chevalier. The faces of the ladies were much flushed; the baroness had a
glass of punch before her, and was gazing with glassy eyes at the dice,
shrieking and disputing over a ten-sou piece which she would not admit
that she had lost. The viscountess had recovered the use of her tongue
by eating sweetmeats, and she indulged in frequent solecisms which must
have opened Dubourg's eyes if he had been himself; but he was not; his
losses had disturbed his mental balance, already shaken by the punch and
liqueurs. He strode about the salon, looking without seeing, listening
without hearing the marchioness's compliments, and passing his hand
across his forehead as if to tranquillize his thoughts. He tried to go
away, but returned again and again to the card-tables, saying to
himself:
"I absolutely must win back my three thousand francs!"
He took a seat at the _creps_ table and called to the count, who was
talking in a corner with the man in the threadbare coat who staked rolls
of louis which no one saw.
"Monsieur," said Dubourg, raising his voice, "I trust that you will not
refuse to give me my revenge at this game, at which I may perhaps have
better luck."
"With great pleasure," replied the count with the lace cuffs.
He hastened to the _creps_ table, which the viscountess and baroness
instantly quitted; indeed, they soon left the salon, as did Madame de
Grandcourt; but Dubourg was too intent upon his game to observe the
disappearance of the ladies.
All the men formed a circle about the _creps_ table. Dubourg was allowed
to choose whether he would punt or be banker. He chose the latter, and
madame la marquise, seated close beside him, took pains always to pick
up the dice and the box and hand them to him. Dubourg lost; he no longer
knew what he was doing; he threw dice and dice-box on the floor. Someone
proposed _trente-et-un_, and he accepted; that finished him; in less
than half an hour, the rest of the contents of his cash-box vanished. He
felt in all his pockets, in his fob--not a sou! he had lost everything,
and the money was not his! He did not speak, but paced the floor for
some moments, pale and haggard, biting his lips, clenching his fists,
and uttering a fierce oath from time to time. The candles began to go
out; the counts and chevaliers whispered together and seemed
embarrassed; the marchioness withdrew to a corner of the salon, not
deeming the moment favorable for treading on Monsieur de Potoski's foot.
At last, Dubourg, throwing off his depression, seemed to have determined
upon his course. He went to get his hat, which he had placed under a
chair, and left the room, slamming the door violently behind him; he
passed through the anteroom, where four tall fellows, only one of whom
was in livery, were busily drinking, opened the door into the hall, and
started downstairs. Not until he was halfway down, and attempted to put
on his hat, did he discover that he had a wretched tile, without band or
lining, which someone had substituted for his fine hat with a plume.
"By heaven, this is too much!" he exclaimed, turning back; "not content
with having filched my money, they propose to filch my hat too! Ah! my
worthy counts and chevaliers, we'll see about that!"
Dubourg rang the bell violently; no one came. He rang again, and beat
the door with his hands and feet, until at last it was opened.
"What do you want?" demanded the servant in livery.
"What do I want? I want my hat, which your chevalier of
I-don't-know-what has taken instead of his own miserable tile."
"There's no hat of yours here."
"What's that, you blackguard! you dare to tell me that?"
"Hold your tongue, monsieur! don't make so much noise in the house;
madame la marquise don't like it."
"Go to the devil with your madame la marquise, who lets people pinch her
wantonly so as to fleece them! I insist on going in; I'll find a way to
get back my hat."
"You cannot go in! Help, my friends! Here's a man who means to make
trouble!"
The three others ran to his assistance. They seized Dubourg by the
shoulders; he struggled and fought to no purpose, being the weaker
party. They forced him down the stairs, yelling and calling them curs
and thieves, as well as their employers. The four tall rascals made no
reply, but pushed him into the street and shut the door in his face.
"Ah! the villains!" he cried, rearranging his clothes, which he had come
near losing with all the rest in the struggle he had had. "Ah! the
scoundrels! What a fine evening I have had, to be sure! Ouf! I've a good
mind to stone the house and break the windows. But, no, I think I'll
call--probably the watch will pass before long."
He stood in the street a moment, undecided as to what he should do. But
it was very late, the street was deserted, and by remaining there he ran
the risk of being arrested himself; he reflected that he was a stranger
in the city, and that he had assumed a title which did not belong to
him. All these reasons led him to decide to wait until morning before he
sought to obtain justice at the hands of madame la marquise. Meanwhile,
it behooved him to find the way back to his hotel.
But how could he show his face before Frédéric and Ménard, after losing
all the money they had intrusted to him? He had nothing left, and they
owed a considerable sum at their hotel.
Dubourg tore his hair and beat his breast as he strode through the
streets of Lyon. At last he arrived at the hotel, and addressed himself
in the following words:
"Whatever happens, I must end by making the best of it. Even if I should
pass the night chastising myself in the street, it wouldn't bring back a
sou to my purse. So I may as well go to bed; to-morrow, we'll see about
getting out of the scrape."
VIII
BEHOLD HER!
Frédéric, when he returned to the hotel during the evening, found Ménard
seated alone before the remains of a chicken with which the quondam
tutor had passed a part of the time since Dubourg's departure. Surprised
not to find the latter, the young count inquired of Ménard as to his
whereabouts, and was told that monsieur le baron had gone to pass the
evening with one of the leading families of the city, from whom he had
received an invitation.
It seemed very strange to Frédéric that Dubourg should receive
invitations at Lyon, where he knew nobody, and he feared that this
"leading family" might be an invention of his friend. However, he was
careful not to convey his suspicions to Ménard, but simply informed him
that he proposed to resume his journey the next day.
"Monsieur le baron isn't in such a hurry as he was," said Ménard; "he is
very well pleased with Lyon."
"Why, only this morning he urged me to leave the place!"
"This invitation seems to have changed his views."
"Monsieur le baron may do as he pleases, but we shall start to-morrow."
Ménard made no reply, but went to bed, considering that his pupil was
taking great liberties with such a man as the palatine; and Frédéric
did the same, although he was somewhat disturbed by Dubourg's absence.
Early the next morning, Ménard and the young count met in the room where
they were accustomed to meet for breakfast. But Dubourg did not appear.
"Can it be that he stayed out all night?" asked Frédéric.
"I beg your pardon, monsieur," said one of the servants of the hotel;
"monsieur le baron came in about three o'clock this morning; he seemed
very tired, and he is still in bed."
"What folly to sit up all night when we were to start to-day! But where
in the devil has he been?--Go and tell him that we are waiting for him."
After some time, the servant returned and announced that monsieur le
baron was sick and could not rise.
"The rascal must have been drunk last night," thought Frédéric; and,
followed by Ménard, who began by rubbing his nose and temples with
vinegar to ward off contagion, he went to Dubourg's bedroom. They found
him in bed; he had pulled his nightcap over his eyes and tied his
handkerchief over it, and his face wore such a piteous expression, that
one would have thought that he had been confined to his bed in agony for
three months.
Ménard halted in the middle of the room and held a smelling-bottle to
his nose, saying in an undertone to Frédéric.
"Mon Dieu! how he has changed!"
"What's the matter with you, in heaven's name, my poor Dubourg?" said
Frédéric, taking the hand of the sick man, who had employed every known
means to give himself an attack of fever.
"Alas! my dear friend, I feel very ill."
"How did it come on?"
"Ah! it was brought on by something that happened--a terrible adventure;
the shock of it was the cause of my illness."
"You must see a doctor, first of all."
"I will go for one, and an apothecary too," said Ménard, who was anxious
for an excuse to go out into the open air.
"No, no, my dear Monsieur Ménard," Dubourg interposed, in a faint voice;
"I don't like doctors; we have plenty of time. Hippocrates himself said:
_Vita brevis, ars longa, experientia fallax_."
"Very true, monsieur le baron; but the same Hippocrates says in another
place----"
"Oh! for heaven's sake, drop Hippocrates!" cried Frédéric, fancying that
he could read in Dubourg's eyes that he was not so ill as he chose to
appear. "As you won't have a doctor, do at least tell us the cause of
your illness, this terrible adventure----"
"Yes," said Ménard, taking pains to seat himself as far as possible from
the bed, where he could get the air from the hall. "Let us know if it
might become contagious."
Dubourg sat up in bed; he raised his eyes heaven-ward, uttered two or
three plaintive groans, pulled his nightcap still further over his eyes,
and began his tale in a most heartrending tone.
"The excellent Ménard has undoubtedly told you that I received yesterday
an invitation to one of the first houses in the city. At all events,
that is what our landlady assured me--otherwise----"
"Yes, he told me that--what next? explain yourself!" said Frédéric,
impatient at Dubourg's roundabout way of reaching the facts.
"Gently! I am in no condition to go so fast, my dear Frédéric.--Well, I
started out in a cab last night, after making a careful toilet."
"Yes; I noticed that you took one of my coats."
"You know perfectly well that I lost my wardrobe with my berlin."
"Well?"
"By some fatality, it happened that I put the purse containing the whole
of our fortune in the pocket of your coat."
"Ah! this begins to look bad," whispered Frédéric, while Ménard, even
more disturbed than he, began to draw his chair nearer.
"Well? go on."
"Well, monsieur le baron?"
"Well, my dear and noble friends, on leaving that brilliant society,
where, to tell the truth, I stayed rather late, I found no carriage at
the door. I was alone, in a street that I did not know. Suddenly four
cutthroats leaped upon me. Alas! I had no weapons, but I defended myself
like a lion. But all in vain! They beat me and threw me down, and the
worst of it is that they robbed me of all the money I had about me."
"Great God! and you had our funds?" cried Ménard.
"I did."
"And your own fifteen thousand francs?"
"Everything--every sou, I tell you. There is nothing left, except what
you two have about you. They took everything, even my superb hat, with
its steel buckle worth sixty francs."
"What a catastrophe! what are we to do?" exclaimed Ménard, who was
terribly distressed to think that, after living like lords, they were
reduced to living by their wits.
Frédéric said nothing; he was suspicious of Dubourg's tale; and that
worthy, perceiving his incredulity, tried to overcome it by crying every
minute:
"What a fatality! to be attacked and robbed! Such things happen to
nobody but me!"
"Indeed, monsieur le baron, you do seem to be unlucky," said Ménard,
remembering the theft of the berlin.
"With whom did you pass the evening?" inquired Frédéric.
"With Madame la Marquise de Versac."
"With Madame de Versac! That's very extraordinary, for I saw her
yesterday at her country house."
"You saw her! What do you mean? Do you know her?" cried Dubourg, in a
voice that did not at all resemble an invalid's.
"Madame de Versac came to my father's house several times, when she was
in Paris last year. In the summer, she lives at her country house. I saw
her there yesterday, I tell you, and she reproved me gently for not
coming there to stay with her; she certainly did not come back to the
city."
"Great God! what do I hear? How old is this marchioness?"
"Not over twenty-eight; her town house is on Place Bellecour."
"Ten thousand cigars! that was a contraband marchioness! What an
infernal fool, not to have discovered it!"
Dubourg jumped up and down in his bed, rolled himself up in the
bedclothes, snatched off his nightcap and threw it on the floor, while
Ménard cried:
"Monsieur le baron is mad; I am going to fetch an apothecary!"
The tutor left the room, and Frédéric was not sorry, for it gave him an
opportunity to have an explanation with Dubourg; but for several minutes
he absolutely refused to keep still; he was in a frenzy at the
recollection of the soi-disant counts and chevaliers. He dressed in hot
haste, swearing that he would find his baron with the watch-charms, his
threadbare chevalier, and his blackleg with lace cuffs; that he would
break the baroness's remaining teeth, beat the viscountess, and
horsewhip madame la marquise.
At last, Frédéric succeeded in making himself heard.
"So you gambled last night, you wretch, did you? and that is where our
funds have gone?"
"Ah! my friend, beat me, kill me! I know that I am a good-for-naught.
But, really, you would have done the same in my place. When a person
assumes a respectable name---- For my part, I went there in all
confidence, hoping to make an advantageous match. I heard people all
about me talking of nothing but 'my estates, my châteaux, my servants,
my millions'--as I would say 'my cane' or 'my hat.' And then, they dazed
me with attentions and liqueurs. Still, I ought to have noticed that
there was a suspicious look to it all; but what can you expect?
Unluckily, I am not accustomed to good society. I took the pressure of
one woman's foot for patrician manners, and another woman's blunders in
grammar for a German accent. We played cards,--I confess that I love
cards,--and they stripped me of everything, even to my hat! But they
haven't seen the end of it!"
"Where are you going?" said Frédéric, trying to detain his friend, who
had taken his shocking old hat as if to go out.
"Let me go, let me go! I am going to hunt up my blacklegs, and
perhaps---- Wait here for me."
Dubourg opened the door just as Ménard returned with an apothecary's
clerk, who had a sedative potion in each hand.
Dubourg roughly pushed the tutor aside when he tried to stop him, and
descended the stairs four at a time, while the tutor collided with the
apothecary, who fell to the floor with his potions.
"We must send somebody after him," said Ménard, thinking that Dubourg
was in a high fever. Frédéric had some difficulty in inducing him to
dismiss the apothecary, by assuring him that the baron was very much
better.
Dubourg betook himself to the residence of his false marchioness, whose
address he had retained. He was obliged to go on foot, and he no longer
assumed the air of a great noble. The eyeglass would have accorded but
ill with the wretched tile, which was not half large enough for him. But
at that time he was thinking exclusively of his money, not at all of his
costume. When he reached the house he had visited the night before,
which he readily recognized from having scrutinized it carefully in the
night, he entered the hall, the door of which was open, went upstairs,
and looked and listened, but neither saw anybody nor heard a sound. He
rang at the door of the apartment from which he had been ejected so
roughly, but no one answered the bell. He rang again and again, with
increasing violence, until the bell-pull came off in his hand, but the
door remained closed.
"Open, you rascals, you blacklegs! or I'll go for a magistrate," cried
Dubourg, putting his mouth to the keyhole. Finally an old woman appeared
on the landing above and asked him why he was making such an uproar.
"I want to speak with the people who live here on the first floor," he
replied.
"There's no one living there now, monsieur; it was let furnished to a
woman who went away this morning before daybreak."
Dubourg was petrified. He realized that he could not hope to recover his
money. He returned slowly and dejectedly to the hotel, and joined
Frédéric and Ménard with an expression of utter dismay.
"Well, what about the robbers?" inquired Frédéric.
"Ah! my friend, they have fled."
"I was sure of it."
"But you have entered a complaint with the magistrate, surely, monsieur
le baron?"
"I have done all that there was to do, Monsieur Ménard; but I fancy that
we may say good-bye to our money."
"In that case, what are we going to do?"
"That is what we must consider.--How much money have you, Monsieur
Ménard?"
"Not more than two louis."
"And you, Frédéric?"
"I have about ten."
"That isn't enough to pay our landlord, for we must owe him at least
three hundred francs."
"What! hasn't he been paid?"
"Who ever heard of making people of our sort pay in advance?"
"But think how extravagant we have been!"
"We had to live; and what difference does it make whether we owe one
hundred francs or three hundred, as we can't pay?"
"However, we cannot leave this hotel without settling our account, and
we cannot continue our journey without money."
"That would be rather difficult, to be sure," said Ménard.
"I see but one way to get any," said Dubourg, "and that is to apply to
Monsieur le Comte de Montreville. He certainly won't leave his son in
straits."
"Ask monsieur le comte for money, when it isn't three weeks since we
left Paris! What will he think?" murmured Ménard, with a sigh.--"What if
monsieur le baron should write to his steward at Rava or Krapach?"
"Why, I would write in a moment, but it's so far!--It would take at
least two months to get an answer, because at this time of year the
mails are greatly delayed by avalanches."
"What, monsieur le baron, in summer?"
"Summer is the season when the snow melts. Pardieu! if it was winter,
they could make half the distance on snow-shoes. We couldn't wait all
that time in this inn; we must have money at once."
"My dear Ménard," said Frédéric, "you really must apply to my father."
"Well, I will write him what has happened to monsieur le baron----"
"No, no; you are the one he gave the money to, and you are the one who
was robbed; it's useless to mention me. Just imagine that you were the
one who was robbed last night."
"Come, my dear Ménard, write my father a most pathetic letter."
"The deuce! that's a very hard task."
"I'll dictate to you, if you choose," said Dubourg.
"You will oblige me very much, monsieur le baron."
So Ménard took the pen, and Dubourg dictated the following letter:
"MONSIEUR LE COMTE:
"I have the honor to inform you of our safe arrival at Lyon, where
I was attacked at night, as I was returning to our hotel, and
robbed of all that we possessed; which places us in a very
embarrassing position, from which we beg you to extricate us as
soon as possible. Monsieur your son is as well as Esculapius
himself; the journey seems to have done him a vast amount of good.
He bids me offer you his most respectful homage."
Ménard signed this letter, to which Dubourg desired Frédéric to add a
few affectionate words. But Frédéric had never lied to his father, and
he preferred to write nothing rather than to try to deceive him.
The letter was mailed, and they had no choice but to await the reply.
Luckily, their landlord did not seem at all disturbed. Moreover,
Frédéric had a chaise and horses, which, at need, would bring more than
enough to pay their bill; that fact set his mind at rest, but he none
the less urged his companions to spend less on the table. Dubourg,
however, did not agree with him; he thought that such a course might
arouse suspicions of their plight, and Ménard was once more of monsieur
le baron's opinion.
Frédéric resumed his wanderings; but Dubourg abandoned his street
promenades with Ménard; after parading his fashionable costume and
playing the wealthy palatine on the public thoroughfares of Lyon, he did
not care to show himself in a shabby hat and with a long face; he was
convinced that people would divine that he was penniless: there are so
many men who owe their self-confidence and their assurance entirely to
the money they have in their pockets, which alone gives them aplomb in
society.
Dubourg passed his days talking philosophy with Ménard, who was no
philosopher, but listened attentively to the baron, whom he considered a
man of profound learning, though he was no longer so overjoyed to have
him for a travelling companion, because, when he recalled their
adventures, from the time that the palatine had overturned them into a
ditch, it seemed to him that Monsieur de Potoski carried about with him
a monumental ill luck, of which they had already felt the effects.
After ten days, they received a reply from the count; it was addressed
to Monsieur Ménard, but it was Frédéric who, with a trembling hand,
broke the seal.
"See what there is enclosed, first," said Dubourg.
They found a draft on a Lyon banker for six thousand francs.
"Good! here's something to help us endure papa's reproaches," said
Dubourg; "now let's read his letter."
Monsieur de Montreville wrote to Ménard these few words only:
"I place no sort of credence in your fable of robbers, but I am
very glad to forgive my son's first escapade; I trust, however,
that it will make him more prudent. I send you some money, but do
not rely upon the like indulgence again."
"He didn't believe us," said Frédéric.
"I am very much afraid that he is angry," said Ménard.
"Oh! don't be alarmed; he'll cool down. Hereafter, we will travel like
three little pasteboard Cupids; we will be virtuous, orderly; in short,
true philosophers--which need not interfere with our living well,
because that is necessary for our health; eh, Monsieur Ménard?"
"_Credo equidem_, monsieur le baron."
"But no more pomp and parade; I resume my incognito."
"What, monsieur le baron!"
"Yes, Monsieur Ménard; at all events, with six thousand francs we
couldn't play the grandee very long--I mean, live up to our rank."
"But, monsieur le baron, when you have received answers from Rava and
Krapach?"
"Oh! then it will be different; but I fear we shall not have them for a
long time. As to the funds, I think that we had better let Frédéric take
charge of them. He is calm and cool, and that is what we need in a
cashier."
"It's a great pity," muttered Ménard; "we lived so handsomely when
monsieur le baron paid the bills!"
All their plans being made, they paid their hotel bill; it amounted to
eight hundred and fifty francs for the three weeks they had passed
there, so that the count's remittance was seriously impaired at the
outset; but meanwhile they had been lodged and fed like lords. Dubourg's
only sentiment was regret at their inability to continue the same mode
of life; Ménard sighed as he thought of the delicious repasts they had
enjoyed; and Frédéric observed to Dubourg, in an undertone:
"My friend, if we had continued to go so fast, we shouldn't have gone
very far."
Monsieur le comte's horses were sold, and they arranged with a
stable-keeper to journey from Lyon.
"These two halts have cost you dear, monsieur le baron," said Ménard; "a
berlin and fifty thousand francs the first time, and fifteen thousand
the second! A man could not travel long at that price!"
"My mind is at rest now, Monsieur Ménard; I defy anyone to rob me.
Socrates found his house large enough to receive his friends, and I
shall find my purse full enough so long as Frédéric pays for me."
Ménard had no reply to make to that; the comparison did not seem to him
a happy one.
Instead of taking the road to Turin, Frédéric gave orders to drive
toward Grenoble; he desired to visit that city and its suburbs,
especially the Carthusian monastery, whose wild aspect astounds and
almost terrifies the traveller. Dubourg was in no hurry to reach Italy;
it mattered little to him in which direction they went. Moreover, since
his last misadventure, he did not presume to offer his advice. As for
Ménard, he was always ready to yield to Frédéric's wishes, but the name
of the Carthusian monastery made him shudder; he was afraid that his
former pupil would want to take up his quarters in some hermitage, and
he felt no sort of inclination for a frugal life.