Graham Vane has been for some days in the apartment rented of M. Georges.
He takes it in the name of Mr. Lamb,--a name wisely chosen, less common
than Thompson and Smith, less likely to be supposed an assumed name, yet
common enough not to be able easily to trace it to any special family.
He appears, as he had proposed, in the character of an agent employed by
a solicitor in London to execute sundry commissions and to collect
certain outstanding debts. There is no need to mention the name of the
solicitor; if there were, he could give the name of his own solicitor,
to whose discretion he could trust implicitly. He dresses and acts up to
his assumed character with the skill of a man who, like the illustrious
Charles Fox, has, though in private representations, practised the stage-
play in which Demosthenes said the triple art of oratory consisted; who
has seen a great deal of the world, and has that adaptability of
intellect which knowledge of the world lends to one who is so thoroughly
in earnest as to his end that he agrees to be sportive as to his means.
The kind of language he employs when speaking English to Lebeau is that
suited to the role of a dapper young underling of vulgar mind habituated
to vulgar companionships. I feel it due, if not to Graham himself, at
least to the memory of the dignified orator whose name he inherits, so to
modify and soften the hardy style of that peculiar diction in which he
disguises his birth and disgraces his culture, that it is only here and
there that I can venture to indicate the general tone of it; but in order
to supply my deficiencies therein, the reader has only to call to mind
the forms of phraseology which polite novelists in vogue, especially
young-lady novelists, ascribe to well-born gentlemen, and more
emphatically to those in the higher ranks of the Peerage. No doubt
Graham, in his capacity of critic, had been compelled to read, in order
to review, those contributions to refined literature, and had
familiarized himself to a vein of conversation abounding with "swell" and
"stunner" and "awfully jolly," in its libel on manners and outrage on
taste.
He has attended nightly the cafe Jean Jacques; he has improved
acquaintance with M. Georges and M. Lebeau; he has played at billiards,
he has played at dominos, with the latter. He has been much surprised at
the unimpeachable honesty which M. Lebeau has exhibited in both these
games. In billiards, indeed, a man cannot cheat except by disguising his
strength; it is much the same in dominos,--it is skill combined with
luck, as in whist; but in whist there are modes of cheating which dominos
do not allow,--you can't mark a domino as you can a card. It was
perfectly clear to Graham that M. Lebeau did not gain a livelihood by
billiards or dominos at the cafe Jean Jacques. In the former he was not
only a fair but a generous player. He played exceedingly well, despite
his spectacles; but he gave, with something of a Frenchman's lofty
_fanfaronnade_, larger odds to his adversary than his play justified. In
dominos, where such odds could not well be given, he insisted on playing
such small stakes as two or three francs might cover. In short,
M. Lebeau puzzled Graham. All about M. Lebeau, his manner, his talk,
was irreproachable, and baffled suspicion; except in this,--Graham
gradually discovered that the cafe had a quasi-political character.
Listening to talkers round him, he overheard much that might well have
shocked the notions of a moderate Liberal; much that held in disdain the
objects to which, in 1869, an English Radical directed his aspirations.
Vote by ballot, universal suffrage, etc.,--such objects the French had
already attained. By the talkers at the cafe Jean Jacques they were
deemed to be the tricky contrivances of tyranny. In fact, the talk was
more scornful of what Englishmen understand by radicalism or democracy
than Graham ever heard from the lips of an ultra-Tory. It assumed a
strain of philosophy far above the vulgar squabbles of ordinary party
politicians,--a philosophy which took for its fundamental principles the
destruction of religion and of private property. These two objects
seemed dependent the one on the other. The philosophers of the Jean
Jacques held with that expounder of Internationalism, Eugene Dupont,
"Nous ne voulons plus de religion, car les religions etouffent
l'intelligence."
[Discours par Eugene Dupont a la Cloture du Congres de Bruxelles,
Sept. 3, 1868]
Now and then, indeed, a dissentient voice was raised as to the existence
of a Supreme Being, but, with one exception, it soon sank into silence.
No voice was raised in defence of private property. These sages appeared
for the most part to belong to the class of _ouvriers_ or artisans. Some
of them were foreigners,--Belgian, German, English; all seemed well off
for their calling. Indeed they must have had comparatively high wages,
to judge by their dress and the money they spent on regaling themselves.
The language of several was well chosen, at times eloquent. Some brought
with them women who seemed respectable, and who often joined in the
conversation, especially when it turned upon the law of marriage as a
main obstacle to all personal liberty and social improvement. If this
was a subject on which the women did not all agree, still they discussed
it, without prejudice and with admirable sang froid. Yet many of them
looked like wives and mothers. Now and then a young journeyman brought
with him a young lady of more doubtful aspect, but such a couple kept
aloof from the others. Now and then, too, a man evidently of higher
station than that of ouvrier, and who was received by the philosophers
with courtesy and respect, joined one of the tables and ordered a bowl of
punch for general participation. In such occasional visitors, Graham,
still listening, detected a writer of the press; now and then, a small
artist or actor or medical student. Among the _habitues_ there was one
man, an _ouvrier_, in whom Graham could not help feeling an interest. He
was called Monnier, sometimes more familiarly Armand, his baptismal
appellation. This man had a bold and honest expression of countenance.
He talked like one who, if he had not read much, had thought much on the
subjects he loved to discuss. He argued against the capital of employers
quite as ably as Mr. Mill has argued against the rights of property in
land. He was still more eloquent against the laws of marriage and
Heritage. But his was the one voice not to be silenced in favour of a
Supreme Being. He had at least the courage of his opinions, and was
always thoroughly in earnest. M. Lebeau seemed to know this man, and
honoured him with a nod and a smile, when passing by him to the table he
generally occupied. This familiarity with a man of that class, and of
opinions so extreme, excited Graham's curiosity. One evening he said to
Lebeau, "A queer fellow that you have just nodded to.
"How so?"
"Well, he has queer notions."
"Notions shared, I believe, by many of your countrymen?"
"I should think not many. Those poor simpletons yonder may have caught
'em from their French fellow-workmen, but I don't think that even the
_gobemouches_ in our National Reform Society open their mouths to swallow
such wasps."
"Yet I believe the association to which most of those _ouvriers_ belong
had its origin in England."
"Indeed! what association?"
"The International."
"Ah, I have heard of that."
Lebeau turned his green spectacles full on Graham's face as he said
slowly, "And what do you think of it?"
Graham prudently checked the disparaging reply that first occurred to
him, and said, "I know so little about it that I would rather ask you."
"I think it might become formidable if it found able leaders who knew how
to use it. Pardon me, how came you to know of this cafe? Were you
recommended to it?"
"No; I happened to be in this neighbourhood on business, and walked in,
as I might into any other cafe."
"You don't interest yourself in the great social questions which are
agitated below the surface of this best of all possible worlds?"
"I can't say that I trouble my head much about them."
"A game at dominos before M. Georges arrives?"
"Willingly. Is M. Georges one of those agitators below the surface?"
"No, indeed. It is for you to play."
Here M. Georges arrived, and no further conversation on political or
social questions ensued.
Graham had already called more than once at M. Lebeau's office, and asked
him to put into good French various letters on matters of business, the
subjects of which had been furnished by M. Renard. The office was rather
imposing and stately, considering the modest nature of M. Lebeau's
ostensible profession. It occupied the entire ground-floor of a corner
house, with a front-door at one angle and a back-door at the other. The
anteroom to his cabinet, and in which Graham had generally to wait some
minutes before he was introduced, was generally well filled, and not only
by persons who, by their dress and outward appearance, might be fairly
supposed sufficiently illiterate to require his aid as polite letter-
writers,--not only by servant-maids and grisettes, by sailors, zouaves,
and journeymen workmen,--but not unfrequently by clients evidently
belonging to a higher, or at least a richer, class of society,--men with
clothes made by a fashionable tailor; men, again, who, less fashionably
attired; looked like opulent tradesmen and fathers of well-to-do
families,--the first generally young, the last generally middle-aged.
All these denizens of a higher world were introduced by a saturnine clerk
into M. Lebeau's reception-room, very quickly and in precedence of the
_ouvriers_ and _grisettes_.
"What can this mean?" thought Graham; "is it really that this humble
business avowed is the cloak to some political conspiracy concealed,--the
International Association?" And so pondering, the clerk one day singled
him from the crowd and admitted him into M. Lebeau's cabinet. Graham
thought the time had now arrived when he might safely approach the
subject that had brought him to the Faubourg Montmartre.
"You are very good," said Graham, speaking in the English of a young earl
in our elegant novels,--"you are very good to let me in while you have so
many swells and nobs waiting for you in the other room. But, I say, old
fellow, you have not the cheek to tell me that they want you to correct
their cocker or spoon for them by proxy?"
"Pardon me," answered M. Lebeau in French, "if I prefer my own language
in replying to you. I speak the English I learned many years ago, and
your language in the _beau monde_, to which you evidently belong, is
strange to me. You are quite right, however, in your surmise that I have
other clients than those who, like yourself, think I could correct their
verbs or their spelling. I have seen a great deal of the world,--I know
something of it, and something of the law; so that many persons come to
me for advice and for legal information on terms more moderate than those
of an _avoue_. But my ante-chamber is full, I am pressed for time;
excuse me if I ask you to say at once in what I can be agreeable to you
to-day."
"Ah!" said Graham, assuming a very earnest look, "you do know the world,
that is clear; and you do know the law of France, eh?"
"Yes, a little."
"What I wanted to say at present may have something to do with French
law, and I meant to ask you either to recommend to me a sharp lawyer, or
to tell me how I can best get at your famous police here."
"Police?"
"I think I may require the service of one of those officers whom we in
England call detectives; but if you are busy now, I can call to-morrow."
"I spare you two minutes. Say at once, dear Monsieur, what you want with
law or police."
"I am instructed to find out the address of a certain Louise Duval,
daughter of a drawing-master named Adolphe Duval, living in the Rue ----
in the year 1848."
Graham, while he thus said, naturally looked Lebeau in the face,--not
pryingly, not significantly, but as a man generally does look in the face
the other man whom he accosts seriously. The change in the face he
regarded was slight, but it was unmistakable. It was the sudden meeting
of the eyebrows, accompanied with the sudden jerk of the shoulder and
bend of the neck, which betoken a man taken by surprise, and who pauses
to reflect before he replies. His pause was but momentary,
"For what object is this address required?"
"That I don't know; but evidently for some advantage to Madame or
Mademoiselle Duval, if still alive, because my employer authorizes me to
spend no less than L100 in ascertaining where she is, if alive, or where
she was buried, if dead; and if other means fail, I am instructed to
advertise to the effect that if Louise Duval, or, in case of her death,
any children of hers living in the year 1849, will communicate with some
person whom I may appoint at Paris, such intelligence, authenticated, may
prove to the advantage of the party advertised for. I am, however, told
not to resort to this means without consulting either with a legal
adviser or the police."
"Hem! have you inquired at the house where this lady was, you say,
living in 1848?"
"Of course I have done that; but very clumsily, I dare say, through a
friend, and learned nothing. But I must not keep you now. I think I
shall apply at once to the police. What should I say when I get to the
bureau?"
"Stop, Monsieur, stop. I do not advise you to apply to the police. It
would be waste of time and money. Allow me to think over the matter. I
shall see you this evening at the cafe Jean Jacques at eight o'clock.
Till then do nothing."
"All right; I obey you. The whole thing is out of my way of business
awfully. Bonjour."