“At this moment I was still a sort of savage, wholly absorbed in
my experiments, and scarcely ever setting foot outside my
laboratory. I was indignant; I ardently wished to find and to
punish the villains who had robbed us: but I knew not how to go
about it, nor in what direction to seek information. The wretches
would, perhaps, have gone unpunished, but for a good and worthy man,
now a commissary of police, to whom I once rendered a slight service,
one night, in a riot, when he was close pressed by some half-dozen
rascals. I explained the situation to him: he took much interest
in it, promised his assistance, and marked out my line of conduct.”
Mme. de Thaller seemed restless upon her seat.
“I must confess,” she began, “that I am not wholly mistress of my
time. I am dressed, as you see: I have to go out.”
If she had preserved any hope of adjourning the explanation which
she felt coming, she must have lost it when she heard the tone in
which M. de Tregars interrupted her.
“You can go out to-morrow.”
And, without hurrying,
“Advised, as I have just told you,” he continued, “and assisted by
the experience of a professional man, I went first to No. 3, Rue
des Bergers, in Grenelle. I found there some old people, the
foreman of a neighboring factory and his wife, who had been living
in the house for nearly twenty-five years. At my first question,
they exchanged a glance, and commenced laughing. They remembered
perfectly the Marquise de Javelle, which was but a nickname for a
young and pretty laundress, whose real name was Euphrasie Taponnet.
She had lived for eighteen months on the same landing as themselves:
she had a lover, who passed himself off for a clerk, but who was,
in fact, she had told them, a very wealthy nobleman. They added
that she had given birth to a little girl, and that, two weeks later
she had disappeared, and they had never heard a word from her. When
I left them, they said to me, ‘If you see Phrasie, ask her if she
ever knew old Chandour and his wife. I am sure she’ll remember us.’”
For the first time Mme. de Thaller shuddered slightly; but it was
almost imperceptible.
“From Grenelle,” continued M. de Tregars, “I went to the house
where my father’s mistress had lived under the name of Mme. Devil.
I was in luck. I found there the same concierge as in 1853. As
soon as I mentioned Mme. Devil, she answered me that she had not in
the least forgotten her, but, on the contrary, would know her among
a thousand. She was, she said, one of the prettiest little women
she had ever seen, and the most generous tenant. I understood the
hint, handed her a couple of napoleons, and heard from her every
thing she knew on the subject. It seemed that this pretty Mme.
Devil had, not one lover, but two,--the acknowledged one, who was
the master, and footed the bills; and the other an anonymous one,
who went out through the back-stairs, and who did not pay, on the
contrary. The first was called the Marquis de Tregars: of the
second, she had never known but the first name, Frederic. I
tried to ascertain what had become of Mme. Devil; but the worthy
concierge swore to me that she did not know.
“One morning, like a person who is going abroad, or who wishes to
cover up her tracks, Mme. Devil had sent for a furniture-dealer,
and a dealer in second-hand clothes, and had sold them every thing
she had, going away with nothing but a little leather satchel, in
which were her jewels and her money.”
The Baroness de Thaller still kept a good countenance. After
examining her for a moment, with a sort of eager curiosity, Marius
de Tregars went on,
“When I communicated this information to my friend, the commissary
of police, he shook his head. ‘Two years ago,’ he told me, ‘I
would have said, that’s more than we want to find those people; for
the public records would have given us at once the key of this
enigma. But we have had the war and the Commune; and the books of
record have been burnt up. Still we must not give up. A last
hope remains; and I know the man who is capable of realizing it.’
“Two days after, he brought me an excellent fellow, named Victor
Chupin, in whom I could have entire confidence; for he was
recommended to me by one of the men whom I like and esteem the most,
the Duke de Champdoce. Giving up all idea of applying at the
various mayors’ offices, Victor Chupin, with the patience and the
tenacity of an Indian following a scent, began beating about the
districts of Grenelle, Vargirard, and the Invalids. And not in
vain; for, after a week of investigations he brought me a nurse,
residing Rue de l’Universite, who remembered perfectly having once
attended, on the occasion of her confinement, a remarkably pretty
young woman, living in the Rue des Bergers, and nicknamed the
Marquise de Javelle. And as she was a very orderly woman, who at
all times had kept a very exact account of her receipts, she brought
me a little book in which I read this entry: ‘For attending Euphrasie
Taponnet, alias the Marquise de Javelle (a girl), one hundred francs.’
And this is not all. This woman informed me, moreover, that she had
been requested to present the child at the mayor’s office, and that
she had been duly registered there under the names of Euphrasie
Cesarine Taponnet, born of Euphrasie Taponnet, laundress, and an
unknown father. Finally she placed at my disposal her account-book
and her testimony.”
Taxed beyond measure, the energy of the baroness was beginning to
fail her; she was turning livid under her rice-powder. Still in
the same icy tone,
“You can understand, madame,” said Marius de Tregars, “that this
woman’s testimony, together with the letters which are in my
possession, enables me to establish before the courts the exact
date of the birth of a daughter whom my father had of his mistress.
But that’s nothing yet. With renewed zeal, Victor Chupin had
resumed his investigations. He had undertaken the examination of
the marriage-registers in all the parishes of Paris, and, as early
as the following week, he discovered at Notre Dame des Lorettes the
entry of the marriage of Euphrasie Taponnet with Frederic de
Thaller.”
Though she must have expected that name, the baroness started up
violently and livid, and with a haggard look.
“It’s false!” she began in a choking voice.
A smile of ironical pity passed over Marius’ lips.
“Five minutes’ reflection will prove to you that it is useless to
deny,” he interrupted. “But wait. In the books of that same church,
Victor Chupin has found registered the baptism of a daughter of M.
and Mme de Thaller, bearing the same names as the first one,
--Euphrasie Cesarine.”
With a convulsive motion the baroness shrugged her shoulder.
“What does all that prove?” she said.
“That proves, madame, the well-settled intention of substituting
one child for another; that proves that my father was imprudently
deceived when he was made to believe that the second Cesarine was
his daughter, the daughter in whose favor he had formerly disposed
of over five hundred thousand francs; that proves that there is
somewhere in the world a poor girl who has been basely forsaken by
her mother, the Marquise de Javelle, now become the Baroness de
Thaller.”
Beside herself with terror and anger,
“That is an infamous lie!” exclaimed the baroness. M. de Tregars
bowed.
“The evidence of the truth of my statements,” he said, “I shall
find at Louveciennes, and at the Hotel des Folies, Boulevard du
Temple, Paris.”
Night had come. A footman came in carrying lamps, which he placed
upon the mantelpiece. He was not all together one minute in the
little parlor; but that one minute was enough to enable the Marquise
de Thaller to recover her coolness, and to collect her ideas. When
the footman retired, she had made up her mind, with the resolute
promptness of a person accustomed to perilous situations. She gave
up the discussion, and, drawing near to M. de Tregars,
“Enough allusions,” she said: “let us speak frankly, and face to
face now. What do you want?”
But the change was too sudden not to arouse Marius’s suspicions.
“I want a great many things,” he replied.
“Still you must specify.”
“Well, I claim first the five hundred thousand francs which my
father had settled upon his daughter,--the daughter whom you cast
off.”
“And what next?”
“I want besides, my own and my father’s fortune, of which we have
been robbed by M. de Thaller, with your assistance, madame.”
“Is that all, at least?”