light in her hand, would willingly go

there without a candle were she sure of finding her lover. The clock

struck nine.

"He cannot be much later," said Blanche, "provided nothing has stopped

him on the way, for M. Touquet told me he would be here before me."

She sighed, and opening a window went on to the balcony to contemplate

the reflection of the moon on the tranquil surface of the lake; she was

astonished at the silence which reigned in the chateau, where everything

seemed as still as the moonlit landscape. This profound quietude did not

indicate the arrival of Urbain, and at that moment Blanche wished to

hear some sound which would at least break the solitude of the night.

She tried to console herself by saying,--

"My rooms are probably distant from the entrance to the chateau; this

house is so big I cannot hear what passes in other parts of it."

An hour rolled by, and the uneasiness, the sadness, which had taken

possession of the young girl caused her to pass alternately from her

room to the balcony. Sometimes she opened the door of her room and

ventured into the gallery.

Joy and hope no longer animated her beautiful eyes, and she could hardly

restrain her tears. At last she dropped into an immense easy chair and

said in a broken voice,--

"What new misfortune could have happened to him?"

Suddenly a loud noise was heard. Blanche rose, listened, and thought she

distinguished the sound of carriage wheels, the hoofs of horses, and the

barking of dogs. Presently the opening and shutting of doors was heard.

"He is come," cried the young girl, and she was about to pass along the

gallery to go and meet her lover, but there was no light, she did not

know the way and would become lost in all these immense rooms; it would

be much better to wait for him in her own. She still listened. The sound

of wheels had ceased, but she occasionally heard steps and voices.

"Somebody surely has arrived," said Blanche. "It can be nobody but

Urbain; but why does he not come to me?"

She ran to the bell and pulled the cord several times. Nobody came.

Greatly astonished at this, she was about to take a light and venture

into the gallery when hasty steps approached.

"Here he is at last," exclaimed she, running immediately to the door,

and remaining motionless with surprise and fear on seeing before her the

stranger who, on the preceding night, had visited the barber's house.

The marquis paused on the doorsill. He bowed to Blanche with a look at

once tender and respectful. The latter had hardly recovered from her

surprise, and looked anxiously into the gallery, saying to the marquis

in a touching voice,--

"Is not Urbain with you?"

Blanche's accents were so sweet, her voice expressed so much anxiety of

mind, that Villebelle felt profoundly moved, and for the first time,

perhaps, experienced some remorse at the pain which he was about to

cause the young girl. Blanche repeated her question in a supplicating

tone, and the marquis answered, turning away his eyes,--

"I came alone."

"O monsieur, in mercy tell me what has happened to him!" exclaimed

Blanche, approaching the marquis and extending her arms towards him in

her anxiety.

Villebelle looked at her and in that moment the various feelings which

agitated the charming child, rendered her still more seductive. Her eyes

were more animated than usual, her lips, half opened, disclosed two rows

of pearls, and her hair falling in disorder over her forehead, gave a

new expression to her angelic face. The marquis felt his remorse vanish

at the sight of so many charms. Habituated, besides, to treat virtue as

a chimera and constancy as a folly, he flattered himself that he would

soon be able to dissipate Blanche's grief, and now, wishing to undeceive

her, he fell on his knees, saying,--

"Deign to forgive me, lovely girl; this chateau belongs to me. You are

not in Urbain's house, but in the house of a man who adores you and will

use every means to promote your happiness."

Blanche seemed as though she did not comprehend him; she looked at him

affrightedly, repeating,--

"I am not at Urbain's house? But, monsieur, where is he then?"

"I'm not very uneasy about that, and I should advise him not to come

here to seek you."

"But it is with Urbain that I should be, monsieur. They were mistaken in

bringing me here, I said so at the time; I knew Urbain could not have

such a grand house. You are going to make them take me away immediately,

are you not, monsieur?"

"No, my dear child, it was I who caused you to be abducted and I will

yield you to nobody."

"Abducted?" she cried, "what are you saying? Urbain had fought a duel

and had to flee, that is why I started in the middle of the night."

"It was necessary to tell you that, in order that you might leave

willingly."

"O my God! could that be so? But, no, it was my protector, it was M.

Touquet himself, who put me in the carriage."

"Yes, adorable Blanche, it was your protector, it was the honest Touquet

who aided my plans and gave you up to my love."

The frightful truth flashed into her mind, her knees failed her, the

color left her cheeks, and without uttering a single cry she was about

to fall upon the floor. Happily the marquis received her in his arms, he

laid her on the bed and rang the bell violently. Germain immediately

appeared.

"Call someone, call for help," said the marquis, greatly agitated, "she

has lost consciousness. Is there not a woman here in the chateau?"

"Pardon me, monseigneur." Germain called Marie, and the stout country

girl came running.

"Give all your care to this young girl," said the marquis to the woman,

"and do not leave her for an instant. If she is long in coming to her

senses, send me word."

"Very well, monseigneur," said Marie, curtseying, and Villebelle left

the room with Germain.

The marquis, fatigued by his rapid journey from Paris, threw himself

upon a lounge as soon as he reached his apartment, and while Germain

relieved him of his travelling dress he inquired as to what Blanche had

said and done since her arrival.

"Monseigneur," said Germain, "she believed that she was at the house of

M. Urbain, and following your orders I have not undeceived her."

"She appears to love him more than I had believed," said Villebelle,

sighing.

"'Tis but the love of a young girl, monseigneur, a fierce fire, which

soon burns itself out."

"May what you say be true, but Blanche bears no resemblance to other

women whom I have seen up to this day. There is about her a candor, a

frankness, finally, a something, I know not what, which commands

respect. I cannot explain to you the feeling with which she inspires me.

Her tears sear my heart. I wish to win her love by the attentions which

I shall lavish upon her. It will take some time, perhaps; but no matter,

I feel capable of restraining my passion, of submitting to everything

which she may exact of me. You see, Germain, that I am truly in love,

for I no longer recognize self, and near Blanche I feel as timid as a

child."

"We must see if that will last, monseigneur."

"Ah, you don't understand what I experience. Germain, you must start

tomorrow morning for Paris; I will give you what money is necessary,

and you will bring back everything you can find of the prettiest and

newest in ornaments, stuffs, and jewels. Spare nothing, that we may find

something to please Blanche."

"Rely on me, monseigneur."

"How many servants are in the chateau?"

"The old porter, who never leaves his door, believing himself the

guardian of a citadel; his daughter Marie, whom monseigneur saw just

now, and who is the only woman I found at the chateau."

"Is she capable of waiting on Blanche?"

"Oh, yes, monseigneur, she's rather stupid, rather awkward, but very

faithful and obedient. Her father answered to me for that; besides,

Mademoiselle Blanche seemed to prefer to do without a chambermaid."

"Well, go on."

"The gardener, an old idiot, who knows nothing except plants. As to the

country people whom we employ, they never come inside the house. Oh, I

forgot, an old cook and cellarman, very drunken, so far as I can see,

but he is never permitted to leave his kitchen and, in the absence of

his masters, shuts himself up in the cellars."

"That is well, but it is necessary to have some people here who can

watch Blanche or else she will doubtless find some way to escape, if, in

time, she should form such a plan, and I brought from Paris two lackeys

who will acquit themselves perfectly in this employment. Ah, Germain,

if I can only make Blanche love me, how happy I shall be; but I am

anxious to have news of her, go down and call Marie, I cannot remain in

this anxiety."

Germain went down, but soon returned with the young peasant, who had

already left Blanche.

"Well, how is she?"

"That young lady, monseigneur?"

"Certainly."

"Oh, she returned to her senses some time ago, monseigneur."

"And what did she say then?"

"On my word, monseigneur, lots of things that I couldn't understand--Oh,

wait, I remember, she asked me if you were master of the chateau, and as

soon as I said 'Yes,' she began to cry."

"She wept?"

"Oh, yes, monseigneur, she did nothing else, and then she asked me your

name."

"What did you answer?"

"Mercy, I said that you were called monseigneur le marquis."

"She asked you no other questions?"

"No, monseigneur."

"And why did you leave her?"

"Monseigneur, it was because she told me she would like me to leave

her."

The marquis signed to them to leave him. He did not wish anyone to

witness the emotion which he felt. It gave him satisfaction to know

that Blanche was within his walls, but the sorrow which she showed

disturbed his content. He dared not go back to her yet, deeming it wiser

to allow her time to recover from the first pangs of her grief. He threw

himself upon his bed, but he could not sleep. The image of Blanche was

incessantly before his eyes, and with her came the remembrance of the

many errors of his youth which he wished in vain to drive from his mind.

While Villebelle endeavored to account for his insomnia and agitation by

attributing it to love, Blanche passed in tears that night which she had

awaited with so much impatience. Convinced at last that she was in the

power of the man to whom the barber had delivered her, she felt all the

horror of her situation; but accustomed by Marguerite to put all her

confidence in a Supreme Being, and to have no doubt of His power, she

prayed and besought Heaven to reunite her with Urbain. Upon her knees,

her hands raised toward Heaven, and her eyes bathed in tears, she passed

part of the night, and morning found her still so occupied.

Marie came to take her orders. Blanche wished for nothing, she desired

nothing but her liberty, and, in answer to that request, Marie brought

her breakfast. An hour later the marquis entered the room. Blanche did

not see him; she was seated with her head supported by one of her hands

and appeared absorbed in sorrow.

Villebelle signed to Marie to leave them, and looked for some moments in

silence at this young girl who had been, since the evening before,

reduced to despair because she was pretty and had had the misfortune to

please a rich and powerful man, who thought that she should be only too

happy to be the object of his passion. However the change which had

taken place in Blanche's features, her eyes reddened and still filled

with tears, made a painful impression upon the great nobleman. He would

have preferred reproaches rather than this silent grief. He drew nearer,

that his victim might perceive his presence.

Blanche raised her eyes and looked at the marquis, showing only a slight

uneasiness, and let her head fall again upon her hand. Villebelle had

expected complaints and reproaches. Surprised at this silence he took a

chair, and seated himself near Blanche, who remained silent and

continued to weep.

"Are you so very unhappy then?" said the marquis at last, with emotion;

and Blanche answered sobbing, but with the sweet tone which never left

her,--

"Yes, monsieur."

"Can you regret the barber's gloomy house where you never had any

pleasure?"

"It is not the house that I regret, monsieur."

"Here there is nothing to hinder you from being the most happy woman;

all your desires shall be laws here, you shall have the most beautiful

ornaments, the richest jewelry."

"I don't wish for them, monsieur."

"You will not always think so, my dear child. Formed to please, to

attract homage, one day by your features and your toilets you will

eclipse the most seductive ladies of Paris."

"I don't understand you, monsieur."

"Forget the years passed in retirement and commence a new life. This

dwelling shall become a place of delight; parties and pleasures shall

succeed each other here without interruption as soon as your beautiful

eyes repay my efforts with a smile. The barber did not deserve your

friendship; the wretch would not have brought you up had it not been for

his interest to do so; you may dismiss all thoughts of gratitude from

your heart. As to the young man to whom he wished to marry you, he is

but a boy, somebody has told me, and will soon forget you."

"Urbain forget me!" cried Blanche, starting convulsively. Then she said

in a calmer tone, falling back in her chair,--

"No, monsieur, Urbain will not forget me, for I feel sure I shall love

him always, and our hearts had but a single thought."

The marquis rose, greatly annoyed, and walked about the room. In a

moment he said,--

"It is, however, useless, mademoiselle, to nourish a sentiment which

must henceforth be hopeless, for you shall never more see this Urbain,

whom I hate without knowing."

Blanche looked supplicatingly at the marquis, approached him and threw

herself on her knees, saying, in a voice broken by sobs,--

"Monsieur, what have I done to you that you should punish me like this?

If, unknowingly, I have been guilty of any fault, forgive me, I beg of

you, but do not separate me from Urbain."

"Rise, I beseech you," said Villebelle, who yielded in spite of himself

to the emotion which he felt. "No, you are not guilty, lovely girl, it

is I, I alone; yes, I am a monster to make you shed tears. Ah, why did I

ever see you--but you are so pretty!"

"Monsieur, has any one the right to shut up a girl because she is

pretty? If you punish me by shutting me up a prisoner in your chateau,

that should be forbidden. Is it permitted to a great nobleman to torment

poor people at his will? O my God! and the talisman which Marguerite

gave me to preserve me from all danger! O poor Marguerite! if she only

knew how unfortunate I am."

"Oh, well," said he, leaning towards Blanche, "since you hate me, since

I am only an object of dislike to you--"

"I hate you!" said the innocent child, raising her sweet eyes to his.

"Oh, no, monsieur, don't believe that; despite all the grief you have

caused me, I don't know how it is, but I feel that I should like to

forgive you, I feel that I could even love you."

"You could love me, delightful girl," exclaimed the marquis, intoxicated

by these words. "O heavens, she could love me and I was just about to

consent--oh, never; rather would I die than lose you or yield you to

another. You have given me a foretaste of so much happiness that the

idea of it alone transports me. Blanche, Blanche, I shall do everything

to merit the love which you allow me to hope for, but to renounce

you--ah, that is henceforth impossible. I must leave you, that I may not

see those tears which make me detest my love."

Villebelle left precipitantly. Blanche looked after him in surprise,

understanding nothing of the transport which he had shown. She was far

from conceiving that she had riveted her chains in confessing to the

marquis that she had a feeling of friendship for him. Her pure heart did

not know how to feign, and the feeling which she wished to give to the

marquis was so different from the love she had for Urbain that she saw

no harm in allowing it to appear. But Villebelle did not know how to

read this ingenuous heart. He imagined that Blanche was about to respond

to his love, and did not doubt but that he should, in time, cause her to

forget Urbain.

The day rolled by without the marquis again approaching Blanche. The

latter tried to summon her courage, but could not persuade herself that

the marquis had any intention except to keep her prisoner, and she had

recourse to her talisman, hoping by means of it to abridge her sojourn

in the chateau. In the afternoon, Blanche asked Marie the way into the

park, and the stout peasant hastened to lead her to the entrance, where

she left her, making a curtsey. Despite her innocent air, the country

girl understood that her lord was in love with the young damsel. Marie

had remarked Blanche's red eyes, and heard her deep sighs, and, while

leaving her, she said to herself,--

"Zooks! if monseigneur was in love with me, that would not make me cry;

far otherwise."

Although she was alone in the park, Blanche did not even conceive the

idea of seeking to recover her liberty. She did not know the way, and

was ignorant as to what place she was in, and how far from Paris. She

felt that it would be impossible to leave without again falling into the

power of the marquis, and she resigned herself to wait until he should

send her to her lover. She did not suppose the marquis capable of

keeping her always a prisoner, and did not yet divine all the dangers

which surrounded her in the chateau.

Villebelle, learning that Blanche was in the park, hastened to join her

there, and the young girl received him almost smiling, and although her

features still wore a plaintive expression, she chatted with him on the

objects which surrounded them, and answered him with her accustomed

sweetness and grace. This conduct appeared so extraordinary to the

marquis that he regarded Blanche with as much astonishment as love.

However, far from emboldening him, he felt for her a most profound

respect, and dared not speak of his love, and, not understanding the

power which the child exerted over him, he remained for some time silent

and thoughtful, walking at her side.

The next day Marie carried into Blanche's room the things which Germain

had brought from Paris; an infinite quantity of those charming nothings

invented so that rich men may more easily spend their money. The stout

peasant looked on each object with ecstasy, while Blanche hardly took

the trouble to look at them.

The marquis came to see his young captive, and perceived that she had

not touched his presents.

"Do you disdain that which I am so happy to offer you?" said he to

Blanche.

"I don't wish for any of those things," answered she, sighing. "I do not

need all of these ornaments in order to please Urbain. What would he say

if he saw me in them?"

"Still thinking of Urbain? Have I not told you, mademoiselle, that you

will not see him again?"

"Yes, but I don't think you're so wicked as you wish to appear. How

would it help you always to vex me so?"

"Blanche, have you not confessed that you were not far from loving me?"

"Yes, and I still feel the same. With Urbain and you I should be very

happy."

"May I not hope by the ardor of my attentions, my love, that I may cause

you to forget a first fancy, and that I alone shall occupy your heart?"

"You don't understand me, monsieur. I love Urbain as my lover, my

husband; and you--I should like--I don't know, it seems to me that I

could with pleasure call you my brother--or my father."

This confession did not entirely satisfy Villebelle, but he hoped

everything from time and the constancy of his attentions.

Towards evening Blanche again went into the park, and as on the previous

evening the marquis joined her. He walked near her, feeling his love

increase every moment. The marquis could not recognize himself. This

libertine, this seducer, who had triumphed over the most rebellious

beauties, had become timid and fearful before a child who had no other

safeguards than her innocence and her virtue.

Twelve days had passed since Blanche had come to the Chateau de Sarcus,

and had wrought no change in the situation. Every morning the marquis

paid her a visit, but when, yielding to the grief which she experienced

on being separated from him she loved, the sweet child allowed her tears

to flow, the marquis left her abruptly. In the evening they walked

together in the park, but often in silence or exchanging only a few

words. Blanche dreamed of Urbain, and Villebelle, satisfied in being

near her, had not yet conceived guilty designs.

At the end of this time, a message from Paris apprised the marquis that

his uncle was very ill, and desired to see him before he died.

Villebelle, the sole heir of this relative, who was very rich, was

obliged to go to him, and decided, although with regret, to leave

Blanche for some days. He took Germain with him, but the men servants

whom he left at the chateau had received their instructions; besides the

sad Blanche had no idea of escaping. The marquis judged it better not to

forewarn the young girl of his departure; and he left the chateau more

in love than ever, and vowing to hasten his return.

CHAPTER IX

THE MEETING. PROJECTS OF REVENGE.

We left our disconsolate young lover at the moment when he was about to

seat himself upon a huge stone, and was arrested in the act of doing so

by an exclamation uttered by an unseen man.

The words pronounced by this individual have no doubt already caused the

reader to recognize our Chaudoreille, who had remained in the place

where the robbers, disguised as chair porters, had left him.

Urbain was startled on hearing himself thus addressed, but being one of

those persons who are insensible to fear, he calmly seated himself on

the stone, saying,--

"Pardon me, monsieur, I did not see you."

Chaudoreille half rose, looked at Urbain, and began to feel reassured.

Besides, what had he to fear now? His money was gone and his costume

would not be likely to tempt robbers. Rolande, it is true, was still

left him, for the thieves had perceived that in his hands the weapon was

not dangerous.

"By jingo! you woke me up, comrade; and I was having a delightful dream.

I still had the two thousand livres of gold in my pockets, when I

awakened to the sad reality. O thousand million mustaches! The thieves,

the scoundrels! they have taken everything from me. I've had a fine

experience; I don't own so much as an obole. O death! O fury! O

despair!"

Chaudoreille again threw himself upon the ground, and pulled two or

three hairs from his mustache. Feeling that this would not restore his

crowns, he quieted himself, and again looked at Urbain, who was sighing

deeply, and appeared to pay no attention to the despair of the despoiled

man.

"What the deuce! this is a taciturn fellow," said the Gascon to himself;

and then he again addressed Urbain.

"I'll wager that you have been robbed, also, comrade. This town is

indeed infested with thieves and bandits; one is safe only in the midst

of a patrol, and yet one can't be proud of the watch. It was that cursed

theatre brought this misfortune upon me; those wretched comedians at the

Hotel de Bourgogne dared to mock at a gentleman of my race. Ah,

Turlupin, my friend, I'll get even with you. Tomorrow I'll lay a

complaint before the criminal magistrate, and I'll put you and

Gautier-Garguille in a dungeon. But, alas, that won't restore my two

hundred pistoles. I'll wager you haven't as much on you, comrade--hey?

By jingo, you sigh as though they had despoiled you of the towers of

Notre-Dame. Were you robbed in a sedan chair?"

A deep sigh was Urbain's only response; then he murmured to himself,--

"Alas, I have lost her forever!"

"I was sure he'd lost his purse," said Chaudoreille, "or rather, that

some one had taken it from him. Did you lose it in this neighborhood,

comrade?"

Urbain looked at him in surprise, then he said,--

"I don't know where she can be. I have been running all over Paris since

eight o'clock, and I have learned nothing."

"If you only had a lantern, that would help you--was it very large? If

we recover it full, comrade, you must share it with me. That's

understood."

Urbain rose and seized Chaudoreille by the throat, and holding him

tightly to the ground, exclaimed,--

"Wretch! do you dare to insult my sorrow? If I should listen to my

anger--"

"O mercy! do not listen to it, I beg of you. Ugh, I can't bear it any

longer. What the devil sort of man are you? Did you come from the

Chateau de Vincennes? Because I offer to help you look for your lost

purse, you try to strangle me!"

"My purse? what, you were talking about money?"

"How could I talk about anything else after having had so much of it as

I have."

"Excuse me, monsieur, I didn't understand you."

"I'm beginning to see that; but, by jingo, we were nearly choked, that

is to say, you choked me. What a grip you have, it's like mine when I

hold Rolande. It appears that it's not money you've lost, then?"

"O monsieur, would to heaven it were! I would give all I possess to

recover her whom I adore--she who was about to become my wife!"

"Poor simpleton," said Chaudoreille to himself, "it's on account of a

woman that he's lamenting thus. He doesn't know what it is to lose two

hundred pistoles, without counting the small change. But since he's not

been robbed, I'll try to make him useful--if I could replenish my

pockets by helping him to find his lass!"

The chevalier rose, and seating himself on a stone near Urbain, said to

him, in a feeling voice,--

"Tell me your troubles, young man, I'm the protector of everything in

nature that suffers--in consideration of a slight gratuity; but I never

charge anything, trusting to the generosity of those whom I oblige."

"What could you do for me, monsieur? I have not the least trace of the

abductors, nor of the route they have taken. Oh, I feel that courage

has abandoned me."

"What a thing to say, young man! Courage should never leave you. For

shame!--in all the phases of life it is courage which makes us equal the

gods, who, in truth, should not fear death itself, since they are

immortal. But to return to you. If you have money it is always a

resource. I shall help you to find your sweetheart; two of my friends

are detectives, that is to say, they operate as amateurs for the good of

humanity. Tell me in what neighborhood did the little one live?"

"In the Rue des Bourdonnais, with the barber Touquet, who brought her

up."

"At the barber's? Rue des Bourdonnais--and your sweetheart is named

Blanche?"

"Yes, monsieur, do you know her? Oh, pray tell me."

"One moment, one moment, my young friend. Hang it! this is an event for

which I--give us your hand; by jingo, you're very fortunate to have met

me."

"What! can you help me to find Blanche?" and Urbain threw himself on

Chaudoreille's neck.

"This young man is the one Blanche was going to marry," said the Gascon

to himself, as he disengaged himself from Urbain's grasp. "It appears as

though the marquis had already carried the little one off; but he has

paid me, I have nothing more to hope for from him; so I must turn to

the young lover's side. However, I shall be prudent and not let him

know who I am, nor what I have done in this intrigue."

Urbain pressed Chaudoreille to explain himself, and the latter answered,

in a mysterious tone,--

"I am acquainted with neither Blanche nor the barber, but one of my

friends goes often to Touquet's shop. I remember now that he has often

spoken to me of your approaching marriage."

"That's singular! M. Touquet advised the greatest secrecy, and he

himself--"

"But, you see, some one must have spoken of it, since I know it. But a

man of high rank, a great nobleman, was in love with your promised

wife."

"A great nobleman! what is his name?"

"I don't know yet, but I shall learn it."

"And you are sure of this?"

"Oh, very sure; and it must be this nobleman who has taken away your

sweetheart."

"I entreat you to let me know his name."

"Tomorrow, that is, to say, this evening, I hope to learn it. But be

prudent, young man, and do not compromise me. I expose myself to great

risk in thus helping you."

"Monsieur, you may count on my gratitude."

"I will count on it, you may be sure."

"And I may expect the information this evening?"

"Yes; be near the Porte Montmartre at nine o'clock this evening. Take

care to bring along with you all the money you can get together, and I

will tell you all I have learned."

"Enough! Oh, that evening were here--"

"And, while waiting for it, I shall have need of some crowns to give to

the friend of whom I spoke to you, and my pockets are empty because I

have been robbed so much."

"Here is all that I have upon me, monsieur; take it, I beg of you."

"Very willingly, my young friend," said Chaudoreille; "but day is

dawning; we must part until this evening, at the Porte Montmartre."

"Oh, I shan't fail to be there, monsieur."

"And don't forget anything I have told you. Good-by; I'm going to work

for you."

Chaudoreille departed, and Urbain, slightly restored by the hope

imparted to him by this man, went to his dwelling that he might there

wait for evening.

While walking alongside the Pont-Neuf, the Gascon said to himself,--

"It seems to me that the marquis did the business very quickly. The

little one is abducted; this rascal of a Touquet is in connivance with

the marquis, I am certain. I must be audacious now; the marquis is

incapable of speaking of me; I must go to Touquet's house without

appearing to know anything, and see what he will say to me; besides,

from prudential motives I shall remain in the shop, and the first angry

movement that I see him make, I will spring out of the door and draw a

hundred people around me."

This plan settled, Chaudoreille began by going into the first

eating-house which he saw, and, for fear of being again robbed, ate and

drank to the extent of all the money which Urbain had given him. It was

nearly ten o'clock when he left the table. This was the time when the

barber's was always the most crowded, and it was the moment which

Chaudoreille chose to go there. Before he went into the shop, he

ascertained that Touquet was not alone; then he presented himself, and

wished him good morning with a wheedling air. The barber answered in his

customary tone. Nothing in his manner indicated that he had any

suspicion, and Chaudoreille was reassured. However, when they were alone

he did not lose sight of the door, while asking indifferently if there

was any news.

"Everything is finished," said the barber, "they are married, they are

gone, and I hope I shall hear nothing further."

"Oh, they are married," said Chaudoreille, compressing his lips, "the

little one has a husband. Her little lover?"

"Why, of course," answered Touquet, brusquely. "What is there surprising

to you in that?"

"Me? By jingo! I'm no more surprised than a fly."

"Wait, here is what I promised you. I intend shortly to sell this house,

and to retire from business. I have no further need of your visits; you

have no more music lessons to give here, so you need not take the

trouble to come again. Good-by, I will make you a present of all the

shaves for which you owe me."

"Very much obliged, my dear friend, may I be able to prove all my

gratitude to you some day."

So saying, Chaudoreille passed through the doorway, and departed from

the barber's house.

"He forbids me to return to his house," said the Gascon. "That's very

polite. The rascal is afraid that I shall meet the marquis there. The

latter probably ordered him to share with me the gratuity he gave him on

receiving the pretty little sweetheart at his hands; but patience! if

you are a scoundrel, my dear Touquet, I flatter myself that I am also an

adroit enough chap. I have no desire to return into your hornets' nest.

Come, Chaudoreille, we must show some genius here, my friend. I must set

to work to repair last night's losses and to make my fortune over again.

Devil take me, though, if I ever again take a sedan chair. First I'll go

to the little house in the Faubourg and learn from Marcel if it was

there that the marquis led Blanche; after that I shall come back into

Paris and go to our jealous Italian's house; there I shall tell her all

about it,--I shall tell her all about it! She'll go into convulsions

over it. Finally, I'll keep the appointment I made with the young lover,

and after having made him pay me well, I'll tell him all that I know.

After that each one of them may win out of it as they best can. As for

me, as soon as my pockets are full, I shall settle myself in a faro

house, and I will there dare fortune in the midst of players and

bankers. By jingo! what a pleasing prospect."

While laying these plans he took his way towards the Faubourg

Saint-Antoine. He arrived all out of breath at the little house, and,

while opening to him, Marcel asked him if by chance he had again killed

a strange prince.

"Not today," said Chaudoreille, affectionately squeezing his friend's

hand, which made the latter presume that his great fortune was already

dissipated.

"Have you come for the purpose of buying a house in this neighborhood,"

said Marcel.

"There's no more question of that; I have been robbed, my friend,

completely robbed. I took a sedan chair and the wretches who carried me

took me into a den and put a dozen or fifteen men after me. Valor could

do nothing against numbers; I think, however, that I killed three or

four while defending myself. But let us drop that. Tell me, my dear

Marcel, has the marquis brought here a new conquest?"

"I have seen neither monseigneur nor anybody from him."

"Marcel, you're lying."

"I'm telling you the truth. There's no one except me in the house."

"The devil! that upsets my ideas a little. You are very sure that you

are not lying to me?"

"Why, hang it! if there had been anybody here I should have sent you

away before this."

"Do you know if your master possesses any other little properties on the

outskirts of Paris?"

"I know nothing except to follow the orders which he has given me, to

eat and to sleep; for the rest I'm neither curious nor a gossip."

"You're very wrong, you'll never push yourself. Good-by, Marcel."

Chaudoreille took his way back to Paris, extremely dissatisfied that he

had not discovered where Blanche was. Not wishing to go to Julia's house

until he had learned more, he decided to make some inquiries at the

marquis' hotel.

The brilliant Villebelle's hotel was worthy of its master, and was

situated at a little distance from the Louvre. Chaudoreille slipped into

an immense court and bowed low to the porter, while asking if

monseigneur was in Paris.

"Monsieur le marquis is in England," said the porter, looking at

Chaudoreille from the height of his grandeur, and the latter, seeing

that he had no way of entering into conversation with the proud

guardian, left the hotel, saying to himself,--

"In England? Does he wish to seduce the little one with plum pudding? My

faith! I've done all that I can. Come now, let's go and tell the

beautiful Julia all that I know. It's not more than five o'clock, I

shall have plenty of time to keep my appointment."

Chaudoreille ran to the young Italian's house, where a servant opened

the door.

"Is your mistress in?" said he.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Is she alone?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Go and inform her that the Chevalier Chaudoreille has something of

great importance to communicate to her."

The domestic returned shortly, and immediately took Chaudoreille to her

mistress. Julia was walking up and down her room, deeply agitated.

"I was waiting for you," said she to the chevalier, signing to him to be

seated.

"You were waiting for me, signora?"

"Yes, for I have not seen the marquis since I spoke to you. Never yet

has he been so long without coming and I do not doubt but some new

intrigue is the cause of his abandonment of me."

"Alas, signora, you have divined the truth only too well.

"Then I have been betrayed," cried Julia, making a movement of fury,

while Chaudoreille went to seat himself at a respectful distance,

putting Rolande across his knee.

"What did you expect, signora? Men are--men. The marquis did not know

how to appreciate your grace, your charms, your--"

"Hold your tongue, and tell me immediately all that you know."

"She wants me to hold my tongue and yet speak," answered Chaudoreille,

rolling his eyes affrightedly.

"The name of my rival? Answer me, wretch."

"It's this way, signora--but I beg you let me tell you that by order--"

"The name of my rival, I tell you," resumed Julia, approaching

Chaudoreille furiously. The little man, trembling in all his limbs,

muttered,--

"Blanche, an orphan, a young girl whom the barber was caring for."

"The scoundrel! I should have known it."

"Blanche was to have been married today to a young man whom she loved

and who adored her. The barber had given his consent. I don't know by

what chance monsieur le marquis came to see the young girl, but he must

have fallen in love with her and abducted her, for the night before last

she disappeared, and I strongly suspect my friend Touquet of having

aided monseigneur's plans. At all events, the little one is not at the

Faubourg Saint-Antoine; I have been there and the marquis is not in

Paris, since I come from his hotel, where they told me he was in

England."

Chaudoreille told all this without taking breath, fearing that Julia

would do him some ill if he did not hasten his story.

"This voyage to England is a falsehood," cried Julia.

"I thought so myself."

"The marquis has taken the young girl to one of his chateaux."

"That is probable."

"But to which one? That's what we must discover."

"I'm of your opinion, that's what we must discover."

"Perhaps this young girl is still in Paris."

"That might very well be. This city is a gulf, a young girl could be

lost here like a piece of six liards."

Julia reflected for some moments, and Chaudoreille remained silent,

waiting till she should speak that he might echo her words. The young

woman walked up and down the room; one could perceive by the trembling

which had possession of her that it was only by a great effort that she

restrained her fury. Finally, she stopped before Chaudoreille, and said

to him,--

"You think, then, that this Blanche does not love Villebelle?"

"I think that, at least, she does not yet love him, since she had never

seen him."

"How can you be certain of that?"

"In fact--you are right, I'm not certain of it at all."

"Tell me everything that you know in regard to this young girl, how long

she has lived at the barber's and his motive for adopting her."

Chaudoreille told Julia the same story that he had told the marquis, and

she listened to him with the greatest attention. When he had finished

she fell into deep thought, and Chaudoreille dared not disturb her.